#That Other Scene is Joel's death again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devilmademewriteit · 1 year ago

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If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.��

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s d��jà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

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ravensmadreads · 1 year ago

Text

Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

#raven writes #i apologize for all of this #idk what came over me #i was possessed #and taylor refused to sedate me #javier pena x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javier gutierrez x reader #joel miller x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #pero tovar x reader #din djarin x reader #max phillips x reader #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels x reader

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punkshort · 9 months ago

Note

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

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oceandolores · 4 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

157 notes · View notes

endo-bunny · 7 months ago

Text

His Light in the Darkness

Summary: When Joel finds love ten years into the apocalypse and has a daughter with that woman two years later, he has to deal with the death of his beloved. He had to deal with a child that he doesn’t want, the child that took his whole world. That was, until a couple months after your birth. Now you will have to go with your father, Joel, and “The Cargo,” Ellie. As you go through this traumatizing yet exciting new adventure, you will have to learn a lot of things if you wish to survive in this world.

Paring: Joel x daughter!reader

Series Warnings:Mentions of violence, using both the game lore and show lore, Tess being a mother figure to reader, reader is eight years old, attempted SA, attempted kidnapping, kidnapping, slaves, death, dialogue and actions/scenes not being exactly the same or close to original, nicknames for reader(Little Light, honey, sweetie, baby girl), anxiety attacks, anxiety alluded to but not specified, symptoms of ptsd but not specified, reader is Joel's biological daughter, mother’s looks not specified, reader is a child so she will cry a lot (please don’t complain about this) this is normal for children

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence, using both the game lore and show lore, Tess being a mother figure to reader, reader is eight years old, panic attack

Word Count: 3,465

******

Chapter 1 - The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Winter 2015

Cries were what filled the room. A female that looked to be in her mid thirties was laid out on a worn down mattress. In her arms was a baby, the one that was producing those beautiful sounds. Her breaths were shallow, hands bloody as her eyes met those of her lover. There beside her was Joel. He stared lovingly at the woman, your mother. She taught him how to love again, and you were also someone that was going to help teach him how to love once more in the future. The woman had already known there was a chance of not surviving through childbirth. Hell, they were living in the fucking apocalypse. They didn’t have the same materials and medical help or equipment that they had twelve years ago.

She felt weak, she wasn’t gaining any strength back. She had children before the outbreak but upon outbreak day and thereafter, they had died in front of her eyes. That was one of the many things that the two lovers confided in and shared with each other. Her other births had been similar to this birth; but her other times were much different when it came to the time after giving birth. She wasn’t gaining any strength back like she usually would, she was only losing it. She could feel her heart that had previously been pounding in her chest slowly start to slow down to an alarmingly slow speed. Her breaths that had previously been easier to have were quickly becoming harder and harder to inhale.

With just one look, Joel knew what she was about to tell him. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose his lover; his light in the dark. Tears flooded his eyes, racing down his face shortly after. He choked out a sob. As carefully as he could, he gingerly held her in his arms. They stayed like that for hours, even after she had taken her final breath. She had been able to breastfeed their child with the help of Joel.

As he continued to lay there, your mother still in his arms, the door was quietly opened. Tess stepped in, grief upon her face at seeing Joel with his deceased lover. She walked over, getting close enough to touch Joel’s shoulder. His eyes snapped up to meet hers. This was the most vulnerability that Joel has ever shown Tess. She saw how much pain he was in, and she couldn’t do anything to help him. He muttered something to her after he calmed down a little.

“Take the baby, I don’t want the thing that took away the love of my life.”

She was shocked to say the least. She never thought that he would ever say anything such as that. He always seemed so happy when talk of the two’s unborn child was brought up. As Tess sighed, she lightly shook her head side to side, rejecting his request; or rather demand. She couldn’t do that. He looked angry, more than angry. He was extremely pissed to say the least. He snarled at her, even more so when she started to talk about burying your mother. The rest of it all was just a blur in his mind. He blocked everything else. He didn’t want to deal with anything else, especially you.

A couple months passed by, Joel hating every moment of it. On one surprisingly warmer day, his view towards you was swiftly changed. He had put you down on the couch, not fully caring if you fell or not. It didn’t feel like it was his responsibility. He was looking over everything that he would need for his and Tess’ next run. Something in him caused him to turn his gaze towards you. There you were, smiling over at him as if he was the greatest thing in the entire universe. In a sense, he was, to you.

Once you saw that his gaze had turned towards you, you erupted into a fit of adorable little giggles. He had never heard that beautiful sound come from your tiny body. The moment he heard it, he was immediately transported to the first time he heard that same noise come from Sarah.

Right then and there, he knew how disappointed and angry Sarah and your mother would have been at him. He was beyond ashamed of how he acted and treated you. You were his daughter, he was your father, he was supposed to love and protect you. He knew then that he needed to change the person that he was, but only for you. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be any different towards anyone else, he couldn’t trust anyone else in this newer world. As for now, for the first time since your mothers death, he picked you up lovingly and smiled.

“Hi, my Little Light. Daddy’s here now.”

******

Autumn 2023

Giggles erupted from you as you played with your toys; your fathers warning to not make any noise while he wasn’t there escaping your mind. All noises stopped however once you heard the front door open, close, and then voices. All you could hear was your fathers voice before you were sprinting out to him, jumping into his arms that weren’t ready to catch you.

“Daddy!”

He huffed, trying to keep you from falling out of his arms. He looked at you with love in his eyes, but he still had his mask up due to the fact that there was a teenage girl being present.The teenager looked surprised to see this man that has been nothing but cold and rude to her, be so loving and even have a child. You finally looked at her curiosity in your eyes.

“Who’s she Daddy?”

Joel cursed under his breath, “She’s no one, just some cargo,” He had hoped that you would simply just accept that she was there for a tiny bit and then just never bring her up ever.

The teen scoffed at him, “Hi there?” Her voice seemed on edge, “I’m Ellie, the cargo.”

You giggled at her, finding the new girl funny.

“Go and stay in your room baby girl, I’m gonna stay out here, ok?”

You nodded your head, perfectly fine with going back to playing with your toys.

Thirty minutes passed, Ellie snooping through Joel's stuff the entire time. She froze though when she heard a door down the hall open. You padded down the hall, trying to be as stealthy as possible, failing however seeing as you are just eight years old and not fully aware of your surroundings. Once you reached the living room, you jumped. Looking around you saw Ellie looking at you. She also jumped, not expecting your reaction. Seeing her jump causes you to giggle, and while she is weary of you, she does find it a little cute.

“What are you doing? Didn’t the old man tell you to stay back there?”

She honestly didn’t fully care what you were doing but she was still at least a little curious.

You stared at her while your child brain worked to try and think of something, “Nothing?”

Before she could say anything else, you ran over to her. You came up to about her waist, a little lower. You’ve heard Joel and Tess talk about how you’re small for your age. They summed it up to being that you weren’t getting the right nutrients and needed to eat a little more vegetables and meat.

“Why did Daddy say that you’re cargo?”

“‘Cause he’s taking me somewhere,” She sounded grumpy and slightly irritated.

“Who are you?” Ellie was quick to ask you a question of her own.

Telling her your name, you looked down at what she was holding

In her hands were dog tags. You looked back up towards her with a perplexed gaze set in your eyes. She looked down at her hands, having completely forgotten that she was holding them.

“Oh, those are mine.”

“Are you a Firefly?”

Your question caught her really off guard. She had no idea that someone who seems as young as you would know anything about the Firefly’s.

“Uh, no, but someone that I loved was.”

You know by the tone in her voice and the look in her eyes that it was time to shut up. You walked over to your father and sat down on the ground. She watched you before returning to whatever she had been doing. You zoned her out as you found some of the crayons that you had left on the coffee table. Joel had found that he could melt down some of the broken crayons and make new ones.

You made multiple drawings, knowing that all of them would end up on something in the apartment. You looked up once you zoned back into reality. It was dark out and Joel was still asleep. Giggling quietly to yourself, you climbed onto the couch and hopped onto his chest. He jumped awake. Both from you and the nightmare that he had.

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

Ellie was looking at something in your hands. Your dad picked you up and sat you down on the couch. As he sat up, he started to say but you found the fraying threads of the couch much more interesting. Although it became much less intriguing once you heard a certain someone’s voice. Tess walked in through the door, saying something to Joel and Ellie. You looked up at her, quickly getting up to go to her.

“Mama!” You somewhat calmly walked over to her, unlike how you did earlier to Joel.

She greeted you and then looked at Joel.

“Can I talk to you in the other room?”

He looked hesitant towards you before nodding, going to his room. Ellie looked at you curiously, as well as you. Once the door closed, you both turned your gazes to each other.

“So, was that your mom?”

“Not really, I just call her Mama. Daddy told me that my real mama was in a better place and that I would never be able to see her again, but that she loved me. What about you?”

“Yeah, same I guess.”

You smile brightly at the older girl. Right once you opened your mouth, beginning to say something, Tess and Joel walked back in. Joel is quick to pick you up and get you away from Ellie. As you got comfy in his large arms, resting your head against his warm chest, your eyes dropped shut.

The next time that you open your eyes, you’re strapped to your fathers chest. As you start to wake up, you realize that you're not in your home anymore. Were you outside? There weren’t any normal buildings around. Your question was soon answered when you heard guards talking. You were immediately thrown into a frenzy when someone started yelling at your group.

The next thing you know, your father is taking you out of the holder and setting you down directly next to him. Tears were streaming down your face as you frantically grasp onto his pants leg. Everyone’s kneeling and the guard is saying something. Everything happens so fast, your dad is suddenly beating the guard, Tess is grabbing the tester, and Ellie moves in front of you.

You're still crying as all the commotion settles down. You look up at Ellie, who is now sitting next to you with a panicked look on her now dirtier face. She was also looking up. As you reach out for her, wanting to be held to help calm you down, Tess is quick to step in.

“Get away from her.”

You look alarmed, confused why you couldn’t be near her. As you try to understand what's going on, Joel quickly scoops you up, getting away from Ellie just as fast. Tess has something in her hand that you can’t see very well. Tears are still falling from your now red and puffy eyes as your dad curses in frustration.

“Why are you so mad at her, Daddy?” Your small hands grasped onto his shirt, tugging slightly.

Everyone stopped at the sound of your small voice, realization that you were with them sinking into Joel and Tess’ minds. The reality of this situation was making itself loud and clear. Your question goes unanswered as the talking continues on. You were scared, you didn’t know what was going on and everything was terrifying. You just wanted to be at home, safe and sound, being held tightly under a blanket in your fathers arms.

Your breathing starts to quicken as it feels like you're losing control over your own body. Fresh tears sprout from your eyes and your heart is pounding in your ears. Were you dying? You didn’t want to die like this, not now. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. You weakly clutch at your chest as your throat closes up, small whimpers leaving the confines of your overworked lungs. Your tiny body was trembling, beginning to feel very hot in your own skin. Sweat collected on your forehead. Joel noticed very quickly what was happening.

“Hey, baby girl, breathe. You're okay. Look at me baby,” His hand guided your face to look towards him.

He talked you through it, although a lot of it sounded like you were underwater. Once you finally were back, panic attack taken care of to the best of their abilities, you noticed that it seemed like the problem from earlier was completely taken care of. You couldn’t tell when it was taken care of but it was.

Joel seemed to be in a bitterer mood than he was earlier. You stayed quiet, opting to just look around at everything since you had nothing else to do except sit there attached to your fathers chest. As you continued to walk, going somewhere but you didn’t know where, you finally arrived at a new area. It seemed to be a very rocky place. You couldn’t tell if it was a building or not, but it looked similar to one.

You father was the first to go in, holding you tight against his chest despite the fact that you were already tightly strapped to his chest. He looked around a little, making sure that the coast was clear, before telling Tess and Ellie to come in. They soon follow in after him, Tess’ immediate move is to look at you then around the place. As the four of you make your way through the building, the air seems to get tenser, as if something bad was about to happen. That feeling was proven right when Joel and you split up from Tess and Ellie. Your head was covered by the strap, Joel having done that the moment he sensed danger. You could barely move around, all you could do was listen to what was going on around you. You heard growling and your dad grunting every so often. At one point, you get jostled around a little more than normal, a muffled cry coming from your mouth. Joel is quick to put his hand on your back before taking his hand away. You hear a struggle going on before your father and Tess’ voices once again.

As your father uncovers your head, you can finally see once more. There's bodies of the infected all around, and your father is breathing heavily. You don’t get to look around much more before Joel is quickly walking again, trying to get this whole thing done and over with as fast as possible. You’re confused as to what was happening, and it seemed that Ellie seemed to be as well. The two adults however ignored your confused and concerned faces as the supposedly short journey continued on.

******

The trip was much more boring than you had expected. You were finally arriving at the building where Ellie was supposed to be dropped off at, but it seemed to be a little quiet. Joel went into protect mode almost immediately once he realized that something wasn’t right.

As he cautiously looked around, he found that everyone that should've been there was dead. He covered your eyes so that you wouldn’t have to see all of it, trying to keep you safe from the horrors of this world as much as he could. As everyone is looking around, Tess starts talking about where to go next.

“What the hell do you mean? The jobs finished, it’s time to go home,” Joel's ruff voice cuts Tess off mid sentence.

“I mean that I can’t go home,” Tess’ usually strong voice wavers as her eyes land on you.

Ellie gasps, understanding what the older woman meant. Tess pulled the neck of her shirt down to reveal a horrible looking bite. Joel didn’t know how to react, he didn’t want to believe that Tess was bitten. You didn’t understand what was going on, so you tried tugging on your fathers shirt in order to get his attention. He didn’t even look at you, just put his hand on your back.

“You have to get her to Tommy,” Tess goes over to Ellie and grips her arm, showing Joel the bite mark that Ellie had shown them earlier, “She has to be telling the truth. Look at this, this is only a few hours old and it’s already horrible,” She pulls down her own shirt collar once again while talking to further prove her point. Before Joel could respond, groaning and screeching could be heard outside. Tess rushed over to one of the boarded up windows, looking out of it to see outside.

“Get out of here, there's a hoard of those fuckers coming here,” Tess began rustling through her bag, looking for specific items.

She pulled a small object out of a little, purple bag that seemed to still be in good condition. Joel’s breath hitched the moment he realized what the bag was. Tess walked over to you, the small object and bag in her hands.

“Sweetheart, I may not be your real mother but I love you like you're my blood daughter. I’m going to have to go away for a very long time and I want you to have these,” She put the small object in your hand, “Look after your father for me, you’re His Light in the Darkness.”

As you looked at it, you saw that it was a locket. You opened it with confusion, having a little difficulty. Inside the locket were two pictures. One was a picture of your mother, father and Tess all together. Your mother was holding the camera, her arm outstretched as she smiled brightly at the camera. Joel was hugging her, a wide smile outstretched on his face as he looked at her, ignoring the camera. Tess had her hand on her gun, seeming to be on alert, but she still had a warm smile on as she stared at the camera. The second picture was one of your father and mother. Joel had his arm around your mother as she had both of hers on his chest, seeming to be laughing at something. They were in a room that looked similar to the room that your father slept in now, but some of the furniture wasn’t as it was now.

“Daddy look! It’s Mommy!” Your excited voice came out a little too loud as the sounds of groaning and clicking came closer.

Everyone else's eyes went wide upon hearing what was waiting for them outside. Tess quickly began pouring gasoline all over everything in the room, trying to make sure that everything was covered.

“Joel go! Get them out of here, take the girl to Tommy. I’ll lure them in here, then take the building with me,” Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears as she looked at the little girl that she helped raise, knowing that she'd be leaving her.

“Mama? What's happening?”

She couldn't bring herself to tell you. She walked over and kissed the top of your head before handing Joel her backpack. She gave him a silent look before Joel grabbed Ellie to leave. You were crying now, not understanding what was happening and not wanting to leave Tess. Noises could be heard behind you as Joel quickly got out of the building despite Ellies struggles to get out of his grip.

All of a sudden, a loud boom came from behind the three of you. The building exploded. You continued to cry, the commotion overwhelming you. Joel did his best to consol you with what little energy that he had left. As you started to get brought back down to earth, your eyes became increasingly heavier by the second. Joel covered your head as you laid it on his chest, sleep beginning to take you after the exhausting day.

******

Tag list:

@fakegingerrights

@silnebula

I really hope that you liked this! It took a lot of energy for me to actually make this because I've been really procrastinating. I'm currently also working on my other Tech x Reader series but I have no idea when that will be. I'm also working on chapter two for this one. I might also do some romantic one shots for Joel because I love him so much.

@macchiato-dreaming22

#joel miller x daughter!reader #tlou joel #the last of us #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller x platonic!reader #tess fluff #tlou tess #tlou tess angst #ellie fluff #ellie tlou #His light in the darkness

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myownwholewildworld · 1 month ago

Text

11. NO MATTER WHAT?

chapter 10 | main masterlist | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 12 pairing: post-outbreak!joel x f!reader. summary: in your pursuit to find tommy, you find out something else. a/n: hello there! c: eeeeeek we are getting close to the endgame here! i finally sat down and wrote down small summaries for the next chapters so i could have a better idea of how many there were actually left - a total of 15 plus an epilogue. so this story will be drawing to a close soonish but in the meantime, please enjoy this rollercoaster :D all interactions welcome, i'd like to read your thoughts on this! take care <3 x warnings below the cut! please beware, they contain MAJOR spoilers so read them at your own peril. don't come at me please. dividers by @saradika-graphics w/c: ~7.8k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

warnings: 18+, mdni. some smutty smut. masturbation (m and f receiving). unprotected piv. sprinkles of anxiety, anguish and angst here and there. unplanned pregnancy. tempers run a bit high. sarah is in joel's mind. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov.

“How are you feeling?”

Joel’s voice brought you back to reality, along with a slam of the driver’s door. Your mind had been drifting away, almost falling into a slumber, for the past thirty minutes. You had not even realised that the car had stopped until Joel closed the door behind him.

Your elbow was propped against the window frame, your face buried in the crook of it. Slowly you blinked with a pitiful groan, straightening out your crouched back. For the past month, sleep had been evading you. Funny that, considering how fucking tired you were. And the more tired you were, the more difficult it was to fall asleep. Your bones ached, your joints hurt, your mind was fuzzy ― you felt terrible overall. Many mornings you felt sick too, which did not help. On a few occasions you had woken Joel up with your retching ― and every time, he stayed awake with you, not even once did he complain.

The dreadful pain would vanish gradually over the course of the day and would worsen at night again. The clicker’s bite on your forearm had almost healed, but there were some tiny parts of it that were still open and oozed from time to time ― it didn’t matter how hard you both tried to keep it clean. Fits of itchiness would overcome you and Joel had to pin your wrists against his chest so you would not make the gash worse.

The first week after you were marked, you had actually been doing alright. The thrill of the moment and the adrenaline rushing through your veins as you crossed Illinois were, most probably, what had kept you standing on your feet.

And now that the imminent feeling of death had faded, Chicago well behind you, your body was begging you for a fucking break. But there were no breaks in the apocalypse.

“Darlin’?”, Joel placed his hand on your left thigh.

“Tired.” You sighed heavily as you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands. “I can’t sleep.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He lightly squeezed your thigh between his fingers, and you finally looked at him, a weak smile smoothing out your lips. “We’ll find a proper place to stay tonight.”

“Where are we?”, you asked, looking through the passenger’s window.

You had stopped in the middle of a road. A sea of green surrounded you ― a dense wood of pine and oak englobed the asphalt. And then, further afield on your left, you could see blue and sandy brown in between the trees. There was a mist coming off the water and blurring the atmosphere, giving the whole scene a mystic, eerie feeling.

“Lake Ontario, just circumvented Buffalo. I saw the gas station and thought to give it a go”, he explained, pointing with his thumb through the driver’s window.

Then you saw the service station he was referring to.

“Any luck?” You hovered your hand over his on your thigh and intertwined your fingers. His warmth was comforting in the bare coldness of January.

“Surprisingly yes. I was able to siphon out around four gallons from one of them pumps. I’ve just put it all in our tank. Should be more than enough to get to Oswego, even with detours.” Even though Joel’s voice was calm, you could tell he was preoccupied.

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes meeting yours. He was doing so much for you, and basically all on his own. He drove you out of Chicago while the whole city got swamped by hordes of clickers. For the first week after that day, you both took turns to drive and keep watch at night, but when your body finally gave in, you completely relied on him.

He hadn’t told you out loud, but you could see the worry darkening his chocolate eyes with greyish circles underneath. You knew he was concerned about your health, about the car and gas, about the food, about the safety of being back in the wilderness. Joel was taking good care of you ― you had been so blinded by your own battles that you had not even expressed your gratitude.

“I’m sorry I’m not much help. Thank you for―”

“Don’t even mention it.” He cut you off instantly, pulling from your laced hands so your cheek would land on his chest. “You’re sick, honey. It’s the least I can do.”

Joel’s balmy lips pressed against your forehead. You closed your eyes, letting his warmth seep into your cold bones, softening your taut muscles. You looked up at him with your mouth agape and Joel bowed down to brush your lips with his ― a chaste kiss in a rare moment of peace and quiet.

“I’ll drive to Pembroke and find a house ― we’ll spend the night there and resume the trip in the late morning or early afternoon, depending on how you’re feeling. Sounds good?”

You nodded, burrowing your cheek in his padded jacket. You both stayed still for a couple more minutes before Joel, with a heavy sigh, pulled back to introduce the key in the ignition and start the car.

For the last three weeks, you both had been reassessing your options. Chicago had been an idyllic dream for a short while, but congregating so many people in a small space seemed to have been a siren’s call for the clickers. After much debating, Joel and you had decided to stay away from civilisation.

It had also taken you as long to convince Joel to find Tommy. It was more than obvious that the brothers were not on good terms, considering how the younger one had threatened to kill you the moment he found out you had been bit. You couldn’t blame him for it, as you were sure you would have reacted the same way.

But Joel was not so inclined to forgive his brother. Tommy had made him choose between you and him, told him to get rid of you, even when he had tried to tell the younger Miller what his true feelings for you were. And despite it all, Tommy had ditched you both. But especially Joel, when he needed family the most ― when the dire situation required Tommy to step up, he had stepped down. With that you did not agree, obviously, although you could somewhat understand Tommy’s actions.

After long, dragging talks, Joel had agreed to look for Tommy. The group he was with was not the most convenient if their behaviour in Chicago was to be taken into account. The drugs, the alcohol, the late nights ― they could not afford such way of life out there, not without the safety net of a whole town. Tommy was the only family Joel, and by extension you, had left ― despite it all, family protected family.

Somewhere in Lake Ontario was the safest bet to find him. Laney would listen to Tommy, and if Joel was right, he would pick the same town the older Miller would: Oswego, especially in winter. That was where the Miller brothers and their father would go ice fishing on their weekend trips, so both of them were acquainted with the land.

The purring sound of the engine smothered your thoughts until that was all you could hear. Your eyelids felt heavy, dry even, so you unknowingly let them close with a deep sigh before you were lost to your dreams.

“Darlin’,” Joel stroked your hair, his fingers curling on your chin. “We’re here.”

Slowly you blinked, coming out of your sleepy stupor. Joel was standing outside the passenger’s door, the cold breeze bursting into the cabin. You had dozed off so hard, you had not even heard him leaving the car and opening your door.

“Can you walk? I can carry you.” He asked, no shade of doubt in his words.

Imagining Joel carrying you through a doorframe as if you were newlyweds made you smile. Maybe in a different lifetime or in a parallel universe could you have that destiny. Not in this one, sadly.

“I’m fine walking.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, a slight tilt to his head indicating he did not get why you were smiling. You waved your hand as if to say, “don’t worry about it”, and tried to step out of the car, but his frame was blocking your exit.

You cocked an inquisitive brow.

“What? You don’t think I can?” The challenge in his voice was there, ready for you to pick on it.

You laughed it off as you stirred in your seat, your legs dangling off the car seat now in between his legs. Joel didn’t budge one inch.

“I know you can. You’ve proved it a few times now.” You hoped that would ease him.

Joel grunted and you knew he was considering proving it to you once more. But you didn’t give him the chance to do so, standing up so close to him your body slammed into his. A strong arm wrapped around your waist to prevent you from falling back on to the car seat.

His welcoming mouth was so near hovering over yours, your mind just went poof for a second. Joel’s imposing presence always clouded your judgment, especially when he was this close to you. He made all your neuron synapses go haywire, even more when you were tired and achy.

“And you won’t let me show you again, I take it?” He whispered, his lips intently moving against yours with every word, your lungs taking in his sweet breath as if his oxygen was the only one that could truly feed them.

You were barely able to shake your head no. And then some neurons finally connected, allowing you to place a hand on his hard chest to push him back a bit with a sufficient grin.

“You won’t bewitch me so easily, Miller.”

He cackled, taking a step back and shaking his head with disbelief.

“You hurt my feelings, darlin’.” He faked some puppy eyes that made you swoon a little, but didn’t give in.

“I sure do…” You muttered, the shared joke letting you forget your fatigue.

Getting out of the car, the piercing January breeze knifed your skin. You were not accustomed to the northern cold ― Texas had treated you well with fairly mild winters but scorching hot summers. There had been instances where the Texan weather reached freezing temperatures, but it was not as common as up here.

You walked around the Jeep with Joel by your side, his arm draped around your shoulders to keep you close to his body heat. He had parked the car in between some tall, thick, evergreen bushes, tucked away out of sight. He then pointed to a house ― single storey, with a washed green façade and a tiny porch with a white door.

A couple of minutes later, you were inside. It was still cold, but not as bad as it was out there. The living room was small and outdated with clashing hues of brown, red and orange. The curtains were drawn, and it smelt a bit musky, layers of dust sitting atop the furniture. You were not expecting a five-star hotel, so this place would definitely do. It was isolated and off the main roads, so there would be less chances of running into some undesirable situations. Or people ― especially people.

You braced yourself to keep your core temperature as high as possible, and Joel noticed it.

“There’s a chimney but can’t get a fire going. It would give us away.” You could hear the unspoken apology in his tone. “But I’ve left a pile of blankets there.”

Joel pointed to the old-fashioned, floral-stamped couch that reminded you of one in your grandparents’ house. The quilts were bunched together, and all of your packed belongings were sitting on the floor ― you guessed Joel had taken everything out of the car while you had a little power nap.

As you approached and ran your fingers through the fleece to test the softness of the fabric, Joel grabbed one and wrapped you in it like a burrito.

“Do you have your gun?” He asked, lifting your chin up.

You nodded ― you always had it fastened to your belt. Since Chicago, you made sure you were armed at all times.

“Good. I need you to stay here while I go have a snoop around town.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You squinted your eyes with dissent, and then took off the blanket that he had covered you with to leave it on the couch.

“Not gonna happen, gorgeous. I’m coming with you.” Not because you were afraid of being left alone, but because you did not trust this world you lived in. If something was about to happen while he was out and about, you wanted to be right by his side.

He rolled his eyes at you but knew better than fighting you on this.

“So stubborn, aren’t you?”

“You wouldn’t love me any other way.” You replied with a beaming smile, lacing a hand with his and pulling him towards the door.

Joel snorted, a warm tautness nipping at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s true.”

“Chef Boyardee’s Beefaroni?” You read the label of a tin can out loud, brows pinching with amusement. “I thought they had gone out of business ages ago.”

“What? Of course not.” You could tell he was offended by the tone of his voice.

You smirked when he trotted towards you and snatched the can off your hand.

“It’s one of the best brands out there for canned food.” He lectured you, sliding the can in his backpack.

“I prefer anything from Campbell’s a thousand times over.” You jested as your hands travelled through the almost empty shelves, finding a sample of that same brand. “Their canned spaghetti is unbeatable.” You pinched your fingers together and smacked your lips, as if you were an Italian chef blowing a kiss.

“Do not start this feud between us, sweetheart. I can forgive many things, but not this senseless provocation.” His words were imbued with harshness, but his lips were softened by a crooked smile.

You giggled, putting away the can in your backpack, and proceeded to wander off further in the grocery store until you reached the pharmacy section. Medical supplies were really hard to come by and with an open wound like yours, they were very much needed. So, you rummaged through the shelves ― you would take anything you could find.

After a few minutes, you had located some sterile wound dressings, a couple of roller bandages, cleansing wipes and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. You had also found one pack of expired painkillers ― you could not get too picky with expiry dates on the apocalypse.

You knelt down to put everything away in your rucksack when something caught your attention. There was a single pack of sanitary pads sitting at the back of the bottom shelf. Feminine hygiene products were so hard to come by, you seized it in the blink of an eye.

In doing so, you hit another cardboard box out of the way. Curious, you grabbed it and turned it around in your hands. The white letters against the blue background read, “Clearblue Easy digital pregnancy test.” You had seen the TV ads before the world went to shit, but didn’t pay them too much attention. Apparently, it was a new technology with a digital screen that would show the words “Pregnant” or “Not pregnant”. Fancy stuff, really. You kept on reading the small text on the package, mindlessly interested.

Your period should have come a few days ago. But ever since your teen years, it was never regular, making it very hard to predict ― so it didn’t worry you too much. In fact, it was completely normal for you, so you put the box back down on the shelf.

Wait. What day is it? You suddenly thought, trying to recall an image of a calendar in your head. With your fingers curled in a fist, you lifted one at a time while you did the mental calculations.

Then it hit you. Your period was not just a few days late, but two weeks. The latest it had ever been was five days, so fourteen ―fuck, fifteen!― days were definitely not normal for your cycle. Your hands began shaking as you started counting again ― maybe you had forgotten how to do basic maths mentally?

Your heart was pounding so hard and fast, a rush of blood heavily pumping through your eardrums, you almost missed Joel’s call.

“Hey, sweetheart. Where are ya?” His booted steps were fast approaching.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. HOLY SHIT. FUCK.

Panic boiled inside you as you wildly looked around ― Joel’s shoes were on the other side of the shelves.

Just in the nick of time, you shoved the pregnancy test box down in your bag, hiding it between all the other bits you had collected, just as Joel turned the corner into the corridor you were at.

You tried your best to feign normalcy as Joel inched forward towards you and extended a hand to help you get up. You accepted it and stood up, trying to hide your eyes away from him by pretending to secure your backpack.

“Did you find anything useful?” He innocently asked, and you almost choked with the bare air that filled up the room.

“Y-yeah,” you tried your best not to stutter, but your nerves had a tight grip on your vocal cords, “some first aid stuff for my wound.”

Why were you omitting your most important finding? Joel should be aware; you should tell him about what was plaguing you right now.

But you didn’t. Don’t want to worry him unnecessarily if it’s just a false alarm, you told yourself.

Joel cocked his head, and you were sure he had perceived your nervousness, but he didn’t press the matter, for which you were grateful.

“Let’s go back then. Found some more food and hygiene stuff ― a couple of toothbrushes, ain’t it exciting?” He grinned and you made your best effort to return the gesture.

“You do know how to make someone’s day.” You joked back, but your feeble attempt at normality ate at his conscience.

It was well past midnight and Joel felt you stirring in his arms. The couch was not too big, so any small movement would startle him awake. Not that he was really sleeping anyway, too worried about the threats out there that could ruin the fragile peace of the night.

Your elbow sank in his ribs, and he swallowed a painful grunt.

“Sorry, Joel. I just can’t find the posture to fall asleep. I can go to the other couch if you―”

“Nonsense.” He interrupted you before you could suggest sleeping apart.

Maybe the couch was not the best option, but the bedroom was far too exposed to the main road for his liking. The living room, on the other hand, was facing towards the back of the property and was close to the door that led to the backyard, where the Jeep was hidden. So you both had to make do with the uncomfortable sofa.

He liked having you splayed out on top of him, your cold toes pressed against his bare feet looking for some warmth. He had covered you both with three thick blankets, your head almost tucked underneath with your cheek resting on his chest.

He stroked your hair, knowing that something was off. Joel could not pinpoint what exactly, but he was sure there was something on your mind worrying you. It pained him that you wouldn’t share what it was, especially after everything you had been through together. There should be no need to fence off your feelings away from him, but he understood that he couldn’t push you to share with him whatever preoccupied your mind.

Mainly because he also had worries of his own that he kept to himself. Like keeping you alive, for instance. How close Joel had been to losing you had unleashed a new wave of anxiety ― there was no room for mistakes anymore, he had promised himself. He would die before having you in harm’s way again.

You snuggled against his chest, looking for some comfort, while his arms embraced you tighter. Then he felt one of your cold hands snaking under his tee shirt, caressing his lower tummy.

His body reacted unwillingly at your touch, your hand too close to where he liked it most. Joel took a deep breath, and you snickered above him.

“You okay?” You teased, chin planted on his left pec and wicked eyes staring up at him.

“Mhmm,” was his way of saying yes. “Are you achy?”

“If you mean if something hurts, then no. I took two painkillers a couple of hours ago, so I’m actually pain-free right now. If you mean achy, like really achy… then yes.” Your voice lowered to a seductive whisper, your thumb rubbing the hairy trail running down his belly button.

“Jesus fucking Christ, honey.” He cooed when the same hand dipped under the waistband of the loose pants he used for sleeping.

“Are you achy, Joel?” You whispered in his ear as your fingers curled around his length.

“You need to rest―” He started scolding you, but you were having none of it.

You squeezed his manhood so sweet, with the perfect amount of pressure, he could not finish the sentence because a groan bubbled up his throat.

“I need to stop overthinking stuff, and I can think of a way to achieve that…” You purred again, your hand so still it was driving him crazy.

“What’s on your mind?” Even through the sensual haziness, he worried about you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing important… Don’t worry about it,” you husked, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Your fingers firmly clutched around his girth while you began pumping him. Joel closed his eyes, swallowing a growl ― anything he was thinking about, had just gone out of the window of his mind.

He hunted down your mouth until a sultry dance of tongues ensued, your hand stroking his beating cock with determination. Joel fisted one of your ass cheeks when his balls began to feel heavy and hot. He then positioned you on top of him, straddling him, and sat up a little on the couch, the small of his back resting against the arm of the couch.

You pulled down his pants and underwear, freeing his demanding and leaking erection. You did not like to waste a drop, not even a tiny one, so you quickly smothered his sensitive head with your thumb, smearing the precum over his tip. Joel loved it when you did that.

Leaving a trail of wet kisses where your neck met your shoulder, Joel helped you remove your pants and panties; then cupped your molten core, his palm completely flushed against your needy pussy lips. You whimpered something unintelligible as his index finger dunked in your slick slit.

Joel loved how your velvety fold seeped for him. He lightly stroked that tight bud of nerves, while his middle finger quickly joined the other in the warm wetness of your pussy. It slid off your tackiness until it found your begging entrance. Joel circled it a few times, his thumb now attending your pulsing clit, until he dived it in.

You moaned audibly and your hand stilled around his throbbing dick. Joel felt relief when you finally resumed the pumping of his cock, most probably spurred on by his relentless fingering. The wet, sucking sounds your pussy was making around his finger was driving him mad with lust, especially when you tightened your walls around it.

His wandering middle finger sunk in your weeping hole too. Joel curled them both towards the front, caressing the soft, spongy spot that made you go wild with desire, while his thumb worked your clit diligently.

He knew you were lost to him the moment you let go of his hard, pulsating cock and placed your hands on each of his shoulders, finding your balance. You jerked your hips up and down on his lap as if you were riding his cock, your swollen cunt squeezing his fingers ever so sweetly.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Come on my fingers, I know you want it.” He goaded you while his free hand stroked his steely dick.

Joel felt the pulsation of your walls, what a tight grip they had on his fingers, announcing your orgasm. And before you tipped over the edge of your arousal, Joel took them out with a loud, squelching pop.

“J-Joel, p-please...” A pitiful whine escaped your mouth when you thought he was about to deny you an orgasm, but he wasn’t so cruel.

Joel forced your hips down on his beating cock, your creamy cunt sheathing him perfectly ― your quivering hole so well trained to stretch around him just enough. He held you down, impaled by his shaft, and then intensely circled your thudding clit again until you came hard on him. The intensity of your climax transformed your beautiful features ― the prettiest portrait he had ever set his eyes on.

This was his personal paradise, with you sat down on his lap and his engorged cock completely buried between your damp flaps. He didn’t know if it was voluntarily or not, but your walls kept on trembling around his dick, your face tilted upwards towards the ceiling. He could picture you with your mouth agape and eyes closed as you felt the last waves of your pleasure.

Joel released your waist and stroked your buttocks, burying his face between your regrettably covered breasts.

“Ride my cock, darlin’. Ride me hard and fast. Wanna feel this pussy of mine doing her job, working my dick as she should. What she was made for.” Joel could not ―would not― stop talking, knowing how much it turned both of you on.

Joel leaned back a bit while you looked for his mouth to muffle both of your moans. With the help of your knees comfortably placed on either side of him, you started swaying your hips back and forth, sitting on his pulsating, hot dick and almost releasing it entirely.

The pace you picked up was maddening, devilish even. You would harshly come down on him and then took your sweet time to free his manhood. Your motions grew savage and erratic, and Joel aided you by cupping both of your ass cheeks, guiding your rhythm and fucking up into you, meeting every thrust with one of his own.

The kiss got so sloppy you both needed a breather ― and you took the opportunity to sink your face in the crook of his neck while mewling like a kitten in heat, your saliva pooling on his skin while your hips smoothly rocked on top of him.

“I-I’m coming again, I can’t―” Your faltering voice tickled the wet skin of his neck.

“Let go, darlin’. Come for me, squeeze me hard, harder―” Joel didn’t need to incite you anymore, because as soon as he touched your writhing clit again, you melted all over him.

“Oh, fuck, Joel, yes― Mhmmm… A-ah…” You shrieked uncontrollably, choking his throbbing shaft with your squiring cunt, his mushroom head dragging on your g-spot just right.

Your cream coating his lap so thickly sent him down a spiral of lust he had learnt to crave. Joel felt the deep pulse, his veiny cock twitching with anticipation. Making use of the last remnants of his logic, Joel cupped your ass and push it up, so his dick slipped out of you just in time, the knob shyly and briefly caressing that tight ring.

With his needy erection lodged between your ass cheeks, he came hard with a guttural growl ― white, thick spurts of cum shooting up and landing on the curve of your buttocks. His head tilted back, rejoicing in the pleasure that was washing over him, exposing his neck to your sinful mouth. You scratched the stubble on his jaw with bare teeth, and then bit down on his skin, marking him yours.

His softening cock spasmed one las time in the fold of your skin, as Joel slowly came back to his senses, foraging for your lips. This time the kiss was not messy but needy as both of you came down from the high of your shared ecstasy.

“Joel,” you whispered into his mouth, “I love you. You know that, right?”

His chest swelled with your love confession ― he would never grow tired of you saying it out loud. But this time there was a different note to your admission, one he did not know how to interpret. There was as much love as there was doubt. Maybe you just needed some reassurance, albeit he did not see why.

He nuzzled your cheek before chastely pecking your reddened lips.

“Yeah, I know.” His mouth ghosted over your closed eyelids, caressing the delicate skin. “I love you too, no matter what.”

“No matter what?” You asked under your shaky breath.

“Yes, no matter what.” There was no hesitation whatsoever. He truly meant it.

You had never bit your nails before, but that was everything you could do while you waited for the pregnancy test to develop.

How could you be in this situation? You both were always careful, with Joel finishing outside every time. Except for that one night, you thought. The night you both believed to be your last. “Please, Joel, I want to feel you, I need to feel you,” you had whispered to him at the top of your climax, blind to the fact that those words would seal your fate.

Nothing you could do take it back. If you wanted to take it back, that was.

And then there was last night. You felt extremely guilty for using sex as a distraction, but you panicked. That “I need to stop overthinking stuff” had escaped your mouth before you could stop it and Joel, as perceptive as he was, had picked up on it. Sometimes you wished he couldn’t read you like an open book.

The wait was killing you, your racing thoughts going over every single scenario your brain could come up with. All the good and the bad flashing before your eyes ― and you were so intent on focusing on the bad.

This world was not made to be lived in. Surviving was not guaranteed, death closing in at every turn of the path. And if it was hard enough for yourself, how would it be for a tiny, helpless baby? What kind of life would you be giving them? There were too many things that could happen, too many threats out there ― not only the dead, but also the ones who lived. If the apocalypse had taught you anything, it was that the living could not be trusted.

What if you died? Or even worse, what if your baby died? What if you couldn’t protect them? What if someone hurt them? What would you do then?

But before all of that, you would have to go through a pregnancy in a world where coming by some measly tampons was already a fucking miracle. All the complications you could face paled in comparison to how that baby could suffer during childbirth if something went wrong.

And then there was Joel. How would he react? You had never spoken about this, so you truly had no idea what his thoughts were on the matter. He was a dad, always would be ― and you knew how much it hurt him to be a childless father. How much he missed Sarah. How much he regretted everything he didn’t do that fateful September night. Perhaps Joel would see this baby as a blessing ― or a death sentence. It was impossible to tell.

Would he stay with you, or would he abandon you? Would he want to keep the baby?

Did you want to keep the baby?

A dense knot formed in your throat as tears gathered at the edges of your eyes, your foot nervously tapping the linoleum on the floor. A metallic tang suddenly flooded your sense of taste, and you removed your thumb from your lips ― you had nipped at your cuticle so bad, it had started bleeding.

You sucked on the wound in the hopes it would stop bleeding while your eyes were transfixed on the test, your heart pounding so hard it was climbing up your throat.

Then a change on the screen made your heart jolt painfully.

You lunged forward, hand extended. Your fingers were shaking so much, the test dropped from your grip and hit the sink, falling facedown. With trembling hands, you reached for it again and turned it around.

The world stilled.

Pregnant.

And then the world spun around you.

Your vision went white for a second, your other hand grasping the edge of the counter tight to prevent you from falling. Your knees were quivering so much you ended up sitting down on the lidded toilet, trying to control your quick breathing.

Tears inevitably welled up as your new reality slowly dawned on you. A part of you wanted this child so much, so badly, it was overwhelming. Before Cordyceps, you had always wanted to be a mother but thought it would never happen when your last relationship broke off. Then the apocalypse happened, and such desire got drown by your new priorities, so never really gave it another thought.

And now your long-forgotten yearning was staring right back at you. A crack of happiness forced its way through your heart and for a brief second, you smiled through the tears. Maybe this was not what you had planned, maybe it was selfish of you ― you had not even met this baby yet, and you knew you would give your life for them.

A knock on the bathroom door derailed your train of thought.

“Baby, are you okay?” Joel’s voice came through the plank of wood separating you.

And a part of you was scared to bits. Sheer panic was what made you spring up to your feet, your hand still holding the pregnancy test.

“Y-yeah!” You quickly answered, wiping away your tears as you shoved the test down in one of the pockets of your backpack.

Tell him. I should tell him. He has the right to know. This baby is as much his as they are mine.

You tried to convince yourself and were determined to share the news, but the moment you opened the door and were faced with Joel, fear took over your being and the words got stuck at the back of your throat.

You smiled at him as if nothing happened, as if your world had not been turned upside down a minute ago.

“Yeah, all good,” you said, your smile a little bit wider as you kept the tears at bay.

Joel’s eyes squinted ever so slightly, but if he suspected something, he didn’t say.

“Are you ready to go? Everything’s in the car,” he asked, his fingers seeking yours to pull you into the corridor.

“Perfect, let’s go.”

No matter what. He said no matter what. This is “no matter what.” Just say it. It’ll be fine. It’s okay. Say it.

“Joel?” You whispered his name, a fleeting moment of bravery.

His head turned around to look at you over his shoulder as he walked a step ahead of you.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

Now. Speak up. Say the words. He won’t leave you. He’s a dad. Always have been. He’ll understand. It’s okay. Say it. Come on, open your mouth and just say it!

“I think I’ve forgotten my toothbrush, sorry,” the words left your mouth before your brain could register them.

You had panicked again and wanted to hit yourself for it. Why the sudden lack of trust? He loved you and you loved him. That was all that mattered, right?

You turned on your heels before he could see your glassy eyes and scurried away to retrieve a toothbrush that was already packed away in your backpack.

The detour to get to Oswego was eating up most of the fuel. For three days Joel had driven around, stalking out different roads to access the town. Perhaps he was paranoid but preferred to err on the side of caution. Chicago was still fresh on his mind, so the idea of getting close to civilisation again was not dear to him.

As much as he tried to focus, he was also distracted. You had been acting as always, but there was this nagging thought in the confines of his mind that told him there was something wrong. Joel did not know what it was but sensed something different in your attitude.

You were not distant with him, but you were cautious, almost reticent. Maybe coming closer to a town bothered you too, although he did not understand why. It was you who had suggested looking for Tommy, as much as he first loathed the idea.

He had been thinking about the reunion with Tommy since you both set your path towards Oswego. Joel did not know what to expect because Tommy could be as volatile as he was. He knew Tommy meant well, but in the end, he had left him behind when Joel needed his support the most. That memory, that betrayal, still stung ― badly. But according to you, forgiving and moving on would do wonders for him.

His thoughts drifted back to you as he watched you rummage through your backpack, looking for a lighter ― you were far enough from humanity and clickers that a little fire to boil some water with tea leaves before going to bed would not be an issue with the dense foliage sheltering you both. This was a quick pit stop before finding a house to spend the night.

Joel could not put his finger on what was bothering you, that harrowing feeling never truly left him since the night you spent on Pembroke. In retrospect, he even wondered if you had worked him up that night because he had asked you what was in your mind and did not want to answer him.

Whatever it was, you seemed intent on not sharing your worries with him. He was slightly hurt and felt like you had built an impenetrable wall around you. You would meet him at the door every now and then but wouldn’t really invite him in into the fortress of your mind.

But yet again, he did exactly the same. Perhaps if he opened up about his concerns, you would too.

As he was about to say something, you dropped your backpack on the fallen tree trunk and stood up.

“Silly me, I think I left it in the car,” you groaned, exasperated, as you made your way back to the Jeep.

Joel watched the backpack rock back and forth on the trunk before it fell forwards. He was able to catch it before it hit the frozen ground, but the contents of the front pocket spilled on the floor. He mindlessly picked each piece up and put it back in the pocket ― but the last thing caught his attention.

A white stick with a blue cap that was vaguely familiar. For a second, he thought it was a weird-looking pen until he flipped it around and was greeted with a digital screen that read, “Pregnant.”

It was just one simple word, but he could not make sense of it. That was until the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together, painting a clearer picture in front of him. His heart suddenly dropped to his stomach at the realisation of what was on the palm of his hand.

His jaw went slack as the news started to sink in. Pregnant? A baby? In this world? With all those threats out there? This was no life to bring up a baby. Always on the run, never settling anywhere ― it would be cruel to doom them to such an existence. He would not be able to protect them, he would fail all over again. That would kill him ― Joel was convinced he could not take another loss like that, cradling another dead child of his.

His memory shot back to Sarah, to the night that changed everything for the worse. He could still feel the warmth leaving her body, her teary eyes looking up at the night sky. The pain that shredded his whole being, leaving him an empty carcass to wander this Earth. His whole world had shattered to pieces ― pieces he was barely able to put together now.

What in another lifetime would have been a blessing, in this one it was most definitely a curse. A death sentence for the child, regardless of how hard both of you tried. Joel knew ― he knew very well. There were forces he could not control, and death was one of them. The moment his tainted soul touched an innocent one, he would corrupt them. The same way he corrupted yours.

The reality was, he was scared to death. There were not many things in this universe that would faze him anymore ― but this was one of them.

Was this what was worrying you? It had to be. Why had you not said one word to him about it? For three fucking days? Yes, he was scared, but he was madder.

“Joel, do you have the lighter? I can’t find―” You began to ask before turning around and closing the passenger’s door behind you.

Your eyes widened as if you had seen a ghost and froze in place. You seemed shocked enough, but what was your plan? Not tell him until you were literally showing? Not tell him at all?

“Why―”

“Care to explain this?” He barked between gritted teeth, his temper flaring, as he stood up.

He threw you the test and you just about managed to catch it. He watched your gaze drift down to the device, almost as if it was the first time you saw it.

For a minute you didn’t say anything ― nothing at all. His anger, but also his disappointment, grew. What did this say about you? About him? About your relationship?

“You’ve gone through my things?” You hushed, such a low murmur he hardly heard you.

Joel scoffed, not believing his hearing. Maybe he was deafer than he thought? Was that all that worried you? All that you had to say right now?

Your accusatory tone stung badly; a sharp dart directed to his pounding heart. You had really good aim.

“‘Course not! Your backpack fell―” Why was he explaining himself when it was obvious you had not showed him the same deference about way more important matters? “Doesn’t matter. When did you plan to tell me? Or were you gonna keep me in the dark?”

You just stared at him with doe eyes, your fingers wrapped around the test as if it was your lifeline. Why weren’t you talking? Why did you look at him as if he had booted you?

The knot in his throat got bigger, almost collapsing his airway. Fight me back.

“You said it was nothing important, dammit,” his voice broke on the last word.

Finally, you blinked and shyly took a few steps towards him. Joel’s eyes followed your every movement but didn’t meet you halfway as he should have, so you stopped in your tracks. The utter fear had him paralysed ― fear of losing you, of taking care of a baby on this decrepit world, of making another unfathomable mistake.

“And you said no matter what,” you whispered back, your heart seeking his but not finding it ― it was well tucked away, out of reach for the time being.

That was a low blow, one that would have made him fold if it wasn’t for his stubbornness.

“Are you keeping it?” He found himself asking, jaw clenched.

“It?” Again, another stab right to the centre of his chest. He didn’t mean it that way, but your rhetoric question made it sound awful now. “I wanted to speak to you first…”

“Ah, were you? So, I have a say in this?” He was genuinely surprised, his brows furrowing.

“Of course you do, Joel.” You muttered, dipping your hands in the pockets of your padded coat, a defeated look on your face. “This baby… is mine and yours. Ours. If you truly don’t want them, then…” You shrugged, a loud, heavy sigh leaving your mouth in the shape of a misty cloud. “Can’t force you, won’t force you.”

“Doesn’t look like we have much of a choice,” he snapped back, rubbing his face with one hand.

There were no hospitals, no doctors, no nothing. The reality was you both were stuck with the consequences of your actions.

“You do. I don’t,” Your voice cracked, your eyes watery and your head sinking between your shoulders as you took a step away from him. “It’s not my fault, you know?”

He suddenly felt like a fucking jerk. It was obvious his reaction was not what you were expecting of him. Damn, it wasn’t what he expected of himself. He had let his fear speak for him, instead of reassuring you everything was going to be okay.

Joel should have told you he would be by your side at every turn of this life and the next. Instead, it looked like he was blaming you for what had happened. But that was not his intention, not at all.

He then realised he was making it all be about himself, instead of about you and the baby. What an egocentric ass he was. He had been so worried about himself, about his fears, Joel hadn’t thought of how you were feeling. You, who was the most affected by it all ― not him.

Before he could change his narrative, before he could apologise and ask to start this conversation all over again, you turned on your heels and walked towards the car.

The slam of the passenger’s door had a definite fatality to it ― the kind that would make his stomach churn.

What the fuck had he just done?

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

@harriedandharassed @thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus

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kaitys-bs · 8 months ago

Text

Guns n’ Roses 🌹

mafia boss ellabs

NSFW MDNI

tags: smut with plot, top!abby, bottom!ellie, talks of murder, brief smoking, slight implied pinning?, little bit of a power dynamic, pet names (gorgeous, good girl, slut), degrading & praise, fingering (e receive), oral (e receive)

not proof read (who actually does…)

The city has been divided in two for as long as anybody can remember. Gang violence ransacking Seattle for decades, not a day would go by without the sounds of sirens or gunshots. That's until two men stepped up to gain some control, Jerry Anderson and Joel Miller.

Sure, the men were at each others throats from the very first day. Both believed they knew what was right to control the gang scene and in the end, agreed to split the city in two. Each having their own personal agenda for their enterprise.

The tipping point was the death of Jerry Anderson, leading his daughter Abby to take his place.

After Jerry died via single gunshot to the forehead, war between their respective families began to escalate, Abby speculating it was the doing of the Millers. She wasn't wrong, taking a golf club to Joel's skull which promoted his daughter Ellie to take his place.

What's the saying? An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind?

Ellie shuts her office door behind her, letting out a heavy breath with a rub to her aching shoulders. She needed a massage, or maybe to get her back blown out a round or two. It's been a long ass week to say the least.

She pulls out a cigarette and lighter from her pocket, circling around to her desk. A commotion occurring on the other side of Ellie's door causing a crease to form between her brows. Soon enough the door is flinging open and Abigail Anderson in her suited glory pushes through, blood on her jacket and murder in her eyes. "Williams!" She shouts, less than happy to see the auburn haired girl.

"Ms. Anderson. What a... surprise" Ellies voice sounds far from surprised, almost disappointed as she snuffs out her cigarette while leaning back in her chair, legs manspread with her arms pulled back into a cross. Suit jacket open with the top buttons of her dress shirt undone, Ellie looks a wreck with that shit eating grin plastered on her face.

Abby's palms press into the grain of Ellie's desk, death stare into her soul. "The fucking audacity of you. A drive by! A fucking DRIVE BY?" A soft chuckle leaves the brutes throat, reminding Ellie that Abby is just a girl despite the tough exterior. "I mean come on, you didn't even have the balls to do it yourself?"

Ellie raises from her spot, disliking the fact Abby loomed over her. Her glare through thin lashes still small under the blondes height. "Didn't see the need. Unlike you, I actually try to cover up my kills" But that's untrue, Ellie knew she wouldn't be able to pull the trigger on Abby if it came to it.

Abby raises an eyebrow, disbelieving her answer but surprised regardless. "But where's the fun in that gorgeous? Seeing the life drain out of their eyes..." She trails off, clicking her tongue.

"So why'd you come here? Rub it in my face you survived? Have my shooters head in a box for me or something? Kill me? What's your angle Anderson?" Ellie leans in slightly, her head cocking to the side as she takes in Abby's massive figure.

Abby again lets out one of those pretty chuckles with a shake of her head, "So little faith. I just came to get you to tell me why the fuck you think you can kill me? Do you want my guys to come after yours? That would start a full blown war." The way Abby scolds Ellie sends a rush between her legs, pressing them together behind the desk while keeping up the act.

"A war started the moment you bashed in my father's head" Ellie presses her palms into the desk harder, hearing the wood creak under the pressure of her ange and horniness.

Abby leans in slightly with an innocent little grin, "So that's what it's about? You miss your daddy, do you now?" The way her lips pout with fake sympathy is so demeaning, making Ellie feel like a child. It's a turn on that she didn't know she had.

"Fuck. You" Ellie speaks through her teeth, "Is that all or is there something else you came here for?"

Abby smirks, eyes glossing up and down with a smirk before taking an inhale of air. "Normally when someone turns on me, I'd just take them out back and shoot them" She takes out her revolver, inspecting it in her palm before gently resting it on the desk, "But you're not just anyone, are you now?"

"What's your game here Anderson? If you're gonna shoot me, do it" The auburn haired woman barks as she sulks back in her skin, arms crossing with a hesitant look. While attempting to remain strong, it's getting harder to deny that pull.

Abby shakes her head a negative, "Such an attitude" Soon enough Abby's strong hands are gripping the sides of Ellie's cheeks, pressing them together and pulling the girl inches away from her face. "Almost like you're begging for me to fuck it out of you"

The breath from Ellie's lungs is almost vacuumed up in the whirlwind of emotions. The second heartbeat between her legs grows stronger and it has the strong woman melting in Abby's hands, "Tell me you want me" She whispers softly into Ellie's ears.

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me alrea-" As Ellie snaps back at Abby, their lips smash together in what's probably years of pent up sexual frustrations with one another. The forbidden fruits of having one another. Adam eating the apple that's now evident in every man's throat you glance, a reminder of shame.

"Clothes. Off. Now" Abby grits between kisses, nodding her head to the leather couch in Ellie's office. Quickly, she starts to take off her suit jacket, button up, and pants, watching as Abby undresses her top half too. "All of it" She adds when Ellie stopped at just her underwear.

Laying back on the couch, Ellies body is masked by Abby's. The blonde leaning over Ellie with their lips meeting once more. Their kiss is rushed, tangled in each others limbs, breath fanning face. It's a mess of a spectacle straight out of every disgusting straight man's dream porno.

For once Ellie doesn't have to hold a high standard of control. For once she's able to just lay back and let someone take the wheel. She feels small, buck ass naked underneath Abby, in her bra and slacks. "Abby-" Ellie grits between her teeth as the blonde sucks purple bruises into the pale flesh of her neck. Abby's hands not going where she needs them most, staying on her waist, hips and boobs but never traveling below the belt. It's tortue, a worse pain than being shot.

"Yes gorgeous girl?" Abby smirks against her skin while her hands trace up and down Ellie's side. "What is it?" Her kindness is simply a smoke screen as she pinches Ellie's neglected and sensitive nipple, causing her to whine while arching into Abby's huge hands.

There's a pathetic look on Ellie's brow. The way she's so desperate and on the verge of tears behind the stare that would have Abby dead if looks could kill. "I swear to fucking god- oh" A moan cuts Ellie's bitching off as soon as Abby's lips wrap around her breast. "Shit- just like that"

That cocky look on Abby's face would normally be enough for Ellie to walk away. If only the way that the blonde made her crumble in a way nobody had was enough to keep Ellie in her place, back arching into Abby's skilled pleasure.

Soon enough Abby's large finger pushes its way into Ellie, the stretch enough to almost fill her with a single digit. Melodic moans fill the room as Abby takes her time, curling her finger and simply applying pressure to that particular spot every lesbian knows of. Pressure builds in Ellies core, a sort of tension building up on the verge of snapping as Abby continues to suck her tits.

"Keep-" Abby's sharp voice barks at Ellies uncooperative hips, pushing her down so her body is flush to the couch, "Keep still- stop your fucking squirming or I'll leave. You understand?" Ellie nods quick, her neck bobbing up and down but that's not enough for her, "Fucking say it!"

The feeling of Ellie's orgasm fades into the abyss, causing a sob to leave from deep in her throat. "I understand- FUCK!" Tears physically soak her cheeks at this point, she yelps with the feeling of Abby's finger leaving her pussy, watching her side down.

Abby sucks a bruise into her thigh, with a slap to the red mark, causing Ellie to squirm. "Good girl. That's a good fucking girl" Abby's praise makes the torture almost worse, what's actually worst is the slow kisses around where Ellie wants her the most. It's ticklish but also so fucking hot.

That's when, finally like a gift from a higher being, Abby's lips find her clit and start to suck hard, almost biting her bud. Ellie screams and tries to wiggle away but the flex in Abby's shoulders and arms keep her there. The blonde doesn't even take time to say anything, eyes shut as she takes her time eating Ellie like she's her last meal on earth. At this rate, Ellie might shoot her if she doesn't cum so it very well may be.

The pressure builds and builds and builds till Ellie is breathless and unable to say a word. She can't even communicate herself, the whines and heavy breaths stop all words from forming. It's enough to boost Abby's ego for the rest of their lives. Ellie's nimble fingers tap the Abby's bicep, starting to squeeze as her legs clamp and shake like mad.

That orgasm flushes over Ellie like a truck, like nothing ever felt before. Abby takes a minute to finish what she started before pulling back to breathe, "You did so well, such a good slut" Abby sits down at ellie's feet, pulling the shaking girls legs into her lap to give a few tight squeezes in a massage.

Ellie takes her time to catch her breath with a stupid grin plastered on her cheeks. No thoughts till Abby speaks up again,

"So... about the drive by... was that your way of a booty call?"

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millermenapologist · 8 months ago

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From a purely personal point of view, I think that the most disappointing part of the show is just how wrongly they handled Tess' death. In the game, she's killed by FEDRA soldiers, and that's important to further establish Joel's character and his decision to save Ellie in the end.

To put it simply: for Joel Miller, humanity is the enemy. Humans took his daughter, his brother, and now his partner too. He has seen and has been the worst of humanity, and Tess' death only serves as a further reminder that no one deserves saving.

By the time they get to Salt Lake and Marlene reveals that the doctor is going to murder Ellie to create the vaccine, there's simply no other way for Joel to see the world. His decision to save Ellie isn't caused only by his love for her, but also by the deep hatred and rejection for other humans he developed in the past twenty years and that keeps being reaffirmed.

Compare this to Ellie's view of things: the reason why she's desperate to make her immunity matter is because all her loved ones were taken by infected (Riley, her Mom, even Sam was murdered because he turned), while she was always able to find refuge in humans (Marlene somewhat taking care of her, Joel as a whole, Tess pushing Joel to bring her to the Fireflies). For the entirety of the trip, she faces time and time again how horrible humanity is, but that's the humanity she has always known, so it's impossible for her to wager just how bad things are. She just knows that people were able to live in peace with one another, then the infected came, and everything went to shit. In her mind, if you take the infected out of the equation, everything's going to become okay again.

Tess' ghost lingers throughout the entire plot, playing a very different role for Joel and for Ellie. For the former, she's a reminder of the absolute disgrace humanity turned into, for the latter, she's yet another person who was murdered because she got infected.

The show completely eliminating FEDRA from that scene weakens the depiction of Joel's character, how his entire life was ruined by people in the apocalypse, rather than the apocalypse itself.

#the last of us #joel miller #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller character analysis #tess servopoulos #tlou yap

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ladyloveandjustice · 5 months ago

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So the reason I was rewatching ATLA in the thros of my sickness was because I watched Big Joel's breakdown of the live action series and areas where it failed and didn't make sense and it made me want to rewatch the cartoon again.

I went ahead and watched the Big Joel video because I figured I wasn't going to watch the rest of the live action series at this point--(it's fun to yell at it with friends but also it's probably better to take those opportunities to watch something we actually like. 3 episodes is enough of a chance, and the only scene I liked out of that was the stupid little fight where Aang threw plates at Zuko)....and man, now I'm definitely not going to watch the series.

There really did just drain away Katara's entire personality and her agency. I honestly don't understand why adaptations are so afraid of letting her be the angry, stubborn, opinionated person she is in the show. I mean I know why, sexism. It's like writers cannot fathom a girl being nurturing and kind while also having a hot temper and being passionate and outspoken. She's not a hard character to get! But they cannot hold those two concepts in their brain at the same time! It's really sad!

But there are two points that really get me

--they...they seriously have Aang agree with Paaku's sexism towards Katara. When she tells him about it he's like "well maybe you shouldn't fight" It's apparently there for in plot reasons like blabla the spirit just told him the avatar should work alone and he's scared his friends will get hurt but I don't care. no. I don't want to see Aang being a tool like that. I don''t think in the original series there's actually any situation where he'd diminish her ability to fight or side with the systemic oppression of women, and there definitely isn't any situation where Katara would silently take it lying down. She'd have kicked Aangs ass (verbally) (perhaps accidentally physically considering what her waterbending does when she's angry) and honestly, I think her trust towards him would have broken so badly it would have been really hard to repair. But that didn't happen, because like Joel said, Aang isn't a dweeb and he respects Katara, and Katara is his equal who wouldn't take that shit.

--They have Iroh excuse his actions at Ba Sing Se (to a guy who's brother was murdered in the battle) with "it was war, we were soldiers". This is played straight, like Iroh is in the right, not as a character flaw to be explored- we're supposed to think Iroh is right to say that. Like he wasn't the GENERAL of the army trying to invade and colonize a city? It wasn't war, it was violent imperialism and people defending their home. How the hell do you misunderstand that. The original show never had Iroh make excuses. The original show wasn't afraid to demonstrate Iroh was a pretty monstrous person when he was leading the invasion- his casual joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground in that flashback is so jarring coming from Iroh, supposed to make us see how even he was unbelievably cruel at one point, even he was part of the system of imperialism, but it took his son's death for him to change. And he did change, he started questioning and working against the system he once upheld, and dedicate himself to taking care of Zuko.

But he was a war criminal, and he knows that! I think that's in part why he wanted Zuko to take the throne, he knows someone who did what he did shouldn't be in charge. I think the Iroh we know in the show would have understood if someone who's family member died in that battle was angry at him for starting it. I think he's equally angry at himself, holds himself responsible for his son's death in a battle he commanded and could have refused to fight, and that his son's death is what made him realize what he was inflicting on others.

It's such a stupid decision and shows the writer doesn't have a single thought in their head about imperialism or Iroh's character, that they don't even understand it. incredible.

So yeah, those things alone are enough to not make me want to watch this show. The thing with Iroh shows a disdain for the core themes of the show, and Katara and Aang being stripped of what made them good characters, but even just active characters....nah not for me. I will continue watching reaction videos and breakdowns though, love that stuff.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #live action adaptation

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whxtedreams · 4 months ago

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Chapter 16: Crawl Home to Them

Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)

Summary: You fight tooth and nail to get back to Joel and Tommy, but not everything goes to plan.

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags: Loss, grief, violence, blood and injury, pain induced visions/flashbacks, descriptions of injury, captivity

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3

Chapter 16: Crawl Home to Them

The hours pass slowly as the sun rises and falls through the sky, and you remain sitting by your father's side, anxiously awaiting Joel's return.

But Joel never comes.

Slowly, an intrusive, painful thought begins to creep into your mind: he must be dead. In the absence of any other logical explanation, you find yourself settling on that as the only plausible reason why he hasn't returned to your side.

You sit on the steps of the cabin, your hair covered in a thin layer of snow, the blood from your father's killer drips down the staircase and stains your jeans, soaking into the fabric. The bitter cold seeps into your body, but you hardly notice.

You sit still, fixated on the sight of your father slowly being buried under the falling snow. The white flakes gently descend upon his unmoving form, blanketing him in a cold, unforgiving embrace.

As the sky lightens once again, you kneel beside your father and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He’s so cold.

You shiver as you remove the jacket from your own back, carefully laying it over him in a silent gesture of love and farewell.

The journey back home is a grueling one, marked by the cold and the solitude that surrounds you. Every rustle of leaves or crunch of snow under your feet sends a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through your body, your heart racing in fear that someone else is lurking in the shadows, waiting to kill you just like they had with your dad.

With Joel.

As you finally reach the familiar surroundings of home, you are met with a horrifying sight: bodies of the dead scattered everywhere, filling the air with a putrid stench of death. The very essence of what once provided you with a sense of security and belonging is now tarnished, and a wave of grief and despair washes over you, breaking something deep within your soul.

Desperate for a response, you call out Tommy's name as you enter through the front door, but only silence greets you. With fear and worry building within you, you shout for both Tommy and Joel, hoping to hear their voices or see a familiar sign of life.

The stark contrast between your recent carefree morning spent solving puzzles with Tommy and the horrific scene now laid out before you is jarring. The remnants of the puzzle you had been working on earlier are scattered across the floor, their colorful pieces now stained with blood. Your father's favorite mug sits silently on the coffee table, waiting for his return.

But he’s not coming back.

Overwhelmed by a wave of grief and despair, you collapse to the floor, a heart-wrenching sob wracking your body. Your mind is flooded with the painful realization that you've lost your father, that Joel's fate is uncertain, and that you have no idea where Tommy is. The thought of being utterly alone in the world envelops you, leaving you feeling lost and vulnerable.

The onslaught of emotions becomes too intense to bear, leaving no space for any other thoughts or sensations to register in your mind.

You don’t hear the grunts as someone wakes.

You don’t hear footsteps on the stairs.

You don’t hear the person behind you.

Caught off guard, you hardly hear the presence behind you until their rough hand grips your hair and forcefully throws you to the ground. The shock and pain momentarily cut through the fog of despair, leaving you disoriented and confused.

In that moment, as you lay on the ground, a realization dawns upon you suddenly. You understand now why your father had insisted on keeping your hair short over the years.

You had hated every time he picked up those rusted scissors, the sound of them snipping through your hair ringing in your ears. Each time, you would feel a pang of annoyance and frustration, wishing your hair could be longer, like the girls in the old torn magazines you would sneak glances at.

As you are dragged across the floor, your cries escaping your lips, a profound sense of longing wells up within you. You yearn for the days when you were safe in your father's embrace, his gentle touch on your hair, and the sound of his soothing voice telling stories about the life that once was.

How you wished to be back in that place, engulfed in his embrace, far away from the nightmare that envelops you now.

The man's words seep through the fog of your thoughts, and you catch fragments of his grumbling about Tommy. He roughly pulls you into the kitchen and pushes you onto the circular dining room table, causing the remaining plates from your morning breakfast to crash to the floor in a loud symphony of shattering ceramic.

Desperation fuels your actions as you struggle against your captor, your hands desperately trying to peel away the hands grasping your hair. Your legs kick and thrash wildly, making contact with his stomach and then finding their mark with a well-aimed kick to his groin. The man curses and loosens his grip, creating an opening for you to land another kick to his face, causing him to stagger back momentarily.

With a gasp of pain, you roll off the table and land heavily amongst the shattered remnants of broken plates and mugs. The cuts from the shattered ceramic slice into your skin, the pain searing through your body. Undeterred, you push yourself up, gritting your teeth against the agony that lances through your limbs. You clamber awkwardly over the side table that separates the kitchen from the dining room, desperate to put some distance between yourself and the man.

You hear the man's curses ring out as you crawl across the wooden floor, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the approaching threat. The rough texture of the wood digs into your skin, mingling with the sharpness of the shattered ceramic. You can feel the warm trickle of blood as it flows from the open wounds on your hands and knees.

Amongst the chaos and fear, your attention is drawn to the motionless body of a woman slumped against the cabinets that line the wall. A chilling sight, you see one of Tommy's knives deeply embedded in her chest. With trembling hands, you pull the knife free, your blood mixing with hers.

The sound of glass and porcelain being crushed under his heavy boots resonates through the room as the man hauls himself over the side table. His weight landing heavily sends a rumble of tremors through the floor, echoing the impending danger that looms closer. Your heart pounds in your chest as you make eye contact with him.

The man eyes the knife in your trembling grip, a sly smile crossing his features as he points at it mockingly. "And what do you think you're going to do with that?" he sneers, his voice dripping with condescension.

A flicker of fear and uncertainty dances across your face as the man's challenging words hang in the air. For a brief moment, the thought of taking another life, of watching someone else succumb to your actions, sends a wave of trepidation through your soul.

Your instincts scream at you to turn and face your pursuer, but instead, you pivot on your heel and flee in the opposite direction, hurtling down the hallway and bursting into Tommy's room. The man follows in hot pursuit, closing the distance between you at an alarming speed.

Despite his messy tendencies, Tommy's room is packed with an array of supplies. Weapons, ammo, and explosives are discreetly hidden amongst the clutter, a testament to Joel’s practical and wary nature. Joel's familiar sighs of disapproval echo in your mind whenever he entered the room, his subtle way of expressing irritation and concern over his brother's habits.

You recall the memory of sitting on Tommy's bed, your expression turned to a disapproving frown just like Joel’s as you took in the untidy state of his room. The floor was covered with discarded clothes, empty bottles and stray scraps of metallic objects, creating a chaotic scene that clashed with your own tidy habits.

Tommy had sat behind you on the bed, a frown of concentration on his face as he attempted to braid your hair. A tattered book sat in his lap; its pages filled with detailed instructions for braiding techniques. Despite his determined expression, the results of his efforts were far from perfect, leaving you both frustrated and amused.

You had asked him, curiously, why he kept his room in such a messy state. He had chuckled lightly before he dropped your half-braided hair, and as you turned to face him, he replied, “We’re safe here, but you never know when something might happen. It could be someone breaking in or even Joel going through my things. I never know when I might need something to defend myself with. I threw a book at Joel last week when I woke up to him going through my drawers… again. I keep telling him if he wants my magazines so bad, all he has to do is ask”

“What magazines?”

He paused. “Never mind.”

After that, you kept your own floor messy, much to Joel’s disgust.

You scramble into the room, but the man follows closely behind, his weight crashing down upon you as you fall onto the pile of Tommy's clothes from the previous night. With your hand reaching out in desperation, you clutch the nearest bottle, swinging it upwards with all your might as he turns you onto your back. The bottle connects with the man's face, shattered glass flying in all directions as you plunge the knife into his shoulder.

As the man reels in agony from the shattered glass, his shouts of anger and threats of death fill the air as he pulls the knife from his body. You scramble away from beneath him, your hand reaching out for the nail bomb sitting in front of the dresser. Just as your fingers close around the cold tin can, the man grabs your ankle and tugs you back forcefully. In a desperate act, you lash out with your free foot, landing a powerful kick to his face, buying you enough time to grab the nail bomb.

Escaping from the room, you leap over the man's grasping hands and rush out the front door, heart pounding with adrenaline. In your haste, a misplaced step on the stairs causes you to stumble and fall face-first into the cold, soft snow as your blood stains it red.

The man emerges from the house, his seething anger evident in every line of his face. Tommy's knife glints menacingly in his hand as he points it towards you, the blade still stained with blood.

The man's voice cuts through the tension-filled air as he scoffs, his words laced with condescension. "You little shit. That's not a toy, put it down, kid" he warns, taking a step closer towards you. In response, you instinctively take a step back, creating some distance between you.

The man stops in his tracks as you raise the nail bomb in your hand, a flicker of caution crossing his face. “One more step and I throw it,” you threaten, your voice trembling slightly.

"You throw it, we both die," the man cautions, but your expression remains stoical.

A standoff ensues, with you still standing at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up at him as he looms menacingly above. His gaze locks onto yours, his expression a mixture of anger and determination, silently challenging your resolve.

With a sudden lunging motion, the man hurls himself forwards, closing the distance between you rapidly. In a split-second decision, you make a desperate toss, throwing the nail bomb right at him. The bomb arcs through the air, its explosive potential ticking away as it hurtles towards its target.

The nail bomb detonates in a fiery explosion, throwing you backwards with a violent force. You tumble through the snow, your body a rag doll in the impact, as you cry out in pain. The world spins around you, disorienting your senses, and you feel your body grow heavy and still in the cold white embrace of the snow.

Cold air rips at your chest as you gasp for breath, each desperate inhalation chilling your lungs. As you look down, you see the nails and fragments of metal are embedded deep within your body. Your voice breaks out into agonizing screams, crying as your body trembles.

In between the waves of pain, your thoughts flicker to the hope of being rescued. You fervently wish for either Tommy or Joel to hear your cries and come to your aid, carrying your broken body to safety. In the back of your mind, you can almost hear their voices chiding you for being careless, worry and concern lacing their words as they tenderly tend to your injuries.

Your head lolls to the side, and through the haze of pain and tears, you see the man lying motionless in the snow. Yet, the image that forms in your mind is not the man, but your father.

As time loses meaning, you find yourself drawn irresistibly to the river that flows in front of the house. With each painful inch, you crawl and pull your aching body toward the river's edge, determined to meet your fate in its familiar embrace.

The images from your memory play out vividly in the river's rippling surface. You see your dad laughing heartily as he teases Tommy for looking like a drowned rat. And beside you, Joel, sits with a book in one hand, his other hand tenderly running through your hair, soothing.

Your mind, foggy with pain, struggles to separate the past from the present. It feels as if you can truly feel the touch of Joel’s hand, a calming presence offering comfort. But even in your delirium, you know that it's mere illusion, a figment of your wounded imagination, offering temporary solace in the face of your agony.

The sound of shouting in the distance reaches your ears, and during your torment, you twist your head away from the river. Tears well up in your eyes as you hear Joel and Tommy.

Two figures appear from the trees, and seeing them, you cry out desperately, your voice choked with pain and fear. Your heart races as you hope and pray that it's the brothers, that they have come to rescue you.

A soft touch tenderly cradles your cheeks, and as the tears clear, you see Joel's face hovering above you. Relief floods through you, his familiar features offering a small comfort during your pain.

“She could be bitten, Beck,” Tommy says, and a frown creases your brow in confusion. Something is not right; this voice doesn't sound like Tommy.

Why is he calling Joel Beck?

“Do you see any infected, Wade? Take a look around you, they tried to kill a kid.” The confusion deepens as a voice you don’t recognize as Joel's speaks, but the tone and timber are wrong. It’s not the deep, gruff voice you know so well.

Despite the pain, you muster the strength to call out his name, your hand reaching out instinctively towards the figure before you. But the smooth, delicate skin that meets your touch feels completely wrong, lacking the gruff, calloused texture of Joel's hands.

This isn’t Joel.

Your eyes blink, trying to focus and make sense of the scene unfolding before you. The world blurs and shifts as the comforting visage of Joel's face vanishes, replaced by a woman's delicate features. Confused and dizzy, you struggle to comprehend the sudden change in your surroundings.

Pain shoots through your body as you attempt to move away, and the woman grips your arms, holding you firmly in place. Frantic and desperate, you thrash and struggle, tears streaming down your face, trying hopelessly to break free from her grip.

Her voice is soft, trying to soothe you with reassurances of assistance. But in your pain and confusion, you don't want their aid. The only names that swirl in your mind, like a mantra of comfort, are Joel's and Tommy's.

The man's voice registers in your pain-filled consciousness, his words sinking in. "She doesn't want to come with us," he says, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. The woman shakes her head.

The woman's determination is evident in her tone as she retorts, "I'm not going to leave a kid out here to die alone." Your heart races in fear as she speaks, and before you can protest, the man moves towards you. With little effort, he lifts you off the ground, and you are helpless to do anything against his hold.

The last thing you think of before you pass out in the strangers’ hold, is how different he feels compared to Joel. Joel, gruff and protective, would cradle you close, his grip strong and comforting.

This man feels cold and unfamiliar, and you hate it.

The steady rumbling of the car beneath you lulls you out of unconsciousness, and your eyes slowly flutter open, catching glimpses of the silvery moonlight that filters through the car's windows. The pale light casts a gentle glow inside the vehicle, causing you to squint as your senses gradually return.

The slightest attempt to move sends waves of pain coursing through your body, and you wince as you look down at the unfamiliar clothes you're wearing. You notice the bandages covering various parts of your body, evidence that someone has tended to your injuries.

Caught in a haze of pain and confusion, your voice rasps weakly as you murmur Tommy's name. Fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you take in the strange environment around you, completely different from anything you recognize.

The unexpected touch of a stranger's hand on yours jolts you back to reality. Instinctively, you recoil, yanking your hand away as if burned by the contact.

The woman's soothing words fall on deaf ears as your distrust and fear take over your thoughts. “You're safe,” she insists, “We won't hurt you." But the promises mean little to you in your current state of unease.

How can you trust the intentions of strangers?

Your body, battered and exhausted, cries out in pain, yet the soft plush seats of the car beckon you back towards sleep. The desire to rest, to ease the aching, overpowers your fear, and slowly, your eyelids grow heavy with the weight of weariness.

As sleep starts to claim you once more, your lips barely move, forming the names of Joel and Tommy, a silent plea for their presence and comfort. With each mumbled syllable, your voice grows weaker, until finally, you succumb to unconsciousness, enveloped in the deep embrace of sleep once more.

As you come to awareness, your bleary eyes take in the dimly lit surroundings. There are no windows in sight, only grey cobblestone walls which reflect the dancing light of candles that cast flickering shadows in the room.

Your eyes survey the cramped room, the bed you lay on like an island in the middle of the mess. Medical supplies are scattered on tables that line one wall. On the opposite wall, bookcases stand tall, filled with tomes and books that are surprisingly well-preserved.

Your voice, hoarse and raw, whispers Joel's name into the silent room, hoping for an answer or a familiar face to appear. You attempt to sit up, but your movements are hindered by the wires and needles that protrude from your skin, keeping you in place. Worse still, you realize that your wrists are handcuffed to the bed, firmly restraining you against your will.

Panic wells up within you as your eyes fix on the handcuffs. You pull at them with all your strength, straining against their unyielding restraint. Despite your efforts, the metal digs into your skin, the unforgiving handcuffs holding you captive.

“Good to see you’re finally awake.” A man's voice slices through the silence from the darkened corner of the room. It startles you, making your eyes dart towards the source of the words. Your heart pounds in your chest, dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you try to make out the man's features in the shadows.

The man emerges from the shadows, revealing his appearance under the dim candlelight. He is in his early thirties, his face marked by a deep scar that slashes across his forehead. His clean-shaven face and hardened features give him an intimidating aura, and you instinctively shrink away from him, warily watching his every move.

The man's apology is a sharp contrast to his intimidating appearance, and his chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. He gestures towards the handcuffs, "Sorry 'bout those," he says, his tone laced with mild amusement. "We didn't want you hurting yourself when you woke up in a strange and dark place."

“Where am I?” You say.

He leans against the medical table, pushing up the sleeves of his black button-up as he looks down at you without answering right away. He seems to be studying you, assessing your condition in the dim light. The silence between your question and his response stretches out, causing your heart to race with anticipation.

“Where am I?” You repeat yourself.

With a smile, the man spreads his arms, gesturing around the room as if presenting a prized possession. "We call it The Refuge," he says. His words sound almost comical, given the bleak and cramped surroundings. It's hardly a refuge but a place of confinement.

You can't help but scoff at the man's words, rattling your handcuffs once more. The metal links rub against each other, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room. "Doesn't seem like a refuge to me," you retort, your voice dry and filled with sarcasm.

A short laugh escapes the man's lips as he listens to your words. He pushes off from the table and saunters over to your bed, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. The metal keys jangle as he twirls them around his index finger, the sound adding to the tension in the room.

The man stops beside your bed, keys dangling from his raised hand. He quirks an eyebrow at you, his gaze scrutinizing your face. "Are you going to try and run if I uncuff you?" he asks, his voice a mix of caution and mild amusement. He holds the keys up, making the metal jingle once more as he waits for your response.

You consider your options, the desire to escape overwhelming you. In your mind, you yearn to be back home with Joel and Tommy, where you feel safe. But, as you take stock of the pain that still courses through your body, you realize that attempting a dash for freedom would be foolish. Not only would it be painful, but you doubt you could even make it to the door, let alone leave the room without collapsing.

So, you shake your head.

The man's smile softens as he moves closer, stepping up to the side of the bed. He brings the keys to your wrists, the metal clinking as he searches for the right key. With a click, the cuff on your left hand comes undone, the man moving around the bed to do the same to your other hand. The cold metal slips off, freeing your wrists from its vice-like grip.

The man pulls the chair closer to your bedside, its legs screeching against the stone floor, before plopping down into it with a sigh. He sits down, leaning back with a casual nonchalance that is at odds with your dire situation. "I was surprised when my brother told me they brought in a kid," he says, his tone tinged with curiosity. "We don't see a lot of you anymore, let alone in the state you were in. You really put up a fight."

You glower at the man, your teeth grinding together as you process his words.

The man continues to speak, his voice unnervingly calm as he mentions that there are a few couples inquiring about you, interested in taking you in. Your heart clenches at the thought, and you shake your head fiercely, a wave of fresh panic washing over you. The thought of being placed with strangers, in a new place without Joel or Tommy, is too much to bear.

"I’m not staying here," you assert, your words edged with a hint of defiance. "They'll come looking for me," you add, the certainty in your voice masking the fear that lurks beneath.

"Joel and Tommy, right?" he asks, and your eyes widen, both horrified and relieved that he seems to know who you're talking about. "You mumble in your sleep," he explains with a chuckle.

The man's tone shifts from nonchalant to one of sorrow and understanding as he speaks, his expression becoming serious. "Listen kid," he begins, his words heavy with a sadness you can almost feel. "I don't want to give you bad news, but they're dead." The sudden declaration leaves you stunned, your heart plummeting at the thought that Joel and Tommy are gone. "My brother checked the resort, there was no one left alive."

“You’re lying.”

The man's lips twitch into a small, sympathetic smile and he leans forward, patting your arm. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

The man rises from his chair, his presence no longer looming over you. Your eyes remain downward, refusing to meet his gaze as tears begin to blur your vision.

The man walks towards the door, pausing for a moment to look back at you. "A nurse will be by shortly to check on you," he says, his voice gentle. "Once you're up to it, I'll make sure you're put with someone to care for you. Who knows, you might find you like this place." The words seem hollow and empty as he leaves the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in your ears.

You can feel the hot, salty tears streaming down your face, staining your skin. Your eyes flutter shut, refusing to accept the harsh reality the man told you. You cling to the belief that Joel and Tommy are alive, that they will find you and bring you home to safety. The tears keep falling as you silently pray that your hope isn't misplaced.

And if they don’t come for you, you’ll crawl home to them.

Click here for Chapter 17- Comming soon

Notes

Sorry for the wait, I’ve been sick and have not had the energy to write this chapter. It’s heavy, so I had to be in the right mindset for it. I’m anxious about fight scenes, but I tried! Also there’s one more chapter left of part two! Then we move on to part three! I’m excited to write the new part!

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @sunandmuun , @rain-soaked-sun, @frootloops1213 , @samarav , @geralallfandoms , @joelmillersblog , @severussimp , @kitdjarin1 , @yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @justanotherteen12 @lils-1979 @elisha-chloe , @faith-alons26 , @ayedomino0 , @yellowismyfavcolor

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tommy miller #pedro pascal

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softpascalito · 6 months ago

Text

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 3 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: very excited for this chapter because you guys finally get to see what a big part of fic will deal with. keeping everyone who reads on in my prayers <3 (you'll need it)

i've also added a small playlist for this fic. in case you'd like to dive in the link is above!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 3 - The Sky

‘‘The sky here’s very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what’s behind.’ ‘But what is behind?’ Her voice was very small. ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.’’

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

The body is resting against the only intact wall of the cabin, to Joel's left. Propped up next to the fireplace, the scene around it leaving no doubt about the finality of it. Blue hair drenched in red, thick liquid pooling below and running through the crevices of the weathered and beaten wood.

He barely registers Tommy’s footsteps behind him nor that they come to a sudden halt.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

Joel is the one that steps forward, kneeling down next to the fireplace, his hand gently reaching out to touch the pale skin of her hand. “She’s already cold. Must’ve been a few hours,” he whispers, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

“We need to alert the others. What if these guys are already at the gates? Maria has no clue-”

“Tommy-” Joel gently tries to stop the rambling of his brother, but he can't bring himself to take his eyes off her. But the other man is barely listening, his feet shuffling anxiously as he reaches for his rifle.

“Joel, goddamn it, I mean it. Get up. They may be waiting for the moment to attack-”

“There is no attack,” Joel says, again, and his voice feels too calm for what he’s implying.

He stalls for a moment, the realization coming to him that he’s gotten too good at this. He’s gotten too good at being in the presence of death, likely better than he ever has been in the presence of people.

He carefully leans forward, using his free hand to gently push the fabric of her hoodie out of the way, glancing down at the wound and giving a small nod. He doesn't need to see the way Tommy’s shoulders fall. He feels the air shift as his brother comes to the conclusion Joel has found much faster. They both know why he got there quicker. Takes one to know one.

“Why would she-” Tommy breaks off, turning his gaze away from the thing he doesn't understand. “I don't know,” Joel mutters under his breath. It hasn't hit him yet, the full force of what this means. Of the consequences it will draw. “We need to get her back to Jackson.” But he can’t really focus on that. Not when he has your best friend’s lifeless body next to him without a clue where you are.

“Do you think-” There's a heavy pause. “Did she do this alone?” Tommy asks, placing his rifle next to the door and beginning to look around the cabin for something useful.

Joel immediately knows what he's asking. But he shakes his head. “I don't think she would have- There's no sign anyone else was here.”

His head is spinning, screaming at him to do the one thing he knows. He needs to find you.

And then he doesn't. Because before they can even begin to move the body, he can hear hooves approaching outside. He recognizes the fast gallop of your horse even before you call their names.

“Lane?! Joel?! Tommy?!” Your lungs hurt from calling them. It was easy enough to follow the tracks, spurring your own horse on much more than you dared on any patrol so far. The mare almost seems relieved when you reach the two other horses and you slide off her back in one quick motion.

It's at the same moment that the door flies open, Joel crossing the small veranda in a few strides. You freeze in your tracks. “Where-?” The words die in your throat. Joel carefully makes his way towards you, his steps slow and controlled. Your eyes fly to his hands. They’re bloody. He has almost reached you when you find his eyes again. There is a gentleness in them that confuses you for a split second.

And then it all makes sense. You don't want the blood, you don't want that look in his eyes, you don't want any of it once you realize what it means.

“No.” Your voice comes out all wrong and you don't know if he heard you. If anyone can.

“It's okay. Come here,” Joel mumbles as he reaches you, carefully sneaking his arm around you. He tries to pull you close and he's not sure whether it's for your or his sake. Maybe both.

“No. Joel, where is she?”

He shushes you again, readying himself to catch you if your knees give out, his grip around you tightening ever so slightly.

Joel Miller has come to know you fairly well over the past years. At least he likes to think he does and you've rarely caught him off guard. But today you do.

“Where is she?!” Your knees don't give out. Not even close. They bend just enough for you to slip past the broad man in front of you, taking off with a run towards the door of the cabin.

It takes him a second to register what has happened. Then, he’s storming after you as fast as his legs will allow him.

“Tommy!” he yells out, hoping that if he won't be able to stop you, at least his brother will. But it's he who catches up with you just as you take the first step onto the veranda, roughly pulling you back by your arm, hard enough that it sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

He barely registers the way the wooden step digs into his ribs and knocks the air out of his lungs. Instead, his fingers stay tightly wrapped around your arm. “Fucking let go, Joel! Let me see her!”

He doesn't know what to say. He can't tell you that he simply can't. That it would stay with you forever, even more than this will anyway.

“Come here,” he just repeats weakly, bringing his other arm around to pull you in. One of your knees is bleeding, your jeans ripped open where you hit the floor with full force. Joel makes a mental note to clean the wound later.

Your body is trembling much harder than you thought possible as you let Joel pull you into his arms. It has nothing to do with the cold. You don't even feel like you're able to recognize temperature. An absurd concept, that your body would adjust to any of it, that it would ever stop shaking and trembling. Joel's arms feel like he's all around you, wrapping his body around yours, sheltering you from what is only a few feet away.

Your lungs that were burning just a minute ago seem to not be a part of you anymore. They in- and exhale in their own rhythm, one that feels too fast and too slow all at once. You hear Joel muttering into your ear, but you can't make out the words. Your cheeks are wet. You don't know why.

The world dissolves around you and you briefly wonder if you’re dying. It's not a shocking idea that gets you up and fighting. You wonder about death the same way you would about whether or not they have soap at the store. The world has almost gone dark when you realize you are not, in fact, dying. But, even as the strength leaves your muscles and you collapse against the body next to you, you are aware that something has.

***

You regain consciousness, just for a moment. There is a steady rise and fall around you and at first you think it's your lungs expanding and deflating. But as you open your eyes enough to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, they move. Up and down. Slow and steady.

You're on horseback, pressed against a broad chest that has to be Joel’s. His arms are pulling you tightly into him, keeping you upright, making sure you won't fall off. You don't think you could bring yourself to care. It probably wouldn't even hurt. In fact, every part of your body should hurt with the way you were running earlier, with how you fell onto the stairs, bone crunching as it took the blow to your side. But oddly enough, it feels like you're floating, like your mind is far away from your body and equally far away from Joel. There is a disconnect, a faulty wire. One that simmers, undetected, till it snaps one random afternoon and sets the whole house on fire.

You still feel like you’re drifting in and out of consciousness when the movement below you slows and you feel yourself being lifted down by strong, steady arms. They are a constant around you, a shield that protects you from what is beyond.

Word about your disappearances has traveled fast but not fast enough for no one to ask any questions. There have rarely been any runaways in Jackson, except for the occasional teenagers who usually show up again the day after- and the couple last year. The bodies Joel had found in the abandoned hotel. Why was he always the one to find them?

People approach, some calling out to the odd group arriving. Tommy leading both horses and shushing those who call out to them while Joel holds you close, staring down anyone who so much as tries to approach him.

“I’ll go and fetch Maria and we can-” Tommy pauses, his gaze wandering from his brother's face to the curled up body below it. He can't bring himself to say it. Not like this, not in front of you.

Joel gives a curt nod, understanding. “Tell Maria we're at my place. And-” A small sigh escapes his lips. “Make sure she arranges for a group immediately.”

The younger man swallows hard and turns away. Infected will happily devour any meat they're given, no matter if they've hunted it down themselves. He doesnt think he could bear going back and finding a scene like that. His steps speed up.

You only catch glimpses of the people around you, words being whispered, conversations being started and then abruptly breaking off. And you still feel light, so light that you think you could just float away, disappear into the blue until you’d reach the horizon and whatever lies beyond. But you're wrapped in the dark leather coat that keeps sliding off your shoulders, wrapped in Joel’s arms, and so it won't happen. He won't let you float away.

For all you know, all of the sounds and glimpses could be figments of your imagination, something like a dream or a fleeting memory of a book you’ve read as a child, one that you remember the cover and smell of, remember that it made you feel something, and yet, the story won't come to mind anymore. Above all, this can be, needs to be, something that is unreal. Because otherwise, you dont think you’ll be able to get through it.

You don't move. You let Joel carry you down Rancher Street, you let him nudge your head further into his chest as you realize you must be passing the corner of the graveyard. It seems impossible that you walked by it just a few hours ago, with your mind on the library and which exams to set and dinner this weekend. It all feels like a lifetime ago, a memory that doesn't belong to you but rather someone else.

The morning fog sunk back into the earth hours ago, the rays of the sun forcing it to clear. The sky above you feels close enough to touch, a vibrant and comforting shade of blue spanning from the tops of the wooden houses to the mountains in the distance.

You were just a baby when your father put up a swing in your backyard, strong ropes tied to the branch of an old oak tree. You must have heard the story a million times. Him, getting out his tools while you were watching from your blanket on the grass, not quite able to move your head on your own yet. But he insisted that your large eyes followed him around, contently staying where you were as he worked.

You didn't understand, when hearing him talk about it, why he'd build a swing for someone too small to play on it. It only set in years later that he'd simply been that excited to bring home a little daughter and build something for her and fill the backyard with children's and adults' laughter alike.

That evening, he put you on his lap, one arm securely wrapped around the tiny form that was your body then, gently moving both of you back and forth. You’d fallen asleep almost instantly.

It became your favorite spot, and the way he talked about it years after you had left the house and the garden behind, it had been his too. You loved kicking your feet or spurring your father on to push you harder, watching as your legs soared towards the blue sky.

It seemed to you, back then, that you were miles above the ground, imagining what it'd be like to let go and drift off into the sky, to go up, up, up until your house would be nothing more than a small square below you, surrounded by green.

Joel carries you into the living room. He doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. And he seems restless.

He gets on his knees in front of you, soft brown eyes taking in your face. You avoid meeting them, curling further into the couch. His lips are moving but you can’t hear what he says.

After a few moments pass, you can tell he’s waiting for a response so you nod, almost in slow motion. He seems satisfied with that, saying something else before getting dinner started. It probably smells good, but you don't think you know good anymore.

You get through two potatoes, a bit of salad and chicken before you push your chair back, hurrying down the hallway as Joel scrambles after you.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, falling to your knees in front of the toilet as your stomach begins emptying itself. A sharp pain shoots through the knee that collided with the stairs of the cabin earlier. At the thought of the cabin, another wave of sickness hits you. It's violent, the way your throat convulses, your body trying to empty itself of whatever is inside.

But there is no purging the things inside of you. The thoughts and the memories and the images- god, the images. Lane, hunched over a table. Lane, holding a knife while you make dinner. Lane, laughing. Lane, placing a gun to her head. Lane, crying.

The steady flow of scenarios provided by your brain is broken by another wave of nausea, even though this time it is just dry heaving, your stomach already empty. Your head is not.

You don't hear the rushed footsteps behind you, but you feel the calloused hands pulling your hair out of the way and rubbing your back.

“There you go, get it all out,” Joel coos quietly. It's not his fault. That he doesn't immediately connect the dots as you start sobbing, choking for air. The sobs, your lungs demanding air, your stomach blocking the way, clearly insistent on getting everything out of your system.

You’re positive that the noises coming out of your mouth do not sound like yourself or, for that matter, sound human at all. They're a mix of gasping and heaving, back and forth, as your fingers clench around the toilet seat so hard you feel like it may break.

Joel is very lost and very determined not to let you notice. He has never seen you in this much pain, not when he washed you in the bathroom upstairs nor when you were seconds away from being ripped apart by an Infected. He cannot know that on the first night spent with Lane you were hunched over a toilet just like this, throwing up the blueberry muffins that had been too much for your starved stomach to handle. He cannot know she held your hair like he holds it now, fingers firmly wrapped around it, occasionally sweeping a loose strand behind your ear.

You're not sure how long you sit there like this, the cold tiles uncomfortably pressing into Joel's already sore knees, when he carefully leans you against the wall as he fetches a few towels, letting the water run until it's warm, to wet one of them and wipe your face.

His eyes fly over your features, concern etched into every part of his face. You weakly try and raise your arm to take the towel from him, unwilling to just sit and watch. But he shakes his head firmly, his gaze determined. “Let me, okay? You just focus on breathing.”

As he reaches for another towel, you feel your empty stomach filling again. With a heavy, uncomfortable guilt, one you wish you could throw right back up. Tears shoot into your eyes again but this time Joel doesn't hesitate.

“What's going on? Tell me what you're thinking,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the side of your face as his other hand uses the towel to dab over your chin, carefully wiping the remainder of the vomit away.

“I wasted your food,” you half-whisper, your voice raw. Joel's face falls, for a moment.

“Nothing is ever wasted on you, you hear me?” he mumbles quietly, moving on to wipe your cheek. “I can always make more.”

He doesn't seem to mind that you cry again at that.

***

It must be past midnight when you wake up the next time. The room is only dimly lit now, and a blanket is tucked around you, your eyes facing the worn-out fabric of the couch Joel set you down on earlier. Earlier feels very far away.

You turn, slowly, glad to find that your stomach seems to decide to give it a rest for now. It still lurches slightly as you squint into the dining room, seeing two figures hunched over the wooden table.

“Joel?” you try to call his name, quietly, but your throat feels dry and the word turns into a cough instead. Your fingers rub your throat, willing it to calm down and relax, as Joel appears in front of you, kneeling down beside the couch and offering you a glass of water. You nod your thanks, using both hands to bring it to your mouth and take a few sips.

“Better?” He hums softly, taking the glass back. You give another nod. If he minds the non-verbal communication, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he turns around, returning with the glass refilled. You gratefully accept it again.

It's only after he's placed it onto the small coffee table that your eyes land on Tommy, leaning against the wooden column separating the two rooms as he watches the scene in front of him. He gives you a swift nod when your eyes meet and something that seems like it was supposed to be a smile but, given the circumstances, fails miserably.

Joel motions for him to come closer. “Come on, it's- have a seat.” Their eyes meet and they seem to communicate silently, no doubt continuing the conversation where they left off.

Tommy sits down. He shuffles his feet, his fingers anxiously tapping the lid of a plastic container that holds some food. Courtesy of Maria, no doubt. Joel takes the spot next to you on the couch and you inch towards him, glad for any kind of support even though you have no clue what is about to happen.

“We- We’re still trying to piece everything together,” Tommy says, his voice quiet and solemn. You tense ever so slightly, listening intently. You're not sure you want to know how or why or any of the other details that will undoubtedly make this more real.

“There was a note in- with her,” he goes on, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “She said she left you a letter, back at home.” Your eyes automatically fly to Tommy’s sides, half expecting him to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He seems to notice your train of thought.

“We're still going through her room, just to make sure- we just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did,” he finishes quietly. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you, but you just nod. Of course. Someone could’ve murdered her and staged it as a suicide. Somehow, that idea didn’t cross your mind. Maybe because you don't think anyone could ever truly hate Lane nearly enough to wish her harm or maybe simply because you already seem to feel in your stomach that her life ended on her own terms.

Joel and Tommy exchange a few glances until Joel awkwardly clears his throat and reaches out to take the plastic container from him. “I'll put this in the fridge.”

The younger brother keeps his eyes on you as you listen to Joel rummaging in the kitchen. His hand awkwardly reaches for your shoulder, hovering above it for a moment before patting it lightly. “I'm so sorry, kid.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you manage to press out, your own gaze fixed on the opposite wall. You don't want to see the look again, the same one Joel had back at the cabin. In fact, you think you may never want anyone to look at you ever again.

You're still staring at the same spot when the two men head towards the front door a few minutes later. Their voices are low and they must be standing half outside, if the cold creeping into the house is anything to go by. You know their words are not meant for your ears but you still stay absolutely still, listening.

“I’ll bring the letter by tomorrow, okay? Let her get it over with,” Tommy mumbles and you think you hear him shuffling his feet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that,” Joel responds, equally quiet. There is a moment of silence. They haven't had a moment to talk about all this, for Joel to consider if he of all people should be the one to take care of you.

Tommy seems to think along the same lines, even though you can't begin to guess the depth of their seemingly simple words.

“Are you okay to-?”

Joel gives a shaky nod. “Yeah, ‘ts fine. She needs someone and- Ellie’s staying with Dina for a few days, until we've figured things out.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say. He carefully takes in Joel's face, or at least what he can make out of it in the dim light of the porch. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his brother for a fleeting moment, a hand rubbing over the older man's back. “Either of you need anything, we're all here.”

His voice has dropped enough for you not to overhear the last part.

Maybe it's because Joel's own hearing is bad, but he doesn't seem to realize you've been listening when he comes back into the room a few moments later. “I'm sure they'll be done tomorrow. But we should all try and get some sleep now.” He takes a step towards you, gently running his hand over the top of your head. “I put some fresh sheets onto the bed upstairs while you were out. I don't want ya sleeping on the couch.”

You're too tired and exhausted to protest. Besides, you know it would be a waste of time. So you let him help you upstairs, let him wait right outside the bathroom door as you brush your teeth and let him tuck you into bed, the soft sheets a stark contrast against your dirty and scratched up skin. Joel looks down at you for a moment, his fingers tapping against his leg.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you jump onto the offer, nodding as you finally meet his eyes again. He looks concerned and sad and you hate that you're the cause of it. But you also want his company, more than anything.

Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you shortly afterwards. He’s changed into pajamas, made up of a pair of brown plaid pants and a cream-colored, worn shirt. Compared to you, he actually looks put together. You can see his outline beside you, the candle on his nightstand the only source of light left in the room. It gives everything a dim, orange glow, distantly reminding you of a sunset.

You're suddenly aware of how very heavy your head feels, far too heavy to be held up by your neck. There are too many thoughts in there, you think, they don’t have enough room to breathe. Or to make sense. The faulty wires are back. And they keep your synapses from connecting correctly. Nothing makes sense.

‘We just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did.’

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice comes out small and still, it seems too loud in the quiet around you.

“Anything,” comes the response, equally quiet even though Joel's voice sounds more steady than yours. You ponder your words for a few moments and you feel him shift beside you, propping his head up on one arm to get a better look at your face. “What is it, darlin’?”

“They brought her back to Jackson, right?”

Joel seems to consider his words for a moment, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Even in the dim light, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the stacked records in the corner instead.

“Why would someone go through all that trouble? Bringing her so far out?” The words coming out of your mouth seem as much a surprise to you as they are to Joel. You can hear him suck in a breath beside you. The mattress dips below his weight as he sits up.

“Can you look at me for a moment?”

You obey, turning your head and resting your cheek against your shoulder. You can see Joel's face above you. He looks like he's about to cry. You must be very tired, you think to yourself. Joel Miller doesn't cry.

Before your eyes and mind can drift away again, he swallows and speaks up again, the southern drawl in his voice more present than ever.

“Honey- No one made her go.”

His words are slow, carefully chosen. He knows he is treading a fine line here.

“She did it herself, darlin’.” A small frown has spread over his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “I told you earlier, downstairs. Don’t you remember?”

You shake your head, painfully aware that the gentleness in his tone is back, the same one he’s had earlier at the cabin. You think you know all the things he’s telling you, but you can’t recall Joel saying it. The picture of him in front of the couch appears before your eyes, but you can’t make out the words coming out of his mouth. Again, you find yourself surprised that you're the one who speaks instead.

“Did anyone check her?”

He pauses at that, the frown deepening. “What do you mean?”

You take a small breath, your fingers pulling at a loose thread of the sheets below you. “I mean, did they check if she's really-” You pull a little harder and the thread breaks, the thin piece of fabric remaining in your palm.

You wonder if they have wrapped her up yet. If someone’s put fresh clothes on her. If anyone has checked her pulse.

“What if she's not dead?”

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slightly more urgent now. “I saw her. And she's gone. I'm so sorry and I wish she wasn't and I know-” His voice comes dangerously close to breaking but he only gives a tiny shake of his head and presses on.

“I know how difficult this must be but you need to understand this. She's gone. She's not coming back.”

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

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punkshort · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter warnings: language, descriptions of violence, death, graphic description of dead bodies, angst, smut (m masturbation), sexual tension x a million

A/N: please tell me if I should use any additional tags/warnings on this story. Also this is the longest chapter yet, I knew when I wanted it to end but I kept adding more detail and more scenes as I wrote and it just got away from me oops

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

December 2003

Chicago, IL

The cold, bitter wind blew off the lake as you trudged through the snow. You had three layers underneath your thick jacket, but you were still freezing. You had forgotten just how cold it felt this close to the lake, but you kept eagerly pushing forward.

"I think I know where we are," you said excitedly to Joel, who had been unusually silent the past few miles. "There's this golf course a couple miles from my house, I think this is it."

"Can hardly see a thing out here," was all Joel said in response. You frowned, annoyed that he was bringing you down when you were finally starting to feel hopeful.

"What's wrong?" you asked, putting an arm out to stop him. He sighed and you watched as a puff of air leave his mouth then dance away on the wind before he turned to look at you.

"I'm just -" he stopped, rethinking his words. "I'm worried. If they ain't there, we need to go to the QZ, and I don't know if it'll be as easy to get out once we're in, like it was before." He paused before adding, "And I'm worried about you... if we don't find what you're expectin'."

"Don't be worried, I know it's a long shot. But I have to try. What else do I have?" You looked up at him through your eyelashes, dusted with snowflakes. You looked so beautiful that it took his breath away. He had to jam his fist into his pocket to keep himself from reaching out and cupping your face.

"You got me," he said, looking at you softly with his heart hammering in his chest. You inhaled sharply. He didn't mean it like it sounded. "We can go out west, see if we can find Tommy. It'll be warmer out there, too," he added nervously.

You could tell he was really trying, he looked anxious as he shifted his gaze to your surroundings, his hands fidgeting deeply in the pockets of his coat. You weren't even sure where you would even begin to look for Tommy, if that plan was even possible, but if he was willing to take you all this way to find your family, the least you could do is agree to try to find his.

"Yeah, okay," you said quietly. His fidgeting stopped, and he made eye contact with you again. "If I can't find my parents, that's a good plan. We can do that." You smiled reassuringly at him now, trying to ease his mind. He gave you a small smile in return and a quick nod, then looked back down at the snow, brushing his nose with the back of his gloved hand.

"Can we get moving, now? I'd like to get out of this cold soon," you said, stomping your feet lightly, trying to get more blood to circulate in your legs.

"Yeah, sure, let's get goin'," he said, and you headed across the golf course towards a wooded area in the distance. If this was the golf course you thought it was, then your neighborhood was just on the other side of those woods.

You made it to the outskirts of your neighborhood just before dusk. The familiar tree lined streets just a few blocks away from your house made your heart flutter in anticipation. You knew you shouldn’t get excited; you knew it was unlikely they would be there, or even leave any type of note telling you where they went, but you couldn’t help it. This was where you grew up, this was your home. Your memories were etched in these streets: learning how to ride a bike, falling out of the tree and breaking your arm in your best friend’s backyard, trolling the streets at night as teenagers thinking you were tough and cool. A part of you was excited to show your home to Joel, but you quickly stopped that line of thought. He was not your boyfriend you were bringing home to meet your parents. He was your boss who agreed to help keep each other safe these past few months.

You both approached your street as darkness wrapped around you. Joel insisted you survey the street for a while to see if there was any movement before giving away your position. You reluctantly agreed, ducking behind a house on the corner, until you saw light moving inside a house. Your house.

“Oh my god,” you said breathily, “that’s my house. Joel!” you latched onto his forearm, dragging his attention onto you, “My parents!” you gasped.

You lurched forward, but Joel’s hand yanked you back. You angrily spun around to face him.

“I know you’re excited,” he began, clenching both his hands on your shoulders, “but we don’t know if that’s them, it’s been a long time. I think we should wait- “

You cut him off, saying, “It’s got to be them, what are the chances? C’mon, Joel, please!” you begged, clutching his wrist. His gaze bore into yours as you held onto him, and again you whispered, “please,”.

He groaned, unable to deny you when you looked so sweet and adamant. “Alright, just give me a few minutes, let me think of a plan,” he replied, at which your face broke out in a huge smile, still grasping his hand in yours as you bounced on your heels.

“Sure, whatever, I just want to see them,” you replied, looking back at the lights moving around your living room. You couldn’t believe it; your parents were alive! Joel had tried to curb your expectations, but it wasn’t even necessary, they were there. They were right there!

You approached your house in the darkness, unable to keep the smile from your face as Joel led you quietly across the street. He rapped his knuckles three times on the door and pulled out his revolver as he stepped to the side, ready for hostility. When the door cracked open, it was not what either of you expected.

A man you didn't recognize peered out from around the corner. All you could see was his eye, but he looked terrified as he feverishly looked back and forth between you and Joel.

"Who are you?" he asked, the door still cracked.

"Who am I? Who are you?" you replied before thinking, "this is my house, what are you doing?"

The man faltered a moment and Joel stiffened on the other side of the door. "Are you armed?" the man asked nervously, unable to see Joel's revolver at his side.

"Goddamn right we are," Joel spoke up, his grip on the gun tightening, "you better start explain' yourself."

The man went to slam the door shut but Joel was anticipating it, shoving his boot in the doorway to stop him.

"Alright, alright, I don't mean any harm," the stranger said, opening the door up more and walking backwards with his hands in the air, "come in, I'm not armed, but please don't hurt us."

Us. You entered your living room. It looked the same, except some pieces of furniture were pushed closer together. You glanced up at the wall above the fireplace by habit, seeing your high school graduation photo still prominently displayed, then your eyes settled on a woman cowering in the corner of the room. She was taller than you and blonde, with wide blue eyes and bangs that brushed her eyebrows, and she was shaking with fear. You held your hand out to Joel and pushed his revolver gently towards the floor. He resisted until his gaze met the girl in the corner, and his arms went limp.

The man who answered the door stepped forward, and you noticed now he seemed much younger, maybe around you age. He kept his arms up in front of him as he stood in front of the woman, his eyes pleading.

"Please, we don't mean any harm, we are just looking for a safe place to stay." He repeated, his brown eyes anxiously shifting back and forth between you and Joel.

Joel met your eyeline, and you sighed. Obviously, your parents had moved on, which left you distraught, but these people were harmless.

"It's fine," Joel said, tucking the gun in the back of his jeans. "This is her house," he gestured towards you, "we're lookin' for her parents, you know anythin' about that?"

The man lowered his hands now that Joel put his gun away, and drifted backwards to stand next to the woman, who still looked shaken.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know who used to live here. We just needed someplace safe to stay for the winter, and this neighborhood was abandoned. We just picked your house randomly, I'm so sorry." the man apologized again, truly looking upset he couldn't help you more. "I'm Tim, this is Lucy," Tim rubbed Lucy's back affectionately, trying to ease her nerves.

You both introduced yourselves and they relaxed a bit, sitting down on the sofa and chairs surrounding the crackling fireplace.

"You think havin' a fire is a good idea? What if someone sees the smoke?" Joel asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Hasn't been a problem yet," Tim replied, "until you two."

You shook your head. "We didn't notice the smoke, but we saw your flashlights."

Tim smacked his palm against his forehead. "The one day I forget to pull the curtains closed, dang it!"

Joel shook his head and learned toward to Tim, "You need to be more careful. You're lucky it was just us," he said, swinging his thumb between the two of you. "You need to be better prepared, you gotta protect her," now motioning towards the Lucy.

Tim's face paled and he gulped nervously, reaching out and clutching Lucy's hand. "Can you give us some pointers? We just left the QZ two weeks ago, we are doing our best out here but," Tim gave Lucy a tight smile, "we could use all the help we could get."

Joel's eyes shifted between Lucy and Tim, then back to you. He didn't want to waste his time helping some kids who clearly were in over their heads, but the look on your face when you turned to meet his gaze changed his mind. He was finding it impossible to say no to you.

"Yeah, alright. For starters, close the damn curtains and put out the fire," he told Tim gruffly.

"How will we stay warm?" Lucy spoke up for the first time, nervously casting her gaze between you and Joel.

"Blankets. Keep your bedroom door closed. Body heat. Set up tents to sleep in inside when the temperatures really drop," you replied curtly. "Only when absolutely necessary should you risk a fire. It's still November, there's a long winter ahead of you."

Joel smiled at you proudly as you spoke, Lucy catching his look. You had been picking up tidbits from him over the past few months, and he was happy to see you've been paying attention.

Tim got up to close the curtains as Joel began to put the fire out. Lucy turned to you, shooting you a nervous smile.

"Tim and I are already in the master bedroom, do you and your boyfriend mind taking the other one?"

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," you replied quickly. Too quickly. Joel's shoulders tensed over the fireplace. "But no, that's fine, we're used to sharing a bed, and that's my old room anyway."

Lucy smiled at you politely before shifting her eyes between you and Joel curiously, her eyebrows scrunched together as if she was trying to figure something out, then relaxed her brow when Tim returned to her side.

"Alright then, we're going to get some sleep. Obviously, help yourselves to whatever's in the cupboards. It is your house, after all." Tim said, glancing at you with a quick smile.

You nodded and wished them good night as they headed towards your parents’ room. It was just as well: it would have been weird to sleep with Joel in their bed.

The door shut behind them and you got to work rummaging through the familiar cupboards, pulling out some canned food you could eat and without having to think, pulled open the drawer that housed the can opener, and then the silverware. Joel eyed you warily as he sat down at the kitchen table. He knew he wasn't your boyfriend, but the way you quickly corrected Lucy still bothered him.

You ate in silence, leaving one flashlight on between you. Joel looked around your kitchen, trying to imagine you growing up here. His eyes landed on the fridge that had some pictures stuck to it with magnets. Once you were finished eating, he picked up the flashlight and went to take a closer look.

"Oh, those were taken so long ago, I hardly even look the same," you said, noticing where his attention was drawn.

Joel tsk'ed, zeroing in on a picture of you when you were little and drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, then another where you were on a field trip with your 8th grade class, and a third picture where you were in a sparkly red dress for a homecoming dance with some boy's arm around your waist.

"As I said, those were taken a long time ago," you whispered, suddenly appearing beside him. He turned to look at you, really look at you: he could still see the similarities from the pictures in the way you smiled, the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your mouth.

You yawned and reached out to grab your backpack. "Follow me," you said quietly, not wanting to disturb Tim and Lucy.

You led Joel down the hall towards your bedroom and pushed the door open. You were pleasantly surprised that your parents left it exactly the same. You still had posters hung on your wall of the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and Destiny's Child. The pictures that decorated your dresser mirror were the same ones you shoved in the frame from high school: pictures of you and your friends at dances, at a restaurant, the mall, and a couple with the same boy who was on the fridge.

"Who's the guy?" Joel couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, that's Matt. He was my first boyfriend. We broke up right before college," you said coolly as you pulled out some more comfortable clothes from your backpack and left to go change in the bathroom down the hall.

Joel took the opportunity to look casually through the items on your dresser, sniffing a few different half used perfume bottles and flipping through some CDs. It was strange to be here in your bedroom. He had never considered actually being here before, too focused on the journey and not really thinking about the destination. You returned to the bedroom with a couple of extra blankets in your arms.

"My parents kept these in the hall closet, I already made sure Tim and Lucy had enough," you explained, spreading the blankets over your twin bed. You swallowed nervously, realizing this bed was smaller than the beds you've previously shared. Joel excused himself to go clean up and change as you slid into the sheets, your eyes closing in relief at the familiarity of the room. You didn't realize you had nearly fallen asleep until the mattress shifted, and your eyes snapped open. Joel's leg and arm brushed up against yours as you tried to keep your body from going rigid at the contact. It was unavoidable, your bed was too small, so you forced your body to relax and tried not to overthink it.

"Tomorrow, I'll ask ‘em about the QZ. If they can share any details about the place, then I think we can go there lookin' for your folks," he whispered in the dark.

"Mhmm, sounds good," you whispered back, still struggling to control your reaction from being so close to him. Your whole body felt hot. You told yourself it was just the extra blankets, but you knew better. Whenever he had been this close before, it was in your sleep, your mind was unable to process his touch until he was already pulling away from you. You squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"You need more room?" he asked, about to move before you stopped him.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," you said quickly, and turned to your side, finally getting a few more inches between you.

Joel stared at your back longingly. It seemed like every day something reminded him of what he would never have. The way you shirked away from his touch and how you made it perfectly clear you were nothing more than companions to Lucy felt like a punch in the gut. It's been months, and he still couldn't get his mind off you. You were becoming a burning need and it was driving him crazy. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come so he could find some peace.

You woke up the next morning feeling well rested and warm. Really warm. With your eyes still shut, you burrowed into your bedsheets deeper to enjoy the warmth a little longer before having to wake up and face the frigid Midwest. You nuzzled your face forward and froze when your nose and lips met skin instead of a blanket. You slowly opened your eyes and found yourself face to face with Joel’s chest. You must have shifted around and ended up facing him at some point overnight. You stared at the exposed skin of his neck, taking in the little details of his tanned and pebbled skin, examining every birthmark you could lay your eyes on, then leisurely allowed your gaze to travel upwards where his prickly beard scattered over his neck, jaw, and upper lip. You inspected the patchy spots in his beard, seeing a few grey hairs sprouting up on the corners of his jaw. You noticed one bald spot resembled a heart, making you ache with the desire to press your lips there. His lips looked soft and plush, and you remembered how good they felt pushed against your own as they maneuvered your mouth open. His nose was sharp and angular, your favorite feature after his eyes. You were caught up in examining the wrinkles developing around his face when he woke up suddenly and his gaze immediately fixated on you.

You now realized you had your arms tangled around each other. Even your leg was wedged in between his under the blankets. You both lay on your sides, faces inches away, as you continued to stare at one another silently. Joel's eyes flicked down your face, examining you the same way you had just done to him. You felt your cheeks flush under the scrutiny, and you parted your lips to take in more air as your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Joel noticed the movement, his gaze fixed on your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. He exhaled softly through his nose, the puff of air blowing gently over your face. The air around you was thick with tension, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Joel lifted his hand from your hip to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut, unable to resist leaning into his touch this time. He took a moment to appreciate the gentle features of your face while your eyes were closed. He ran his thumb over your lips again, marveling at how soft they were. He swallowed nervously, moving his thumb from your lips to rest on your cheek, then leaned forward, closing his eyes when his nose tenderly nudged your own.

A sharp knock on the door made you gasp and jump away. You sat up in bed, clutching the blanket to your chest and Joel laid back with a frustrated groan, roughly running his hands up and down his face.

"Yes!" you yelped; your voice high pitched. Lucy's quiet voice on the other side of the door answered.

"Just checking on you, we have breakfast and coffee whenever you're ready!"

"Be right out!" you replied, voice still too high, no doubt the result of your nerves short circuiting. You stared down at your hands, unsure what to say.

"Did you sleep alright?" you finally asked, a question he usually was asking you. You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket and turned to look at him, anxiously waiting for his answer. He dragged his hands down from his face and let them rest on his stomach, then shot you a grin.

"Slept fuckin' great," he said, grinning wider as he watched your face heat up from embarrassment, and you bit your lip to hold back a smile of your own. It took everything he had to not grab you and pull you back into his arms as you stood up and walked to the door.

"I'll see you in a minute," you said shyly, and closed the door behind you. You headed to the bathroom first, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath. You hovered over the sink and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, and your face was flushed. You looked completely wrecked. What were you thinking? The tension was beginning to be too much, and maybe if you just had sex and got it out of your system, just one time, it would help clear your head. It doesn't have to mean anything. If that was all he was willing to offer you, would that be so bad? You could separate the physical from the emotional, right? You sighed, raking your fingers through your hair to tame it, and went to meet Tim and Lucy in the kitchen.

"Fuck," Joel whispered out loud to himself after you left. He palmed his erection over his sweatpants, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It had been so long since he last jerked off. It was risky, you could come back in here at any moment, but he was convinced he would be hard half the day if he didn't take care of himself.

He pushed his sweatpants down just enough to pull out his cock, squeezing his eyes shut as he gripped himself firmly, setting a fast pace right away, knowing it wouldn't take him long. He let out short, quick gasps as he replayed the events from that morning: the way he caught you looking at him when he woke up, the sound you made when you sighed into his hand, your soft lips. "Shit," he groaned through clenched teeth, his hips thrusting into his fist as he imagined those lips wrapped around his cock, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your face all flushed as you brought him into your mouth as far as you could before stifling a gag.

He frantically reached out to the bedside table where he saw a few scarves piled near the lamp, snatching one and catching his release just in time before he made a mess all over your bed. He laid there for a few minutes catching his breath and then tucked himself back into his pants, shoving the scarf deep under your bed. He reluctantly stood up to change his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair before heading towards the kitchen.

"Oh my goodness, that sounds awful!" Joel heard you saying as he walked into the room. The three of you sat around the table with mugs of coffee, some oatmeal and pop-tarts. He sat down in a chair next to you and poured himself coffee before digging into the food.

"It got really bad there, we just couldn't risk sticking around. From what others were saying, it was just as bad in any other city," Tim had finished saying. You turned to Joel, faltering for a split second when your eyes met, before explaining.

"They just told me the QZ is a shitshow. People are having their food rationed, they're doing grunt work for hardly anything in return, and some people are being attacked for their supplies and the soldiers don't do anything to stop it," you said, listing each item off on your fingers as you spoke.

"Well, it could have been worse. We heard stories about soldiers going to neighborhoods and filling up trucks with people, telling them they'll go to the QZ, but the trucks never arrived," said Lucy, eyes wide. "Rumor has it, there wasn't enough room, so the soldiers shot everyone and left them on the side of the road."

"Why would they do that?" you gasped, a hand over your mouth.

"Dead people can't turn into infected," said Tim sadly, "that's why we stuck it out in the QZ as long as we could."

"How long were you there for?" Joel asked, pausing to take a sip of the piping hot coffee. He looked around, frowning, wondering for the first time how they heated up food, and then he saw the fireplace roaring. His eyes flicked back to Tim angrily.

"I know, I know, we're gonna put it out, we just wanted to warm up a bit and make something to eat," he waved off Joel's glare with a chuckle, "besides, you couldn't even see the smoke last night."

"We were distracted, anyone else walkin' up this street will see it. I'm warnin' you right now," Joel scowled and pointed his finger menacingly at Tim, "if you get her hurt 'cause you ain't listenin' to me, I'm gonna make the QZ look like a fuckin' playground." The whole table was silent while Joel stared daggers into Tim's paling face. You were confused why Joel was so protective over Lucy, a stranger by all accounts, until the coffee kicked in and it clicked: Joel wasn't referring to Lucy. He was talking about you. You could feel the tips of your ears getting red.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the tension at the table. Then a thought occurred to you. You got up quickly and snatched a picture off the mantle over the fireplace, bringing it back to the table and slid it between Lucy and Tim.

"Did you ever see those two people in the QZ?" you asked desperately, your gaze bouncing between them as they examined the photo carefully. They frowned as they stared into the faces of your smiling parents, then slowly shook their heads.

"I'm sorry, I don't think so. But it was a big place," said Lucy, "it's possible they could be there, and we just never saw or noticed them!"

You sighed, thanking them anyway, and pulled the picture back towards you. Joel could see the disappointment in your eyes, and he wanted to take your mind off it. His gaze traveled to a corner of the kitchen where he saw a bow leaning up against the wall with a quiver of arrows. He nodded towards it.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, standing up to inspect it. You looked up and gasped.

"That's mine! Oh my god, I had no idea my parents kept it."

"Yeah, we found it in the basement. We didn't have any weapons, so we figured it was better than nothing. I've never even used a bow before," Tim said. Joel picked it up and pulled on the strings a few times, then picked up a couple arrows and flicked the tips to test their sharpness.

"You mind if we borrow it? I wanna try to get us something substantial to eat. Looks like it's gonna be a nice day," Joel said, peeking out the window up at the sun, watching the icicles on the gutters drip.

Tim agreed, since it wasn't really his to begin with. You insisted on leaving your pistol on the counter with them, in case of an emergency. Lucy shuddered when she saw the gun, and Tim picked it up to put it in the cupboard next to the sink.

"She hates guns," he explained quietly to you as you and Joel got ready to head out to hunt. "After seeing so much brutality in the QZ, she can't stand them. I'm just trying to keep her calm and happy, so I do as she says." He smiled at you both as you walked through the front door. Before you walked away, Joel turned back to Tim and just simply said "Fire," in a forceful tone, to which Tim nodded and gave a thumbs up, closing the door behind you.

The two of you walked silently down the street back towards the woods you came from, your heads swiveling every so often to make sure no one else was around. The sun was bright, and it was bouncing off the white snow, making you wince. You could tell as you walked that the few inches of snow that was on the ground was breaking up under the warmth. It would probably mostly be gone by nighttime, leaving muddy and dead grass to admire.

Once you reached the woods, Joel did his best to track any animal prints that looked fresh. He wasn't exactly an expert, but he knew enough. You followed closely behind him and kept your eyes on the trees for any movement. You had been walking around the woods for almost an hour before you stopped to rest. You found a fallen tree trunk elevated a bit from the ground that you could both comfortably sit on. You took a sip from your canteen as you glanced around. The forest was so still and quiet, it felt peaceful. You closed your eyes for a moment to savor it, unaware Joel was watching you closely.

Neither of you had mentioned anything about this morning. Joel felt a glimmer of hope inside him that maybe not all was lost, that maybe you could feel the same way he did. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn't want to scare you off and ruin the progress he had made. He cleared his throat, the noise grabbing your attention and making you open your eyes to look at him.

"So," he began, fiddling with the bow in his hands, his eyes cast downward, "I guess when we get back, we oughta ask 'em how they escaped from the QZ, then we can make a plan, get in and see if we can find your folks."

"Mhm, that sounds good," you said, watching him pick at the bow. "Maybe we should stay one more night, then leave early tomorrow."

He looked up at you now, unable to hide the shock from his face. He expected you would want to leave right away, eager to find your family. He scanned your face, seeing a small, playful smile, and he swallowed roughly. You wanted to stay another night for a reason.

His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel the warmth spreading across his cheeks. He hoped you would think the cold air was to blame as he shifted his weight on the log, dragging his gaze from you and onto the trees.

"Yeah," he finally squeezed out, "that's fine, we can leave tomorrow."

You bit your lip and turned your head away from him so he wouldn't see the smile that threatened to spill across your face.

You heard a snap of a twig nearby, drawing both of your attention as you fixated on the location of the noise. You froze when you saw a fat rabbit about 10 yards away, happily munching on some grass that had been exposed by the sun. Joel slowly reached down for the bow, but without looking you reached your hand out to place on top of his, stopping him. You motioned with your fingers to hand over the bow. You were more familiar with it, but it had been a long time. It was like riding a bike, right?

You loaded an arrow slowly into the bow, and drew back the string silently, closing one eye and aiming straight ahead. You let out a slow breath, then held it for half a second before letting go of the string. You cried out in happiness when the arrow made contact, killing the rabbit instantly. Joel swiveled his head towards you with a huge grin plastered on his face, beaming with pride.

You held the rabbit by the feet as you made your way back to the house, explaining you used to shoot archery in middle school but lost interest. The adrenaline from the kill combined with the excitement of what lied ahead for you and Joel was making you dizzy with happiness. You should have known something was going to ruin it.

You were a few doors down from your house, still smiling and teasing Joel about how much of a better hunter you were when his eyes fell on the front door of your house, and he froze. You stopped automatically, following his gaze to the front door of the house that was wide open. You both stood there for a minute, waiting to see if Tim was going to appear walking back inside with a bucket of snow to melt, but he never did. You turned to Joel, your eyes filled with worry.

"Did he leave the door open?" you asked shakily, hoping there was a reasonable explanation. Joel slowly shook his head, eyes still trained on the house. You looked around you now, trying to make out any footprints in the snow that may have been foreign, and Joel looked around at the houses on the street for movement. When it appeared to be quiet and still, you both begrudgingly approached your home, afraid of what you would find.

Joel stepped through the door first, his face immediately contorting in a grimace. He held his arm out to keep you back, but you refused, dropping the rabbit and pushing past him, gasping at the sight before you. Tim and Lucy were slaughtered, laying lifeless on your living room floor. Blood seeped into the beige carpet, making it spongy and red. Their eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling, their mouths agape as blood slowly trickled from their multiple stab wounds.

You bit back a sob, turning away to focus on literally anything except them. Joel desperately wanted to comfort you, but he first needed to know the bandits were gone, so he advanced into the small house, clearing each room before returning to find you standing in the kitchen, tears streaming down your face.

He briefly noticed the cupboards were left wide open, all the food taken, as well as the pistol you left for Tim, before he reached out to envelop you in his arms. You sank into his embrace, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. His eyes flicked back to the scene in the living room.

“That fuckin’ fire, I told him to put it out,” he said, staring at the small flames still licking at the embers.

You tried to argue with Joel about burying them, but he didn’t want to risk it. He wanted to get back into the forest behind the shelter of the pine trees. You had packed up your things quickly while Joel draped a couple sheets over their bodies. He made sure to grab the rabbit you killed before hurrying you out the front door and back towards the forest, not stopping until you were miles away and you begged him to take a break. He relented only when he found a secluded spot where he felt safe making a small fire to cook the rabbit. As you ate, he examined his map, trying to figure out where you were in relation to the QZ. He was fairly certain you were heading in the right direction, his eyes lifting up towards the sun and then turned the map around in his hands.

“I think we’re here,” he told you, pointing to a green area on the map. “If we hook up with this road here,” he dragged his finger over to a thick line on the page, “then that will take us right into the city, and we can find the QZ.” You nodded, cleaning off your plates in what little snow remained on the ground. “You doin’ ok?” he asked you hesitantly. You stopped cleaning the plates to look up at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just… that could’ve been us. It scared me.” You held his gaze for a moment, trying to express how much he meant to you with a look. Joel shook his head and leaned forward to grip your hand.

“It ain’t gonna be us, we don’t make stupid mistakes like that, you understand me?” You nodded, your eyes raking over his face, wondering if your luck will eventually run out. He gave your hand one more squeeze before standing up, urging you to pack up so you could make it to the QZ before nightfall.

The road Joel had pointed out to you on the map was deserted, surrounded only by thick forests and a few abandoned cars as you made your way slowly towards the city. You kept your gaze on the ground in front of you, absentmindedly kicking a stone here or there as you walked beside Joel, who was on high alert for raiders and gripping his rifle tightly in his hands. The road curved and steered you towards an open field, where you could now see buildings not too far off in the distance. Suddenly, Joel stretched his arm out across your chest, stopping you both. You looked up at him, confused, then followed his gaze. Not far ahead, you could see a pile of bodies on the side of the road, just like Lucy had warned. You held your breath, unable to fathom how evil those soldiers must be to execute all those innocent people. He looked down at you, and you nodded to him, telling him you were ok, to keep walking.

You continued down the road, both of you unable to keep your eyes off the bodies as you got closer. You couldn’t tell how long they had been there, the harsh winter had likely preserved their bodies, but with the snow melting today, you could make out most of their exposed faces and clothes. Your eyes scanned over a few of the bodies on top and that’s when you saw them: their bodies twisted and lifeless, laid next to one another on the side of the pile.

You dropped to your knees in the middle of the street, not even registering the pain from the impact. Then your vision went blurry before blackness creeped along the edges. You forced out a choked cry, unable to control the volume of your voice as sobs shook your body. Joel’s arms were around you instantly, cutting off your view from your parents, and kneeled down in the street with you, holding you to his chest to muffle your screams, rocking you back and forth until your breathing slowed and you ran out of tears.

Chapter Twelve

Taglist: @chiogarza, sparklejumpropequeen-777

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us game #the way we were joel miller fic

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jenna-ortega · 1 year ago

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history of man

pairing - joelmiller x femalereader ratings - 18+ word count - 4k warnings - arranged marriage AU, dubious con(the whole arranged marriage against readers will thing), angst, brat!reader, softdom!joel, kidnapping, jumpscare!david, salt lake but a very different salt lake than the games (aka no cannibalism) , panic attack authors note - thank you for waiting for this! i really hope you enjoy it, no smut in the first chapter :( (ik boooo) but there will be smut to come. cause you know joel miller is nothing if not a seducer of woman. comment, and let me know what you think! lets have a discourse.

SUMMARY - You thought coming to silver lake would be better than your previous QZ living situation. Come to find out, you had more than freedom waiting for you on the other side of the wall. You had Joel Miller, whether you wanted him or not.

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Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout. “Drink.” “No.” “Now. The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face. “I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.” You scoff. “What…you’re gonna force me?”

Nothing you’ve been through thus far could have prepared you for this.

It’s dark. So, so dark.

“Get off me!” you screamed while trashing your body in the man's arms. Earning you an elbow to the side that made you groan at the harsh hit. Your body trembling, wishing you could see through the pitch black area ahead.

You arrived at Silver lake only a short time ago, not realizing how much of a mistake this stop in your long journey would be. You only made it a few hours into nightfall trying to observe the town from the far woods when a bunch of men caught you from behind. Now dragging you across the snowy town and making a scene of it.

“I will KILL you!” Your empty threats made the man dragging your left arm along laugh, causing you to turn your head and give him a nasty look.

“Hear that, ted?” the mystery man nodded his head to the man on your right, “we caught a feisty one. Know just who’d like this one…” the men disregarded your attempts at kicking, laughing as they went back and forth as if this was just another day.

You made it to what looked like some sort of run down restaurant, your brain working over time to think of every possible scenario that could happen here. Worst is you’re dead. Best is they feed you, cloth you, and tell you this was all a prank. But you doubt it’s the latter.

You huff out a small ouch as you’re being thrown into a makeshift jail cell at the back of the place you surveyed earlier, hitting the grown so hard dust particles float in the bright white light casting above you.

“Don’t move.” the taller man shouts down at you,

Your eyes roll at the request, “Nowhere to go in here, jackass.” you cross your arms and death glare at him from below.

“Fucking bitch,” his hand grabs your hair from in between the bars and drags you to it. Your whole body moved to follow his hand, trying to shield yourself from the pinching pain,

“HEY!, get off her, man. You know they’ve gotta be in one piece.” the other man warns, thankfully giving your scalp a break from the pull.

“Whatever.” he scoffs, turning to walk out with his buddy. Both of their backs towards you. You slap the cell bars and scream in frustration. Quickly realizing you needed to figure out your next move. You need to stay alive, you need to get the fuck out of here. Your body pushes itself against the wall, head falling back as you begin to silently cry. Nobody here but you and your thoughts for the foreseeable future. Your head falls against the wall, and your eyes close. Forcing yourself into slumber.

—

Drool begins to dry on your face before you are suddenly awakened by the loud slam of a door. You gasp, waking up and forgetting this is now where you have been staying. A cold, dirty cell floor. You look up quickly and your eyes find a taller man, one you haven't seen before; walking slowly towards you. You instinctively crawl to the further edge of the cell.

“Stay back.” you warned, as if you had any upper hand in this situation.

“m’sorry to scare you” the strangers hands raise in defense as he stopped walking towards you. “Just wanted to check on you.” He stands with his arms to his side now. Waiting on your next move.

“Check on me?” you begin, voice dripping with malice. “I was just kidnapped and thrown into this fucking cell.” his eyes follow your body as you kneel to stand up. Wiping down your pants to get the dust off. Fully standing, now closer to his height.

His face is flat and stern as he begins to observe how you are acting. Deeply in his own thoughts as he looks down at the ground, only to be brought back by your incessant nagging,

“HELLO! Can you even hear me?”

“I want to help you”

You’re confused by his bold statement, but accept his help by nodding slowly as you walk towards him in your cell.

“You’re not leaving this cell until they think you’re calm enough…and you’re not leaving this town. At least not alive, I’m sorry.”

“What does that even mean? What do you guys even want from me?”

“It’s not the right time.” the man turns on his heels and begins walking out, leaving you more pissed than you originally were.

“Please, please don’t leave yet!” you whined,

He turns his head over his shoulder slightly to acknowledge your plea, his back still to you.There is a comfortable silence until he breaks it, “What’s your name?”

You go back and forth with yourself for a little while, wondering if you should be honest. You have to get out of here, and maybe he is your best bet. If you play nice with him, maybe you can bring his guard down enough to get released and escape. You’ll play this role for now, and you tell him your name in a silent whisper.

He nods in acknowledgement, and you throw his question back to him. Another silence looming before he breaks it,

“Joel.”

—

It’s been hours.

The metallic clang echoed through the dimly lit room as a new man fumbled with rusty keys. You squinted at the sudden sound as he swung the creaking cell door open. His average figure standing at the opening of your cell, beckoning you to come with him.

“About time," you muttered, rubbing your eyes and standing up.

The man flashed a wry smile, his reddish beard framing weathered features. "Apologies for the delay. We don't get many visitors here in Silver Lake, and security is tight."

You stay silent as you give him a shy smile. Following him out of the room, and close on his trail as you walk an appropriate distance away from him as he brings you outside. It’s an oddly calm vibe, and you begin to overthink. Is this your chance to run, he’s giving you so much freedom…would he be able to even catch you? He does look kind of older, skinner than the other men you’ve had the pleasure of interacting with. As if he reads your mind, he breaks your thought pattern,

“Sorry about my guards. They can be protective of this place.” he eyes your bruises,

“What is this place?”

The man gestured for you to follow again as he led you through town. "Silver Lake is more than just a town. It's a haven for those who survived the apocalypse, a place where people from different walks of life came together to rebuild what was lost."

As you walked, you noticed families huddled in makeshift homes, the sounds of children playing echoing through the air. The aroma of cooking wafted from a communal kitchen, and people greeted you with nods as you both passed.

"It's been a tough journey, but we've managed to create something special here," the man continued. "We have families, we have friends, we’re a community"

“A community that throws people into dark dungeons and leaves them there for days?” you bite back, causing him to stop in his tracks, turning to you.

“I am very sorry about that. Let’s start over.” he holds his hand out for you to shake, “I’m David. And who might you be?”

You give him a funny look, face scrunching in disgust, not wanting to do whatever this is. But you remember what Joel had told you. Remember your plan to play along.

You shook his hand and told him your name, earning a smile from him, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The air was thick with a sense of uncertainty the rest of the walk. You both ended up at a rather small house, the look of it just like every single other one. As you approached the house, the wooden boards creaked beneath your feet. The windows, covered with tattered curtains, revealed only glimpses of the dim interior. A sturdy figure with a graying beard stood on the porch, his eyes scrutinizing the surroundings.

"David," Joel called out, a tight smile breaking through the gruff exterior. "Wasn’t expectin’ you so soon."

“Thought I’d bring her here, have her rest up by you. Get acclimated to the community.”

You’re confused by David’s words. Was Joel one of his guards? Like the other two men who had caught you? You have so many questions you wanted to ask, but you were insecure. Didn’t know if these were people you could really trust or not, and you just wanted to make it out of here. You had to push through, had to endure whatever the hell this was. Just until you were able to make it out.

David begins to introduce you both, but Joel raises his hand stopping David’s words– “We’ve met.”

David looks at Joel in a peculiar way, a way you couldn’t quite decipher yet. Then back at you, grinning widely, “Glad you’re taking this so well, Joel.” he walks back off down the stairs, turning back just once to shout, “You’re in good hands!”

You sway back and forth slowly, hands crossing over the other as your gaze is glued to the ground. You don’t know what to think, what to do, what to say…

“You can come in.”

—

You’ve been sitting in silence for the past 30 minutes while Joel is simmering something on the stove. His kitchen table is small, and placed in the corner of his modest sized kitchen. It all looks so..normal. So much like how it was before. You watch Joel as he stirs the big pot, banging the spoon handle on the side to watch the sauce drip back down into the pot. He brings the spoon back down onto the counter, turning towards you to sit. You rip your gaze away from him, pretending you haven’t been observing his every move.

“You’re nervous?” His voice is soft. He is still standing at this point, noticing you flinch as he goes to sit. You get the feeling he isn’t bad…but at this point, you don’t know what to think. You look up at him, biting your lip as you stay silent.

“m’not gonna hurt you.” he reminds you. Joel grabs a cup from his counter, turning on the faucet and pouring you water. Water. You haven’t seen a stable source of water in…oh god it’s been long.

Joel takes note of the glint in your eyes as he pours you a cup, taking a deep breath in relief. Seeing you nervous only makes the seed of guilt in his stomach grow. The soft look of fear you’ve had plastered on your face since he’s seen you makes him angry. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have to do this.

“Here.” He sets the water down in front of you, sitting in the seat next to you.

Fuck this. Fuck him. They hold you hostage then offer you food and water? This shit doesn’t feel right. Your whole body turns away from him. Pushing the glass further from you as you pout.

“Drink.”

“No.”

“Now.

The growl in his voice startles you. For someone who swears they aren’t going to hurt you, it feels a hell of a lot like he is. Your eyes find his, now dark with a scowl on his face.

“I’m not gonna tell ya again, girl.”

You scoff.

“What…you’re gonna force me?”

“f’i have to.”

“Then go ahead.”

You hear him grumble to himself, words that resemble “fucking stubborn.” as he pushes out his chair, pushing it back in roughly. He slams a bowl down on the counter, causing you to gasp. You watch as he scoops a few spoonfuls of food into the bowl, turning abruptly to slam it down in front of you. Rushing off after he does. Leaving you to ponder your own thoughts. You’re looking down at the steamy bowl of what looks like a stew as you hear the front door slam open and closed. He’s left you. Has he gone to tell David about your interaction? Shit. You should have listened to him, you wanted to play this smart. Now for all you know this will be the last bowl of food you’ll have in a while. Will they bring you back down to the cell? Your thoughts frighten you into eating scoops of the food, taking huge gulps of water. Your belly burns from the nutrients you’ve been neglecting yourself for weeks. You sip the last remnants of liquid from the bowl and get up to set it down into the sink. With Joel gone, you were free to roam the house. But you just felt like a scared little mouse, too afraid to disturb anything not familiar.

You’ve decided against your better judgment to take a look at the place. Just until someone eventually comes back to take you away.

You look around the living room first, a small brown couch, enough to fit three bodies comfortably sits directly across from a fireplace. A mantle with nothing but dust lays atop of the fireplace, not homey at all. You inspect the room, finding nothing that tells you about the man who left you here. You decide to move on.

There are 4 stairs that lead up into what looks like a small wing of the house, the last square footage you have left to survey. To your left, a small bathroom. A large tub, one that reminds you of yours from home. Bubble baths and candle lit nights fog your memory. You surprise yourself as you feel water run down your eyes. Tears. Shit. This is all too much.

Just a few feet down, there’s an empty room with nothing but the sunlight of the open window shining through. Directly across, there’s another room. You break through that doorway and find a bed, a nightstand, and what looks to be a 6 drawer dresser filling the room. So empty, yet you wonder how he lives. You walk towards the drawers, opening up the top left one to find a few pairs of flannels. Of course. You open the top right and find it empty. He must travel light.

You get bored and begin walking to the bed, sitting atop of it to feel how soft the sheets are. You haven’t sat down on a bed in forever. So comfortable. The sheets stretched over the bed softer than you remember sheets being. The pillows are fluffier than you ever felt. The blanket is so warm…so…inviting. Your body does it before your brain thinks of it. Crawls under the covers. Your head hits the soft pillow, and you feel your eyes closing and your brain settling down. Your shoulders relax into the mattress, and your breathing evens out. You’re gone before you know it.

…You feel a thump on the bed that startles you awake, darkness engrosses the room and you thrash in bed to find your bearings.

“Joel?” you rub your eyes and see him standing in front of the bed, you look down to see fresh clothes lying next to you.

“Take a shower. We got somewhere to be.”

—

You are trying to catch up to Joel as he’s walking ahead of you, “Slow down!” you shouted to him, stumbling over your feet as you grabbed his arm to stay up.

“We’re already late,”

“For what?”

He huffs, but begins walking slower for you. Both of you now silently walk into the same restaurant you were kept at just a day ago. Your body goes rigid as you think of all the things that will happen. You fucked up. You did this to yourself, you didn’t follow the—your thoughts pause as you see the place crawling with people. Like a huge get together, chatter and laughs bounce off the walls. It’s so…alive.

The crowd of people part, and all eyes are now on you and Joel. David at the forefront of the room. “Welcome, Welcome! We’ve been waiting for you two.” he laughs as he walks past the sea of people to you both, grabbing onto Joel’s shoulder and smiling widely, “Hopefully you were late for a fun reason,” he winks at you two and you shudder, what the fuck was this guy assuming? You rip your hand off Joel’s arm, patting down your dress and making note of all the faces in the room. Your eyes catch the two men from your capture, hand and hand with ladies. How the hell did they land those girls? They were absolute dicks to you. But as you rip those men apart in your head, you notice everyone is coupled up. Kids in the mix as well. Maybe the community wasn’t terrible…seems family oriented at least.

You follow Joel to the front of the room, wanting to stick by him and not venture off too far. He seemed to be a rigid asshole sometimes, but he was an asshole that didn’t hurt you yet. You stand close to him, arms bumping as you look up at him. He looks down at you, smiling with his eyes turned down, a worried look etched on his face. Maybe he was as anxious at public events as you were.

“Please, everyone welcome our newcomer into silver lake!” David introduced you by name to the room, the whole room saying hello directly towards you in a cult like manner.

“Uh–Hi everyone?” you stuttered, heart beating so fast the pounding began to overtake your hearing.

David’s speech began again, mentioning new updates and new hunts their men had succeeded at. You zoned out again, only brought back to the present by Joel nudging you gently, your head batting to look towards David who had beckoned you to stand on the other side of Joel, sandwiched between the two men. You smiled and nodded, doing as you were told for this one instance. Put on the spot as you got comfortable in your new position, David called upon you,

“She has been a wonder, ladies and gentlemen. An absolute prize. That’s why I think we should all welcome her with open arms.”

You stood by David's side, feeling the curious eyes of the community upon you. Joel, a stern figure with a rugged exterior, stood nearby. The unease in the room was palpable as David continued his introduction.

"And this, my friends, is a crucial time for us. Unity is our strength, and it's my pleasure to announce that we have a new bond to forge. In the days to come, our friend here will be joining hands with Joel."

Your heart skipped a beat, panic creeping into every fiber of your being. You exchanged a wary glance with Joel, whose expression remained stoic. David's words echoed in your ears like an impending storm.

"Joel," David continued, "our only hermetic guard, will stand as a pillar of strength for our newcomer. Together, they will contribute to the resilience of Silver Lake and ensure the prosperity of our community."

A lump in your throat formed, the weight of the announcement settling in. Arranged marriage—a relic of a bygone era—now thrust upon you in the midst of survival. Your eyes darted between David and Joel, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

"Survival often demands sacrifices," David said, his tone filled with conviction. "And in this new chapter, we come together to build a stronger, more resilient future."

The room buzzed with whispers, but you could only hear the thudding of your own heart. Joel's gaze met yours, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes, as if he, too, had been thrust into this against his will.

As the community welcomed you both with a mix of cheers and polite applause, you felt the walls closing in. The air grew heavier, and your breaths quickened. This was worse than the cell. This was worse than your impending death. This was something you could have never seen coming.

As David's words lingered in the air, a suffocating tension settled over the room. The weight of the announcement hung over you like a dark cloud, and you couldn't bear the collective gaze of the community any longer. Without a word, you turned on your heels and bolted from the room, breaths coming in erratic gasps.

The cold night air hit you as you stumbled into the open, the dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows over the uneven ground. Panic gripped you like a vise, and you ran blindly through the narrow pathways, seeking solace in the darkness.

"Wait!" Joel's voice echoed behind, his footsteps closing in. You refused to stop, the desperation to escape overwhelming reason. But he caught up, his hand gently gripping your shoulder. "Stop."

You whirled around, chest heaving, eyes wide with fear. "I can't do this, Joel."

He stepped closer, his gaze softening. "None of us asked for this. But we're survivors, and sometimes survival means making tough choices."

You shook your head, the panic escalating. "I won't be someone's pawn. I won't let them control my life."

Joel's expression softened, and he pulled you into a hesitant embrace. "Shh, babygirl, calm down. Running won't change anything."

The unexpected term of endearment caught you off guard, but the gentleness in his voice began to chip away at the walls of panic. You trembled against him, the tension in your body slowly dissipating.

"We can figure this out," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not alone here. We'll find a way out. Told ya I wouldn’t hurt ya."

You took a shaky breath, the warmth of his embrace offering a strange comfort in the midst of chaos. The reality of your shared predicament began to sink in, and you reluctantly nodded. "I don't want this, Joel.."

He pulled back slightly, locking eyes with you. "I know. You gotta smarten up if you want to survive. No more being stubborn."

You wipe your tears from your cheeks, sniffling as you nod at him. “Okay.”

“If we want to get out of this together. There are some rules ya gotta follow.” Joel began, surprising you with how fast the gentleness in his tone shifted into something more stern…

“This is not a fairy tale. It's about survival. Our survival."

You nodded, a bitter taste settling in your mouth. The harsh truth of your situation echoed in Joel's words.

"First rule," he continued, his eyes piercing through the darkness. "We stick together. There's safety in numbers, and in this world, trust is a luxury we can't afford. You stay close, and you follow my lead."

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the arrangement sinking in. "Fine," you mumbled, my defiance momentarily subdued.

"Second rule," Joel continued, unfazed. "We present a united front. Whether you like it or not, we're bound by this arrangement. Any sign of discord, and it puts both of us at risk. We can't afford internal conflicts."

You bristled at the demand, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I didn't sign up for this, Joel. I won't be some indentured servant."

He narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "You're not the only one dealing with shit. I won’t touch you, I won’t make you any kind of servant. You follow my rules, and you don’t fuck with our chance at getting out. Understand me?"

Reluctantly, you nodded, conceding to the harsh reality that enveloped you.

“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats, expecting an answer from you.

“I understand,” you whispered to him, lips curving down as you felt tears swell in your eyes.

You met his gaze, defiance flickering. "I won't play house just to appease the crowd."

He sighed, the weariness in his eyes suggesting a history of battles fought and lost. "You don't have to like it, but you have to do it. It's the only way we make it out of this mess alive."

As Joel's rules echoed in the silence that followed, you couldn't shake the feeling that your autonomy had been sacrificed on the altar of survival.

taglist - @joeldjarin @love-affair-with-fandoms @punkshort @movievillainess721 @fragilefable

#joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #arranged marriage #arrangedmarriage!joel

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elliespuns · 4 months ago

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hello!! first of all, i don't intend to say this as a way to create a fuss or anything like that, i just see your blog as a space where we can debate a lot of tlou related topics and i want to know your opinion about it :-) anyways, while i did enjoy the hbo series, i also think it was very flawed in translating both joel and ellie's personalities - but i want to focus on joel's atm.

i don't think joel is "insensitive" on the game, but i do believe the fact that he tried so hard to hide his feelings and barely ever showed his soft side is a SUPER important characteristic of his.

i don't mind the way pedro played joel but at the same time i just cannot see both of them as the same man. and i don't talk only about the scenes where joel was visibly anxious or cried, but also the torture scene. i think it is one of the most iconic scenes on the game (also, I'm the one who asked you to take pics of it a couple weeks ago LOL) specially cause it shows us joel doesn't have to go out of his way to be a menace. the fact that pedro had to scream and etc to make them fear him bothers me sooo much.

i think pedro was more than capable to play a joel that is both too much of a father figure for his own good AND a tough son of a b*tch that can and will kill people with his bare hands to protect whatever is important to him.

from my point of view, crying during the "i saved her" scene is really out of character for game joel. when the guy just confesses he killed a bunch of people, "doomed" the whole world just to keep his little girl safe and then lied straight to her face, but his expression shows no hint of sadness whatsoever, that, for me, is the peak of his character.

"if somehow the lord gave me a second chance at that moment, i'd do it all over again". of course he's hurt that ellie doesn't trust him anymore, and of course he wasn't exactly happy to kill those fireflies, but he did what he thought was right and he'd rather have ellie hate him for another thousand years to come than know he just left such a sweet girl to die in the hands of a crumbling group, in the name of a cause he never really cared about. he knows his actions will have consequences but he doesn't cry cause he is willing to die for it (and he really did).

sorry for rambling but i really want to read other people's opinion about it!!

First of all, I love how perfectly you've just described game Joel. This is exactly how I feel about our man, and even if I tried, I could never put it into words like this. Hands down, bro, this is so well said.

Both Ellie and Joel were portrayed differently in the show (it's not the worst thing; I know that people who don't follow the game fell in love with these versions of them, and for them it's as magical as it was for us when playing), but I guess, for the game lovers, it's harder to see past this fact simply because getting to love a character and having to learn everything there is about them, growing up with them only to find out the creators (people who gave them this exceptional and amazing character) didn't care enough to stick to what they came up with is kind of a bummer. I mean, you can choose to ignore it on the screen, but yet it's something so 'palpable' you have to watch with a little *sigh* in your mind.

"It shows us joel doesn't have to go out of his way to be a menace. the fact that pedro had to scream and etc to make them fear him bothers me sooo much."

I agree. Game Joel has this death stare that makes people fear from miles away while show Joel doesn't. I think Pedro could pull it out without a blink of an eye—if only they'd given him this Joel to play.

People say that making show Joel more "sensitive" was to make him more realistic because in the game, the characters are portrayed as having to deal with the impossible (like killing 10 clickers and a bloater without any damage, etc.), while in the show, he's a real man, so real attributes and emotions are needed. I get that; that makes perfect sense. But I still also agree with folks who say that keeping Joel's "detached" and "thin-skinned" characteristics wouldn't hurt anyone because what's unrealistic about that?

Game Joel and show Joel are completely different characters in my head. I love them both. I can switch them in my head and tune into both Joels, but I still prefer the game when it comes to the story and the character Joel is.

It's funny because when I watch show Joel, I can't help but see a puppy version of game Joel, tbh. Pedro is literally able to play anything, so his version of "sensitive" Joel serves me just right when I tune into the show. But knowing Pedro would kill the "callous" and "unaffected" version of Joel, and it bugs me so much we'll never get to see it.

Btw, I'm working on your request, more photos of Joel torturing David's men are coming!

#the last of us #tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #troy baker #pedro pascal #elliespuns answers

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romana-after-dark · 3 months ago

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Blessed be the Fruit: Finale part 2

Commander!Joel Miller x Handmaid!Reader

Series masterlist Join dark!Romana's tag list Dark!Romana's Masterlist

Summary: Joel takes you somewhere different, meeting Tommy there

Content and Warnings: DARK JOEL! DUB CON! (stressing the dub con again this chapter)

Although no violent rape happens like in TWW, reader is under systemic misogyny and a society of ritualized sex abuse. Everything other than the violent rape scenes, everything that happen in either The Handmaids Tale book or show are liable to happen here including but not limited to discussion of rape, child abuse, child marriage, ritualized sexual abuse, sexual abuse in general, acts of violence, major character deaths, mentions of miscarriage but never shown and never pregnancies we know of. Big ole homophobia warning, specifically in regards to lesbophobia. As for Joel, PIV sex, breeding kink, degrading (slut, whore etc but thing like Raider!joel) forced breeding and breeding kink, power dynamics, Joel is not the good guy but he’s also not the worst, slightly rough sex but not violent. Warnings are liable to be added as the story goes but I’ll always update. As always if I miss something please tell me, but i extensively label my warnings and in the end media consumption is your own choice. If you would like to know if this is a happy ending or not you can message me and I’ll tell you that way I don’t spoil for everyone but you can decide if this is for you.

Immersability: Reader has long hair, can conceive children theoretically.

****************

There was only one person Tommy let him tie up, and it was the woman Gilead had sentenced to get fucked by him every month. Tommy wasn’t complaining, and honestly he wasn’t hearing it from Angela either. Sure, this wasn’t an ideal situation but Tommy thought he at least made it bearable.

He couldn’t do anything about how other commanders treated their women, he couldn’t do anything about the fact he was Angela’s last commander before she would have been sentenced to the colonies… but she didn’t have to worry about that anymore, did she?

Angela was pregnant.

Unfortunately, this had produced a while new world of problems for them. Tommy had been working with Angela to try and figure out how to get Ellie out before she was married, but Mayday had been dragging their feet and now time was up. Ellie had been caught with Riley, Angela was pregnant, and Gina was certainly going to try and get OfJoel killed. Ellie’s wedding was next week.

Angela’s pregnancy was announced, and the Miller household had people buzzing with excitement between that and the wedding, people buzzing around congraduating Joel that his teenage daughter was getting married to a pedofile, congratulating Tommy that he has a child on the way that will likely be abused under the system he helped create, and congratulating his wife for doing absolutly fucking nothing. Baby probably wasn’t even concieved during the ceremony, considering how much him and Angela fucked. Yeah, everything was shit.

Still, at least they could fuck.

Where Tommy had gotten a strap on and restraints, he’d never tell, but boy he was glad he did. Angela had tied his hands to his ankles, fucking Tommy’s butt with the strap and smaking his freckled skin red.

“Dirty little whore likes being beat? You like it to hurt?” She taunts him, fucking his tight hole open. She had been edging his cock for close to an hour now, his balls tied up and blue as she tortured him. Fuck, he never felt so good. Even before, when Tommy was having casual sex (a LOT of casual sex) and doing drugs (a LOT of not-so casual drugs) it never felt this good. Yes, he’s counting the time he had boy pussy sat on his face and girl cock up his ass.

“Tommy! It’s t-” Joel burst in the room. “What the fuck!”

Joel had seen Tommy naked, Joel had seen Tommy and Angela having sex PLENTY but not like this. Not with his fucking asshole just…. There… looking at him. Was he getting pegged?

Angela turned to look at him, her pale face flushed with exertion but certainly not embarrassment. “Hey Joel, you gonna join us?”

Joel smacks his face, not wanting to look. “No, for fucks sake. Tommy, it’s time.” He emphasizes.

“Oh shit!” Realizing what Joel is saying, he tried to get up, but his ankles are still in the air tied to his hands. Tommy falls off the bed with a thud.

You wake up to a hand on your mouth. Eyes opening wide, it takes a moment for them to adjust and see Joel staring down at you. For a moment, you relax as you think he wants a quick fuck, but then he’s pulling you out of bed.

He takes your hand after throwing your cloak on you. “We’re leaving.” He helps you shove on your shoes, and next thing you know he’s guiding you out of the back of the house.

“Joel!” You whisper. “What’s happening?!”

He put you behind the garage, gripping your face harshly. “Don’t say a fucking words, and stay here until I get you, okay?”

You’re frightened, but you trust him. You have no reason to, but you do.

Several minutes later, Joel appears behind the shed with a very wides eyes Ellie. You quickly hug her as she asks whats happening, but Joel moves you along.

“We’re getting you out.” Both of you.

Tommy comes, holding Angela’s hand. It’s Angela who speaks. “Anthony came through?” She asked Joel.

“He did. Had to make a lot of fucking promises, do a lot of fucking shit but we got it.”

She nods, smiling. ”Lets fucking go!”

You had to sneak down several blocks, over a mile you’d bet, in the darkness to get to another part of town. It developed houses that would be given to commanders' families should they have them, like where Ellie or Angela’s baby would go. No one lived there yet, babies were still rare. Just behind one, as the yard turned into the woods, a white van waited. Man in a Commander uniform that was ill fitting got out of the van, as did a driver. You suspected the attire was stolen. They opened the back door of the van.

“This has to be quick, Joel.” Angela said as Tommy helped her in. Joel ignored her, turning to Tommy as he’s about to say his goodbye to Angela.

“You need to go with her.”

Tommy scoffed. “Fucking sure. They’ll fucking kill her in Canada!”

“No, they won’t. I’ll make a statement, I’ll tell they you betrayed me and you’ve been working with Maday this whole time.”

Angela nodded. “I’ll tell them, Tommy. I have some weight, I’ll vouch for you.”

Tommy continued to look back between Angela and Joel, confused. “I can’t leave you, Joel.”

Joel sighed, holding Tommys shoulders. “Tommy, this whole shit show is my fault and I dragged you into it. You have a baby to think about now, okay?”

He considered this. “If I’m still in Gilead… Gilead can try and get it back like they did baby Nicole…”

“Can’t let that happen. And Tommy… I need you to get my baby out of here, okay? I trust you. I couldn’t protect Sarah…” Joel’s jaw locked at the memory of his first born, trying to remain strong. Tommy was not as brave, eyes pooling with tears. “I need to get Ellie out. I need her to be safe, okay? Our babies, our girls, I need to know they’ll get across safe.”

Ellie spoke up. “You’re not coming with?”

He turned to his daughter. “No, Ellie, I’m sorry.” Tommy put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, and climbed into the van with Angela, placing a hand on her stomach. Joel held Ellie’s face in his hands. “There’s a second van you’ll meet up with, Riley is there… Tommy’s gonna take care of you, so is Angela, so is she.” Joel looked up to where you stood, and you nod. You’d take care of her. You’ll get that innocent girl out safely.

“Dad…” Her voice chokes. “I don’t wanna leave you… won’t you get in trouble if we leave? Just come with us! Gilead will kill you!”

He shook his head, smiling sadly. “No, baby girl, I can’t. Gilead won’t kill me, but Canada sure fucking will. The protection I have with Gilead is the same position that will have me dead in Canada. You have to leave, Bedford will-” He stops himself, looking away for a second before turning back to her. “I ain’t letting that happen to you. I need you to be strong, okay? Angela’s pregnant, I need you to helo her.” He shifted gears a bit. Ellie didn’t want to be a child, she wanted to be strong. “Ya’ll’re gonna look out for each other. You are all family now, got it?”

Ellie stiffened her lip, putting on her bravest face. “I got it. I’m gonna keep them safe. You gotta be safe though, okay? I’m gonna find you eventually. You can’t fucking escape me.”

That made Joel smile. “Good fucking girl. You fucking show em. You’re gonna go to school, and you’re gonna learn how to be everything Gilead tried to beat out of you, okay? Expose it all. They are gonna be so fucking afraid of you, Elizabeth Miller”

Ellie grinned despite the tears. “Hell yeah they are.” She climbed into the van, settling under Tommy’s arm. He was going to protect her.

The driver told Joel they needed to go, but Joel looked at you. “Five minutes. Get in the van.” The diver huffed, but did as he was told. Joel closed the van door. “I told you I was gonna protect you, beautiful.”

You nod, feeling dread at this goodbye. “I know. I always knew you would.”

“Watch out for Ellie, please? She’s just… She’s gonna be brave, she does better if she’s protecting someone else but… Her and Riley, they’re just kids, no matter what Gilead thinks.”

“I will.” You promise, the tears begin to come. “I am gonna miss you. I know this isn’t… This isn’t a huge romance or star crossed lovers but I do care about you. I care about your family.” A sniffle. “Well, not Gina.”

Joel chuckles at that, pulling you into an embrace and a kiss. “I know. I care about you too, that’s why I’m getting you out of here. You deserve better than this place.”

You melt into his embrace, letting his arms comfort you. “I’m kinda scared… All i’ve known is this place.”

“I know, I know… but you’ll do so good, I swear.” He takes your chin in his hand, making you look up at him. “You’re gonna be good, okay? I know how you are, I know how you love cock and pussy, but you gotta take it easy when you get out.”

“It’s not gonna be you…”

He smiles. “I know.” Joel pushes you against the van. “No one is ever gonna be me, are they?”

“No sir, no one.”

“Tommy ain’t ever gonna be me, neither is Angela?”

“No sir, none of them…”

Joel grinds his cock against your stomach. “I know they ain’t, sweet girl. I’m gonna give you a goodbye gift, something to remember me by.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes” You chant as he hitches you leg up, pulling aside your panting as he pulls his cock out. “Give it to me…”

He thrust inside you, stinging as his fat cock pulls you apart but you don't do more than whimper, not wanting to give yourself away to everyone in that van. Joel fucks you while you touch your clit, trying to make this as quick as possible. It was a risk as it was, you weren’t going to draw this out.

“They are gonna examine you, you know that? You’re gonna have my cum dripping out of you for days. You want them?”

“Yes, yes Commander Miller… want you inside me…” Heat pools in your stomach, ready to cum, ready to take his seed inside you one last time. A parting gift.

“When they ask you…” Joel pants in your ear, thrust deep inside as his balls draw up. “When they ask you who you belonged to, when they ask whose name you took, what are you gonna say?”

You moan, cumming on his cock one more time. “Commander Miller, I belong to Commander Miller.”

He groans in pleasure. “And when they ask your name?”

“OfJoel! I am OfJoel.”

Joel released inside you, flooding you once more with his seed and pussing your still-cummig pussy.

Then, he set you down, and it was over.

Joel opened the door, gave you a kiss, and sent you inside. He mouthed a thak you to Angela for helping him pull this off despite all he’s done. More more look to you. One more to Tommy. One long, tear-filled I love you to Ellie, and he tapped the van. As it drove off, his eyes were on Ellie being held by Tommy as he shut the door.

You rode in silence, but you could feel Angela’s eyes on you. She knew what you did. Of course she did. Angela knew everything, but didn’t speak. Ellie was crying softly but pretending she wasn’t as she got snot on Tommy’s shirt. You thought what Joel’s fate would be, if he was right that his position would offer him safety or if his brother, two handmaids one who is pregnant and a child of Gilead and a wife all escaped out from under his nose? You wondered about your son who you were leaving behind… could you really leave without him? There were no options really.

“Is he lying?” Ellie spoke, pulling herself off Tommy. The van was almost pitched black, hiding her no doubt red face.

Angela, of course, spoke. “Maybe. But Joel has a lot of power in Gilead, and he produced 2 children… I mean, he was a founder. He might be punished, might not be given another handmaid but I don’t think he’s complaining. I think he’s fine.”

Another beat of silence before she spoke again. “This was all his fault, isn’t it. Gilead, all of it.”

Tommy tried to deny it. “No, no Ellie-”

“Yeah, it is.”

When you all arrive at the meet stop the drivers step with a jolt. No one was there. You sat waiting… waiting. Ellie starts asking questions, asking Angela where Riley is but no one knows. Finally, a car whips up to the van, and when it opens, there she is. Riley runs out of the car and into Ellie’s arms as she jumps out of the van to her friend. Relieved to see the girl, relieved she’s getting out, you prepare for them to drive out, but the door opens again…

Your son steps out of the car.

“Matthew?”

One Year Later….

Life was good. All of you had stayed together, trauma bonded from what you’d seen.

Tommy was put on trial, but the odds were stacked against the prosecutor. Gilead, including Joel, publicly condemned him. Angela spoke on the stand for his good treatment of her, Ellie spoke on his behalf, as did Riley and you, and soon they considered him little more than a bystander. Tommy played a good himbo.

He grew out his hair and a mustache, changed his last name. Him and Angela married, not out of love. There was affection, but it was for the safety of Riley. Ellie would be placed with Tommy since they were blood related, but Riley was a risk. Tommy promised Joel and Ellie he’d protect her. So, they married, they presented as a happy family with the baby she gave birth to, a little girl they named Alicia.

With Riley saying she wanted to stay with them, Tommy and Angela were able to keep both teenagers with them. Ellie and Riley were set up with a charity organization that tutored them to catch them up and were doing okay in that aspect. Riley had taken to therapy better than Ellie had, never wanting to talk. Some days were better than others. Some days she screamed at Tommy and some days she laid in bed for hours and hours. It wasn’t always easy, but she had support.

Riley suffered from nightmares. Having been married, she suffered sexual abuse from her far too old for her husband and frequently was jumpy around people and loud noises.

And you? You were reunited with your son. It was a confusing adjustment, one he doesn’t understand… but you’re honest with him and he’s honest with you. It gets better.

You still see him sometimes.

On the news, mostly. He makes half hearted propaganda about the missing “Children of Gilead” that his treacherous brother stole. The pregnant handmaid he watched his brother fuck. His own handmaid he shared with the previous 2. His daughter who he was teaching and who he risked everything to get across the border. His daughter’s friend, a wife that Gilead decided to frame as a child still now that it suited the narrative, that he watched grow up tha he refused to leave behind. The little boy he had no connection to, no reason to give a shit about, but he did because he was yours.

He didn’t really care. You could tell he didn’t care because you had seen him when he spoke with passion. Gilead was never getting you or these kids ever again. It didn’t matter. They were safe. So were you.

You, Tommy, Angela, Riley, Ellie, Matthew, Alicia, you all lived together and did your best to leave Gilead behind… but there were nights you remembered him, nights you thought about his cock as you touched yourself at night, and you’d always remember. He’d always have a part of you. Part of you would always be OfJoel.

****************

Like a fighting year later, I finish it. Sorry!!!!!!!!!!!!

I started this series hot off the tails of the wrong way and first chapter got like 300 and then it just.... dropped. I think my problem was i had no plan. Never really mapped it out what I was going to do chapter by chapter which is how usually do it for series!!!

My other issue i think it this series and myself never decided what i wanted to be. Was it a sexy silly story like Little Bird,the kylo ren series that inspred this? Or was it serious? Was Joel supossed to be a hot baddie or like in TWW where Joel is always mean to be the bad guy.

I dont know.

If anyone wants to write the handmade tale aus for Joel, FREE RANGE! dont gotta credit me r anyhing. Just do it better. Make it sexy and silly or make it a story with a narrative. just dont do this weird mix.

I hope it at least tied up loose ends

Thank you each and every person who showed support!! I still love Angela and my himbo tommy. we need more himbo tommy out there!!!!

as always lk thoughts!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @dins-riduur-anthe @morallyinept @fan-fiction-floozyy @med494 @taliarose12 @flvrdoll @k-ra@sam-2me @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @kyloispunk @jenna-ortega @lunitareads @labyrinthofheartagrams @swimmjacket @theywhowriteandknowthings @everyth1ngfan @movievillainess721 @syrupstuff @christinamadsen @darlingshame @genetics4life @stevngrant @crazysouthernlady @joeldjarin @gwendibleywrites @ladynightengale @justagalwhowrites @pedge-page @magpiepills @zliteraturehoe @lover-of-books-and-tea

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