#i love joel and not writing him has made me sad | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesispunk · 9 months ago

Text

"Where is my love?"

Joel miller x f! reader

summary: Isn't she coming to me?

w.c: 7k>

warning: angst, mentions of death, and grief.

a/n: this is a sad one and closer to my heart because grieving is the love we can give to people who are gone. The only change of this is that has been ten years since the "end of the world" and is based on the last chapter of the show. reblogs and comments are always appreciated and for the love of god, can you please help me with inspo for writing, I want to write for other characters, so if you have any suggestions are welcome. Have a lovely reading 💌 dividers by @/saradika

masterlist

Your paths crossed a long time ago. When the world had descended into madness, the souls met the dead in a now forgotten land. He came across you, and he fell in love with you. The sunlight radiating after the freezing storm was a fire keeping his brittle heart warm.

You had saved him from ending his own life that day, when he had lost faith in a horror movie without an ending or a purpose. He did lose everything he had known—everything he had ever loved and protected—but he had met you.

For him, you were an angel, not delicate nor free from sins, but an angel who appeared after he thought he had met his spirit in heaven.

You have looked after him and Tommy for days, taking care of their well-being and taking care of the reminiscing scar plastered on Joel’s forehead as a reminder of his almost-death encounter with his angel, you.

And you had loved him ever since; you found yourself increasingly drawn to him, not just for his vulnerability under your eyes but because he had brought sense back to life. His presence seemed to chase away the shadows that had been going to hunt you since now.

As the days turned into weeks, months, and then years, the bond between you and Joel only grew stronger. You found yourself drawn to his strength, his resilience in the face of adversity, and the way he faced each day with unwavering determination.

You had loved him after acknowledging every terrible thing he had done, and you loved him anyway. The darkness inside of him, taunted by the loss of the previous time, didn’t prevent you from looking at him as if he hung the stars of the sky. You both looked at night before sleeping, trying to find some reassurance.

Together, you faced the challenges, from the first days of the end of the world to the QZ, to Ellie, to where you were right now, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could overcome anything.

Now, here in Jackson, in the quiet moment before sleep, you and Joel would still gaze up at the stars, finding solace in the vastness of the night sky. And as you held each other close, you found reassurance in the knowledge that no matter what tomorrow brought, you would face it together.

Joel broke the silence, his voice soft yet filled with the weight of years gone by. "You know, I never thought I'd find this kind of peace again. Not after everything that's happened."

You turned to him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness. "We've been through hell and back, Love. But somehow, we made it together."

He reached out to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking the comfort your touch brought to him. "I don't know what I would do without you," he admitted, his voice breaking a little.

"You don't have to find out," you replied, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."

Joel nodded, his gaze returning to the heavens above. "Yeah, together," he echoed, as if trying to convince himself of the truth of those words.

"You will never lose me,” you whispered, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. "And I'll always be here to guide you home."

He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of your lips over his skin. "I love you," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of a lifetime of pain and longing.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart overflowing with love for the man beside you.

Being in Jackson brought you back to a civilization, to peace, to a place where you could both sleep next to each other at the same time without fearing other people coming for you.

But as much as you cherished the peace and stability that Jackson provided, you couldn't escape the reality of everyday life. With it came the mundane challenges, the petty conflicts, and the occasional tension that threatened to disrupt the tranquility you had found together. There were disagreements, misunderstandings, and moments of frustration that tested the strength of your relationship.

You felt a rush of joy as you entered the door of your Jackson home. You couldn't wait to tell Joel about the trade you had made, so you were looking forward to seeing his reaction.

"Joel," you called out, your voice full of anticipation as you approached the living room where he was sitting. "Guess what? "I made a trade today."

Joel looked up from his book, interest in his eyes. "A trade?" "What did you get?"

You smiled, holding out the little camera you'd traded for some extra food supplies. "I exchanged some of our extra coffee for this camera! It's in excellent condition, and I thought we might use it to save some memories."

As you proudly showed the camera, Joel's initial curiosity turned into an unhappy face. He set down his book and looked at you with a mixture of disbelief and stress.

"You traded all of our extra coffee for a camera?" Joel repeated, his voice filled with frustration. "We rely on that coffee, you understand. It's not simply an extravagance; it's a product in high demand here in Jackson."

You faltered, understanding the potential repercussions of your impulsive trade. "I know, Joel, but I thought..."

"You thought what?" Joel interjected, his irritation growing. "That a camera was more important than having enough food to get us through the winter? "What if something happens and we need that coffee?"

You bit your lip, feeling a sense of remorse rush over you. "I didn't think of it that way. I just thought it would be wonderful to have something to save our memories."

Joel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I understand, but we must prioritize our needs before our wants. You cannot go out there and make bad decisions."

His words hurt, and you felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You didn't plan to compromise your safety, but in your excitement, you forgot to consider the repercussions of your actions.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you said quietly, feeling a sensation of shame rush over you. "I didn't mean to cause any harm."

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being this childish," he murmured, strolling past you to the kitchen and leaving you in

Joel's gaze softened slightly as you apologized, but the tension in the air remained. "It's okay," he said softly. "Just stop being so childish," he replied, walking past you to the kitchen and leaving you in the living room with a bitter taste in your mouth.

A wave of guilt swept over you. You didn't mean to act impulsively or selfishly, but you now see that your actions had far-reaching implications.

Feeling the weight of Joel's disappointment, you remained in the living room, staring at the camera in your hands, your heart heavy. You realized he was correct; you needed to be more responsible and more aware of the circumstances and the actions that could affect your survival; being at peace in a place did not imply the risk had passed.

With a heavy sigh, you lay the camera down on the table, the excitement you had felt earlier replaced with a sense of regret. Joel's words lingered in your head, reminding you of the excitement you had felt earlier, replaced by a sense of remorse. Joel's words echoed in your mind, a reminder of the need to grow and learn from your mistakes.

You walked upstairs to your room, and with a heavy heart, you lay in bed, the events of the day on your mind. Despite the comfort of the blankets that surrounded you, you couldn't shake the sense of remorse and sorrow that persisted within you.

You closed your eyes and replayed the conversation with Joel in your head, each word stinging like a sharp reminder of your failure. You knew you'd let him down, and the thought gnawed at you, leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the weight of Joel's disappointment gradually began to lighten. A few hours later, you awoke to the faint click of a camera shutter. Blinking sleepily, you opened your eyes to see Joel standing by the bedside, a tiny smile on his lips as he held the camera.

"What are you doing?" you said, your voice still laced with sleepiness.

Joel chuckled and lowered his camera as he neared the bed. "Just capturing a moment," he said, his eyes filled with adoration as he glanced down at you. In confusion, you furrowed your brow and sat up slightly in bed. "A moment of me sleeping?" you asked, feeling both amused and fascinated.

Joel nodded, his smile growing wider. "Yes, a second while you sleep. You looked beautiful; I couldn’t resist."

Despite the lingering anger from earlier, Joel's gesture made you feel warm. It was a modest act, but it showed a lot about his remorse and faith in your relationship. Reaching out, you took the camera from Joel's hands, studying the image of yourself sleeping soundly.

"I look horrible," you muttered. Joel softened his smile and leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Liar," he muttered. "Sorry for how I acted earlier." He moved forward, pressing his lips against your cheek this time.

"You're just an old, grumpy man," you remember, with a tiny giggle. His soft kisses eased the tension between you. His amusing response lightened the mood and lifted the sadness that had been in your heart.

"Old grumpy man, huh?" Joel chuckled, shaking his head in mock indignation. “I’ll show you what this old, grumpy man can do,” he said, planting a more urgent kiss on your lips this time.

You worked hard in the weeks following your fight with Joel to repair the distance that had grown between you. Despite the apparent signs of peacemaking, you still had a persistent sense of insecurity.

Then a new woman arrived in Jackson. She was closer to Joel's age, and you couldn't help but notice the easy connection that had developed between them. They spent a lot of time together, whether on patrol with Tommy or speaking in the common areas of Jackson.

You tried to ignore the jealousy that was bubbling up inside of you. After all, Joel had always been polite and accommodating to strangers, so there was no reason to suspect anything other than friendship between them.

But as the days went on and you saw Joel and the new woman form a stronger bond, your concern grew. You couldn't escape the nagging suspicion that there was something more between them—something that harmed the precious trust you'd worked so hard to build.

On today's evening, as you watched Joel and the woman laugh from across the room, you felt a pang of jealousy. You excused yourself and withdrew from the privacy of your thoughts since you could no longer contain your feelings.

You were alone in the living room, struggling with opposite emotions. Part of you felt ashamed for doubting Joel and allowing jealousy to cloud your thinking. But another part of you couldn't help but feel sad and insecure as if you weren't enough for him; after all, it wasn't just you, him, and Ellie outdoors any longer, and here in Jackson, you weren't the last woman in the world.

As you sat alone in the living room, buried in your thoughts, the sound of steps broke your state of trance. Looking up, you noticed Ellie enter the home, looking bright and cheerful, until she spotted your teary eyes.

"Hey, I missed you at dinner in the bar," Ellie said, concern etching her features as she approached you. "Is everything okay?"

You tried to brush off her concern with a forced smile, but Ellie wasn't fooled. "Yeah, everything's fine," you replied, your voice betraying the turmoil within you.

But Ellie wasn't about to let it go that easily. She moved closer, her gaze searching yours with intensity. "No, it's not. What happened? Why are you crying?"

Your heart ached at the concern in Ellie's eyes, and despite your best efforts to hold back the tears, they continued to fall. "I...I don't know," you admitted, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. "I just...I don't know where Joel is."

Ellie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Joel? He's eating with Tommy and the new girl, why?"

You shook your head, unable to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't know," you repeated, feeling the tears threaten to overwhelm you once more. "I just...I need to talk to him."

Sensing the urgency in your voice, Ellie nodded in understanding. "Okay, let's go find him," she said, taking your hand and leading you out of the house.

As you followed Ellie towards the bar, your heart raced with fear and anticipation. You knew that whatever awaited you there, you couldn't continue to let your doubts and insecurities consume you.

Once inside the bar, you noticed Joel in the crowd, his gaze settling on yours with a warmth that shot an emotion through your chest. It was as if a magnetic force drew you closer together, despite any remaining doubts.

You moved across the crowded bar, Ellie's hand firmly clutched in yours, Joel's smile widening, and his gaze never leaving yours.

Finally reaching Joel's side, you felt a wave of relief sweep over you as he held you in his arms. The warmth of his hug swept away the residual frost of doubt, leaving you with an eager sense of calm and belonging.

"I missed you," Joel murmured, his voice soft as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"I missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you leaned into Joel's embrace, reveling in the familiar scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only you and Joel locked in a tender embrace. It was as if time itself had slowed to a halt, allowing you to savor the precious moments you shared together.

As Joel pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, you felt a rush of emotion swell within you, a profound gratitude for the love and support he had always shown you.

As the tender moment between you and Joel lingered, a voice interrupted, pulling you back to the present. "Hey, Joel!" called out a cheerful voice, and you turned to see a woman approaching, a bright smile on her face.

Joel turned to face the stranger, his arm still wrapped over you protectively. "Oh, hey Rachel," he said, a warm smile on his face. "This is my girlfriend," he added, introducing you. Then he turned his face to introduce the stranger to you. "This is Rachel, and she is new to Jackson."

You smiled politely at Rachel, but a tinge of dread came over you as you watched how she drew in closer to Joel, her hand casually resting on his free arm. You repressed a jealous pang and pushed yourself to keep a friendly demeanor, even though your heart squeezed with uncertainty.

"It's nice to meet you, Rachel," you said, your voice solid despite the tumult inside you.

Rachel returned the welcome with a warm grin, and her eyes flickered with intrigue as she glanced. between you and Joel. "Likewise," she replied, her tone friendly but tinged with a hint of flirtation.

As the night went on, you couldn't ignore the sense of unease that hung in the air. Despite your best efforts to ignore it, Rachel's lingering touches and seductive glances at Joel gnawed at your insides, stoking the jealousy that threatened to engulf you.

With each passing moment, it became more difficult to ignore Joel and Rachel's growing friendship. Their laughter and friendly banter got on your nerves, reminding you of the bond that they had.

You tried to ignore your misgivings and enjoy the evening with Joel, but insecurity weighed heavily on you. It felt like you were on the outside looking in, watching helplessly as Joel and Rachel got closer with each passing second.

Rachel's flirtations became more daring as the night progressed, her touches lingering a bit too long and her laughter provocative. Despite your best attempts to remain calm, the jealousy simmering beneath the surface threatened to explode.

You stole looks toward Joel, hoping to find reassurance in his eyes, but he seemed unaware of the impact Rachel's actions were having on you. It was as if she had enchanted him, consuming all of his attention.

You excused yourself from the table, unable to take the sight of Joel and Emily's flirtatious behavior any longer. You could understand, after all, that Joel was a handsome man who hadn't received this much attention since the world ended; yet, that didn't make it any less painful.

As you excused yourself from the table, a slew of feelings surged through you—pain, jealousy, and a deep sense of isolation. You longed for Joel's reassurance, his acknowledgment of the hurt that Rachel's behavior was causing you, but as you stole a glance at him, you saw only obliviousness in his gaze.

With a heavy heart, you moved away, your footsteps quietly echoing on the bar's hardwood floor. You felt Joel's stare on your back, but you couldn't force yourself to look into his eyes, scared of what you might find reflected there.

As you approached the edge of the room, you hesitated, your back facing Joel, struggling to find the perfect words. Finally, you spoke, hardly rising above a whisper. "I need some air," you remarked, your voice filled with anguish.

After a period of silence, you felt Joel's hand on your arm, warm and soothing. "Hey," he replied quietly, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of longing and frustration. "I just...I need some time," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "I'll be outside."

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with understanding as he nodded in response. "I'll come find you," he promised, his voice gentle as he squeezed your hand.

But instead, as you walked towards the house, the weight of the evening's events bearing down on you, you felt Joel's presence beside you. His steps were quiet, but his presence was comforting, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your pain.

"Hey," Joel said softly, his voice breaking the silence between you. "I'm sorry about back there. I didn't realize... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

You glanced sideways at Joel, the warmth of his gaze softening the edges of your frustration. "It's not your fault," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "I know you didn't mean to."

Joel fell into a step beside you, his hand reaching out to brush against yours. "I just want you to know that you're the only one for me," he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. "No one else matters, not like you do."

“You could have told her about it,” you said, frustration edging into your tone.

Joel's expression faltered slightly at your words, a hint of defensiveness flickering in his eyes. "I didn't think it was necessary," he replied, his tone tinged with irritation. "I didn't want to embarrass her or make things awkward."

You felt a surge of frustration rising within you, the sting of jealousy and insecurity reigniting in your chest. "But by not saying anything, you made me feel like my feelings didn't matter," you countered, your voice tinged with hurt. "You made me doubt myself; doubt us."

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice strained. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just didn't know how to handle the situation."

The tension between you hung heavy in the air, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions pressing down on both of you. You wanted to believe Joel's assurances of love and devotion, but the lingering doubts and insecurities threatened to cloud your judgment.

"I need to rest," you said, changing the subject, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "Tomorrow, we need to get up early for the patrol.”

“Actually, I’m not coming with you,” he said carefully.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll promise Rachel to...“

The air crackled with tension as Joel's words hung between you, his admission weighing heavily on your heart. Anger flared within you, fueled by hurt and betrayal.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice laced with frustration and disappointment. "Why would you choose her over me?

Joel's expression softened, and his eyes filled with regret. "I’m not choosing her over you; I would never do that," he replied, his voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't realize it would upset you."

You shook your head, unable to hide your frustration. "You should have talked to me about it first," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "You should have considered my feelings."

With a heavy heart, you turned away from Joel, the ache of disappointment echoing within you. As you retreated into the solitude of your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder if your relationship could withstand this latest test or if it was destined to crumble beneath the weight of unresolved conflicts and broken promises.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight!” you exclaimed as you kept walking.

The next morning dawned with a strong sense of tension in the air, the previous night's events still fresh in your mind. As you awoke from your sleep and began to prepare for the day ahead, the pain of disappointment and deceit chewed at your heart, casting a shadow on the early sun.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed aside any remaining doubts and concerns, determined to focus on the task at hand. As you approached the kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a soothing reminder of Joel's presence.

You discovered him standing by the counter, holding a warm mug of coffee, and preparing a second cup for you. His expression was solemn.

His eyes were downcast, as if weighted down by the events of the night before.

"Morning, angel," he said, his voice tinged with regret, as he gave you the mug. "I made some coffee."

“Thank you, but I’m leaving,” you replied, shortly walking towards the door.

"Angel, wait," Joel called out, his voice pleading as he reached out to gently grasp your arm, halting your departure. His touch was warm against your skin, a silent plea for you to stay and hear him out.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to escape the tension that hung between you and the longing to resolve the issues that had driven a wedge between you and Joel. With a heavy sigh, you turned to face him, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you like a leaden blanket.

“Take care; you know your safety is the most important thing for me,” he reassured, meeting your sad gaze.

"What a shame you're not going to be there to protect me," you replied bitterly, unable to mask the hurt in your voice. The words spilled out before you could stop them, a reflection of the pain and frustration that churned within you.

Joel's expression softened; his eyes filled with remorse as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

Joel closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss filled with longing and remorse. It was a silent reassurance of his love and commitment, a promise to mend the wounds that had been inflicted upon your relationship.

As the kiss lingered, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. Despite the pain and hurt, you knew that Joel was sincere in his desire to make things right, and you were willing to give him another chance.

Pulling away, Joel met your gaze with a mixture of regret and determination. "We'll talk when you get back," he said softly, his voice filled with resolve. "I'll be here waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of agreement, you returned Joel's gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your shared commitment to each other.

As you and Tommy ventured out on patrol, the rhythm of your footsteps echoed against the deserted streets of Jackson. The tension that had weighed heavily on you began to ease slightly, replaced by a sense of purpose as you focused on the task at hand.

"So, what happened between you and Joel?" Tommy asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you. His voice was filled with concern, and his eyes were studying your expression carefully.

You sighed, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. "We had an argument," you admitted reluctantly, the words heavy on your tongue. "I just don't know how to trust him again."

Tommy nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get it," he said softly. "But you have to remember, Joel cares about you more than anything. He'd do anything to protect you, even if he doesn't always show it the right way."

You mulled over Tommy's words, the weight of his reassurance providing some measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty that plagued you. Despite the doubts that lingered in your mind, you knew that, deep down, Joel's intentions were genuine and his love for you was unwavering.

"I know," you replied, a sense of resolve creeping into your voice. "I just need to figure things out."

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his gaze filled with empathy. "You will," he said confidently. "And when you do, Joel will be right there waiting for you, ready to make things right."

With a nod of gratitude, you continued on your patrol, the weight of uncertainty still heavy on your shoulders but with a glimmer of hope shining through the darkness. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Tommy's support and reassurance, knowing that with his guidance and the strength of your bond with Joel, you would find a way to navigate the challenges that lay ahead.

“Of course, you will say nice things about your stupid brother,” you joked.

Tommy chuckled at your jest, the sound carrying through the quiet streets as you continued on your patrol. "Hey, he may be stubborn and thick-headed sometimes, but Joel's got a good heart," he said with a grin. "And he cares about you more than anything."

You couldn't help but smile at Tommy's words, grateful for his unwavering support and his ability to see the best in Joel, even in the midst of conflict. "Thanks, Tommy," you said sincerely, the weight of uncertainty lifting ever so slightly from your shoulders. "I appreciate it."

Tommy nodded in response, his expression filled with understanding. "Anytime," he replied, his voice laced with warmth. "We're family, after all. And family sticks together, no matter what."

As you and Tommy continued your patrol around Jackson, everything was eerily quiet, with the only sound being the subtle crunch of gravel beneath your feet. The weight of insecurity lingered in the air, but you pressed on, determined to do your job and safeguard your town.

A group of people appeared from the shadows unexpectedly, their faces hidden by the night's darkness. Your heart jumped into your throat as you understood the danger that was immediately surrounding you.

You weren't a weak person; in fact, people considered you a powerful fighter, always merciless when it was required and determined to save the ones you cared about, so your instincts kicked in and your senses heightened as adrenaline flowed through veins. Despite the suddenness of the attack, you maintained your composure, guided by your training and expertise.

Until one of them grabbed you and pinned you down, your heart raced with a mix of fear and determination. You struggled against their hold, every muscle in your body tensing as you fought to break free. Despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the grip of your assailant remained firm, their strength overpowering.

With a surge of desperation, you summoned all your strength and training, channeling it into a fierce struggle to break free. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of finding a way to overcome this unexpected obstacle and emerge victorious.

Beside you, Tommy fought valiantly against the other attackers, his determination matching your own as he defended against the onslaught. Though outnumbered and caught off guard, you refused to give in, clinging to the hope that help would soon arrive.

“So, you’re Joel’s Miller girl,” a feminine voice said.

The voice cut through the chaos, freezing you momentarily as you tried to recognize the mocking tone. Despite the tense situation, a surge of anger flared within you at the mention of Joel's name. You refused to let fear or intimidation weaken your resolve.

With renewed determination, you continued to struggle against your assailant's hold, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and survival. Every fiber of your being was focused on breaking free and finding a way to overcome this threat and protect yourself and Tommy.

“Tommy!” you exclaimed, worry creeping up with you.

“I’m fine!” he reassured back.

“What do you want?” You asked the girl, who is now in front of you.

The girl smirked, her eyes filled with venom as she peered down at you, pinned under her. "What do I want?" she said, her voice full of scorn. "I'd like to send a message to your dear Joel. I want him to understand that no one is safe, including his girl."

Her statements enraged your fury, but you kept calm, refusing to show any signs of weakness in the face of her remarks. "And what message would that be?" you asked, your voice steady despite what was occurring.

As she drew in closer, the girl's smirk deepened, and her eyes took on a malicious glitter. "The message is simple," she stated, her voice low and frightening. "I will take away what he loves.

the most from him, as he did with me.”

“What?” but before you could even realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain through your abdomen.

The sharp pain ripped through your abdomen, stealing the breath from your lungs as you gasped in shock. A guttural cry of agony escaped your lips as you felt blood seeping from the wound, staining your clothes crimson.

The girl's cruel laughter echoed in your ears as she withdrew the weapon, a twisted smirk of satisfaction twisting her features. "That's the message," she said coldly, her voice dripping with malice.

You didn’t want to die here without seeing the smiles of the people you loved.

Your vision blurred as waves of pain washed over you, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. Through the haze of agony, you fought to stay conscious, your thoughts consumed by a desperate need to survive, to make it back to Joel, to warn him of the danger that now threatened you both.

“Hey, stay with me. I’m taking you to Jackson,” Tommy said desperately, but his voice was just an echo at this time.

The world seemed to spin around you as you fought to hold onto consciousness, Tommy's voice barely registering amidst the haze of pain and confusion. Every fiber of your being screamed in agony, but you refused to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume you.

With a herculean effort, you summoned whatever strength remained within you, clinging to Tommy's words like a lifeline. Through sheer force of will, you forced your eyes to focus, locking onto Tommy's determined gaze as he lifted you into his arms.

The journey back to Jackson was a blur of agony and desperation, with each step sending waves of pain coursing through your battered body. But with every labored breath, you clung to the hope that burned within you—a determination to survive and protect those you loved.

As the walls of Jackson loomed into view, relief flooded through you, a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. With Tommy's unwavering support, you stumbled towards safety, with the promise of medical aid and the comfort of Joel's embrace urging you forward.

As you were carried through the gates of Jackson, the weight of exhaustion and pain threatened to overwhelm you.

Tommy stepped into Jackson's doors, crying out for help as you lay practically still in his arms. The wound in your stomach was major, and he couldn't shake the thought that you would die as a result of his inability to protect you.

As Tommy stormed through the doors of Jackson, his voice buzzing with desperation, terror spread throughout the neighborhoods. People turned their heads, concerned expressions on their faces, as they saw you almost unresponsive in his arms, crimson blood covering the clothes you were wearing.

A crowd swiftly gathered around Tommy, their alarming murmuring filling the air. Tommy ignored them, focusing entirely on getting you the help you so desperately needed.

As Tommy went towards the improvised infirmary, frantic yells sounded out, requesting the medical attention they had here. His steps were heavy with guilt, and each instant seemed to last forever as he feared the worst.

Finally, the infirmary doors swung open, and a team of medics led by Jackson hurried forward to take you from Tommy's arms. They worked fast and effectively, their expressions serious as they assessed the seriousness of your injury.

Tommy stood back, his hands quivering with terror and remorse, as he saw the doctor rush into action. He couldn't shake the notion that your condition was a result of his failing to safeguard you from harm.

Joel's heart was tight with fear when he saw a commotion near the infirmary. Without hesitation, he raced towards the crowd, his instincts screaming for him to get to you as soon as possible.

Joel's heart raced in his chest as he pushed his way through the crowd, finally arriving at the infirmary entrance. He saw you, pale and frail, in the arms of the doctors, your life hanging in limbo.

Joel moved forward without hesitation, arms outstretched, reaching for you. "No," he murmured hoarsely, terror and desperation evident in his tone. "Please, don't let her die."

The medics stepped aside, allowing Joel to take you into his arms. As he held you close, he could feel the warmth of your body against his, but it was too still, too fragile. Tears welled in his eyes as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, silently praying for your recovery.

“Hey, angel,” he murmured, finding strength in his voice. “Open those beautiful eyes of yours for me, baby, okay? Please, do it!” He continued sobbing as he caressed your hair. “I can lose everything, but not you... Oh god, not you, please?”

Joel kept holding you in his arms, preventing you from going away from him, and you could feel his touch, his care, and his voice pleading with you to stay with him. You wanted that, you wanted so bad, but the strength was dying inside you, and everything you ever knew went black.

You became a lifeless frame in the arms of your biggest love. When you stopped breathing, Joel’s heart stopped beating because, as if it was glass, it shattered.

The look of the doctor and the face of Tommy told them the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge, confirming the unthinkable: you were gone. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Joel's world shattered around him. He clung to your lifeless form, his body racked with sobs as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of his loss.

"No, no, please," Joel choked out, his voice breaking with grief as he held you close, unwilling to accept the truth of what had just happened. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his sobs echoing in the silence of the infirmary.

For a moment, time stood still as Joel clung to you, unwilling to let go and unwilling to accept that you were gone. The world around him blurred, and the pain in his heart was too overwhelming to bear.

But as the reality of your loss settled over him, Joel's grief turned to rage, a primal, consuming fury that burned through him like wildfire. With a guttural cry of anguish, he cradled you in his arms, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

In that moment, Joel felt as if his world had come crashing down around him, leaving nothing but darkness and despair in its wake. He had lost everything—the love of his life, his reason for living, his angel.

And as he held you close, his heart shattered into a million pieces, each one a painful reminder of the love he had lost and the life that had been snuffed out too soon. For Joel, the world had ceased to exist, consumed by the gaping void left in the wake of your passing.

He was never going to kiss you again; he was never going to hold you close at night or wake up to your smile in the morning. The future he had imagined, filled with laughter and love, now lay shattered at his feet.

A few hours later, Joel woke up in your shared bed, and you were sleeping next to him.

Joel's hand extended out to touch you, and a sense of warmth and comfort came over him. For a little while, he felt the smoothness of your skin beneath his fingertips and the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed peacefully beside him.

But then reality slammed back in like a tidal wave, yanking him from his comfortable state of sleep. His hand gripped the empty air, his fingers wrapping around nothing but chilly emptiness.

Joel's eyes opened abruptly, and he found himself lying in the dimly lit space, alone in the bed that had previously accommodated both of you. The ache in his chest returned with vengeance, a searing pang of anguish piercing his heart as he realized you were no longer alongside him.

Joel let out a deep sigh as he ran his hand through his hair, the memories of the dream still fresh in his mind. It felt so genuine and so vivid that, for a brief minute, he believed you were still alive and with him.

You were gone, taken from him in a cruel twist of fate, and no amount of dreaming could bring you back to him.

It's been a week, and he didn't attend your funeral because he was unable to accept that you were no longer alive.

Until today, when he stepped out of the house, which was surrounded by the flowers that some members of the community had left for you, and walked to your graveyard.

As Joel approached your graveyard, he felt an enormous burden settle over him—the weight of grief and loss that had been his constant companion in the days since your death. The walk appeared longer than it had ever been, with each step weighed down by the weight of his grief.

As he reached the grave, Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of the newly turned earth and the plain headstone traced your name as if it were your face. Joel's heart tightened with agony and need. The sight of freshly churned ground, with a simple monument marking your final resting place, acted as a sharp reminder of your absence.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you; I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he laid a bouquet of flowers at the foot of the headstone, each bloom a silent tribute to the love and loss he felt in his heart. The scent of the flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of the graveyard, a poignant reminder of the fleeting beauty of life and the inevitability of death.

Joel's voice quivered as he spoke, every word heavy with the weight of his despair and sorrow. He kneeled near the grave, his hand resting on the cool surface of the headstone, seeking comfort in the memory of your love.

"I want you to know that it was never me who protected you, but you who protected me," Joel said quietly, his words barely audible above the delicate murmur of the wind through the trees. "You were always the one who gave me strength, who showed me what it meant to love and to be loved."

As Joel spoke, tears streamed down his cheeks, revealing his real and unadulterated grief. At that time, surrounded by the serene tranquility of the graveyard, he felt profound loss, a yawning void that could never be filled.

"But now you're gone," Joel added, his voice breaking with sadness. "And I do not know how to go on without you."

Joel rose to his feet after one final long glance at the headstone, a sensation of purpose coming over him. He may have lost you, but he promised to always carry your love with him, to respect your memory in all he did, and to find a way to move forward, even in the face of his greatest pain.

You were always in every star shining above, in the sky.

He was back in the dimly lit room, with the weight of the grief still over his shoulders, and with trembling hands, he reached for the small camera you had traded, his fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device.

As he turned it on, the screen flickered to life, illuminating the darkness with a soft glow. And there, displayed before him, was the image he had captured of your sleeping, your peaceful expression a bittersweet reminder of how simply you could make him happy.

With a heavy heart, Joel reached out, his fingertips gently tracing the patterns of your face on the screen. It was as if he could feel your presence beside him.

Tears welled in Joel's eyes as he lingered on the image, his heart aching with longing for the touch he could no longer feel. But in that moment, surrounded by memories of you, he found a glimmer of solace, a reminder that though you were gone, your love would always remain.

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grippingbeskar · 2 years ago

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old partners, new plans

— joel miller x fem!reader

—warnings: explicit content minors dni (oral m receiving, mxf) swearing, very minor dom!joel but it’s like not an established thing

—a/n: back at it!!! hope you guys enjoy! i love writing for joel sm. he so sexy <3

“That was not the deal.” You growl, squaring your shoulders.

“Deals change.” Is all the reply you get, Joel still leaning against the frame of your door. You can hardly see him there, the dark of night shrouding him in something akin to mystery— at least, he would be mysterious if you hadn’t already seen every inch of him.

“You know that’s not fair, Joel. I’ve waited ages for this opening, and I’m fucked without the pills to trade.” You take a step towards him and lower your voice, knowing people have been hung in the centre of town for even thinking about leaving, let alone having an entire plan like you did. Or had. “I need to get to them.”

“You don’t even know they’re out there.” You bite back a laugh, turning away from him. You hear the click of the door behind you, and Joel sounds louder as he finally steps into your house. “This is a bad idea— always has been. You got no proof, no solid plan… you’re fucked with or without the pills.”

“Oh, because you’re so sure Tommy’s still alive? That plan is so well thought out— huh?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not! My family is out there, and they’re waiting for me. I know they are. I’ve had this plan for months— months, Joel! You know what this means, and you choose now of all times to hold out on me?!” You shout now, head under his chin staring up at him.

“I’m not holdin’ out, there’s nothin’ I can do about it. My guy ain’t getting back for a week, and I can’t just pull strings I don’t have.” Your heart plummets. The look in his face seems genuine— broken, sad… but it doesn’t make you any less angry. “I can’t help you.”

“But you were fine taking my batteries and tools. And my route to the outside for the last six months. All that you were happy to take me up on, but now it’s time to pay and you’re suddenly empty? I don’t buy it, Joel.” You say his name harshly, with none of the need and honey-like sweetness you remember from those few months of bliss before you told him you were getting out. Before he iced you out completely. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. As what— some kind of pay back?”

“You know that’s not—“

“Why? Because I’m not sleeping with you anymore? That’s fucking low, even for you. And you are the one that stopped that, not me, so don’t blame your blue balls on me just cause you can’t deal with the inevitable.” You suck in a quick breath, wishing you could take the words back.

Oh, he’s fucking angry now. Before he was letting you rant, letting you yell at him because he knew he was in the wrong but something about your comment made him flip.

Neither of you had mentioned what happened. How that night, when you told him you were leaving, he just got up and left your bed, never coming back. Sure, you were blunt and maybe a little harsh when you told him you were going, but he didn’t even look at you for a week. Only when you went to him to ask for the last piece of your escape plan, he managed to look at you, but even then he was short and harsh like you had been. Like you’d done something to him personally— left him cold and alone in a giant bed, words you never got to say still stuck in your throat. How he never gave you a chance to finish, to explain, to ask him to come with you. Find both of your families.

It was the first time you’d really spoken at all since then— conversations that used to be never ending and comforting turning to surface level communication, only speaking when necessary. Sure, you were shouting at each other right now but at least you were talking. Anything was better than silence.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that to me. Don’t you dare tell me I had anything to do with you leavin’. You did this to yourself— to us.” He didn’t yell, but you sort of wish he had, because the low, growling tone of his voice was somehow ten times worse. “You were the one who wanted to leave. I never—“

“You don’t have to remind me.” You don’t let him finish the thought, instead cutting him off and diverting your eyes to the fists at his side, straining with fury. His knuckles were bruised, either from work or a side gig he didn’t tell you about. He never told you about anything anymore.

“I got no pills. I’ll dump ‘em in the old spot when they come in. Try not to get yourself killed ‘til then.” He turns to leave, and you feel your stomach flip. This will be the last time you see him if he comes through. The last time you spoke.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Hey— I didn’t meant that, alright? You really want to leave it like this?”

“You’re going. Probably gonna die out there. What’s the point in talking about it?” You want to yell, want to fight him on it but he wouldn’t even listen— “You’re signin’ your death sentence outside of these walls alone. Don’t blame me for not giving you the push.”

“Joel, just wait a second.” His hand stills as it moved to grab the door. “I don’t… I don’t want to leave you like this. I never wanted to leave you. If you just let me—“

“You made that bed weeks ago.” He stares ahead, never letting you finish and still not turning around to look at you. Your heart freezes at the thought of him walking out that door. You want to leave— but you never wanted to do it alone. Even after weeks of silence and rough edges, you’d take any time with him over… well, anything.

“Let me unmake it. Just… please don’t walk out on me, Joel.” You take a few tentative steps, gauging the progress you’ve made. His spine straightens when your fingers dance up his back, gentle and slow. You catch the bottom of his shirt and slip under, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm and the way he sighs— as if your touch relieves him. “I hated how I went about… things. I never meant to have it turn out like this. Us ignoring each other.”

“Well, that’s what happened.” His head turns ninety degrees, eyes looking over his shoulder as you walk your fingers higher. His shoulder blades, always full of tension, relax under your hand, and you trail your other hand up to find the other, watching his eyes flutter closed as you dig your palms into the muscle there.

“I know. It was unfair of me to spring it on you that night, and I shouldn’t of said the things I did. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything, but he sighs again as you continue to manipulate his muscle. You wish he’d take his shirt off so you could do it properly, but this would do for now. “But you never let me finish— that day.”

“I heard…fuck. I heard what I needed to hear.” His head drops down, chin to his chest as you step up on your toes and massage him in slow, steady circles. You hadn’t touched him in so long, you were nearly burning with just this intimacy alone, but you had to bide your time. Coax him in slowly, like a scared lone wolf— tempt him closer with paced, quiet movements until you could get your chance.

“Let me fix it. Fix this.” You say softly, your heart slamming against your chest.

“You’re still leaving. Can’t fix that.” His voice strains, and you run your hands lower to dig into the muscle of his back.

“Yeah.” He sighs again at your answer. “And you still hate me for it.”

“Yeah.” He copies you, and you try to ignore how much the simple word affects you.

“But we still have right now.”

“What’s the— shit, that’s good.” He shuffles back into your touch. “What the point?”

“Cause I can make you feel so much better than this. Don’t you remember?” You are nearly begging, but if memory serves you right, a few ‘pleases’ seem to make him do just about anything. “This is just my hands, but my mouth… my—“

“Yeah. Yeah, I fucking remember. Think about it every night.” You run your hands up again, but this time take his shirt with you and bring it up over his head. He moves, finally, grabbing the collar and shucking it off his shoulders, letting the fabric pool at his feet in front of the door.

“Let me make it up to you. Please, Joel.” He groans when you press harder, feeling how his muscles have gone nearly placid under your touch now. “Even if it’s just tonight. If you still hate me, you can leave and not look back, but I… I can’t stand this thing we have going on. The quiet. I can’t do it. Please.”

He turns around, towering over you as a mass of unkept, wild curls and a burning need in his eyes. It makes you smile, that look in his eye— because it’s been so long since he’s looked at you with anything other than hatred. Now, he needs you. Needs what only you can give him, and even if this could be the last night of it, you couldn’t help but think it would last forever with how heavy his gaze was.

“You wanna make it up to me?” He’s tilting his head in question, watching your hands move up and down his torso in teasing strokes.

“Please, Joel.” You see it splinter, his final plank of resolve shredding and dispersing on your floor under the weight of your words. Your voice nearly cracks with desperation— you need it as badly as he does.

“Get on your knees.” You blink at him, your fingers trailing down his toned chest before nodding and obeying his command readily. Joel was always a giver— always spending hours on you and you alone, and he fucking loved it— but tonight you had all but begged him to take. Lose a little bit of that control he clings so tightly to, watch the tension loose from his shoulders as he forgets about everything but you.

You trail your lips along his lower stomach as you sink to your knees, eyes never leaving his— ones that have practically turned onyx black as he watches your path, chest rising and falling rapidly. He moves his leg before you hit the ground, and it’s not until your bare knees settle into something a little softer than hard wood floor that you realise he’s kicked his shirt under you.

Even when he acted the part of hating you— he never stopped thinking of you.

Your fingers shake as they fumble with his belt, Joel making no move to help you as you struggle with the loops. When you finally break it free, Joel’s hand reaches down and threads your hair through his fingers. His thumb trails the highest point of your cheekbone, and your eyes flutter as you involuntarily nuzzle into his touch. It’s comforting and warm, and the intimacy of him knowing how you like to be touched even on your face has your cheeks burning. You think you catch him smile at you, and then your focus snaps back to the sight right at your eye-line when you pull his boxers and jeans down in one go.

“Missed your cock, Joel. Fuck.” You are nearly mesmerised at him in front of you, words spilling out as he stands in front of you completely naked while you remain fully clothed. He groans, head rolling back as you wrap your hand around his base.

“I bet you did. Can remember how loud you used to be— I fucking loved that.” Even if the compliment is purely physical, compared to how little you’ve gotten from him it boosts your ego through the roof. You can’t wait any longer, wrapping your lips around the tip of his straining cock. “That’s it, darlin’.”

You don’t tease him, but you do start slow. Despite how much you want to suffocate on him, have him fuck out any of that hate he’s still holding so he can’t think of anything but your mouth, you know he likes it to start slow. It’s like he’s denying himself, even here, that he doesn’t deserve the instant gratification. Like he wants to suffer through it first— a little bit of pain to accompany the overwhelming pleasure that follows.

“Fuck, you’re good. Just like that.” He praises, his hand sneaking back to the nape of your neck. Not pushing, but instead gathering your hair and using his fist as a make shift ponytail. “Missed your mouth.”

“Mm?” You make a muffled noise, hoping to God he keeps telling you how much he missed any part of you. Like he dragged through the last few weeks as poorly as you did. You were already fizzling in your stomach, your thighs clenching together with every swirl of your tongue around the head of his cock.

“Thought about you every day. Every— fuck. Nothin’ gets me off like you. Ha-ah, shit.” You take him to the back of your throat, gagging a little but loving every choked sound sound that stutters out of Joel’s mouth. “Had to fuck my fist thinkin’ about your pretty little face. Fuckin’ hated myself for it.”

You speed up, wanting nothing more than for him to yank you upwards and bend you over the counter, but you’ll take what you can get. The salty taste of him mixes on your tongue, and it’s always so messy giving him head, but he goes feral for it. He’s watching you now, the words punched out of his chest as you move your hand to match your mouth, and you know the tears in your eyes and strands of hair across your face just send him wild.

He says your name how you remember, with all the sweet and drawn out inflections his accent gives it. You take him deeper, indulging a low and dormant urge to please him clawing it’s way to the front of your brain. He groans again, the hand at the back of your head pressing just slightly— a sign he’s losing that last bit of self control.

“Fuck— stop, baby. Stop.” He splutters out, and you draw yourself back slowly. He keeps his hand in your hair, looking down at you possessively. His chest is moving rapidly, trying to catch his breath from where you had him so close. Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to why he didn’t let you do the one thing you really wanted to right now. Make him feel good.

“What’s wrong?” You say softly, and he hauls you upward, barely giving you time to find your footing before he surges forward and kisses you.

It nearly knocks you off your feet, the hunger behind it making you stumble a few steps to where you know the bed is. He wastes no time, tasting himself on your tongue and taking you with him down onto the mattress. He pulls your shirt off first, kissing his way down to where your hips are still covered by sweat pants.

It’s here he takes his time, watching you writhe with impatience as he slowly draws the fabric down. He kisses your hipbones as they are revealed, the gentle touches making your head spin. He was meant to hate you— meant to be fucking you hard and fast just one more time to get it out of his system, so that you felt like what you two had could end on some kind of high. You owed him that much.

But this? The way his hands were so soft and gentle— practically caressing along your sides and over your thighs. The care behind his movements, the way he looked at you… it wasn’t how you used to fuck. This wasn’t hard and dirty, not scratching an itch or quenching a thirst— this had something more behind it. You knew it, and by the way he smiled over you, he did too.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispers against your skin, the rough hair on his cheeks tingling the softness of your inner thighs. He says it quietly, like you weren’t supposed to hear it, but you do, and your body floods with heat.

“Joel.” You whimper, your underwear dragging down your legs before he crawls back up your body. “Joel, I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. Just focus on me, okay?” You feel him against you, the head of his cock dragging up and down causing your hips to twitch every time. “You always get so wet from doing that, don’t you?”

“Just from you. It’s just you, Joel.” You whimper, and his face crumbles in front of you. He bends to kiss you again, the air in your lungs sucked out leaving you breathless. He’s handling you with such care— like he still does. Care.

When he pushes into you, you both sigh, Joel dropping onto his forearms caging you under him. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck— teeth dragging along your collar bone with each slow thrust.

“You always feel so good. Can’t live without this, baby.” He’s almost whining, grinding into you with so much strength you hear the bed creak with each move. He’s reaching every nerve you have, crackling each one with a searing pleasure that’s only ever associated with him.

“N-neither. Please— please, Joel.” You beg for something, anything he’d give you, and his head moves to press his forehead to yours. His hips stutter, eyes half lidded but focused on you.

“Don’t leave. I’ll… god, so good. Don’t go.” He fucks you a little harder, like he’s trying to prove a point. Trying to convince you— but he doesn’t have to.

“Come with me.” You whisper, hands threading into his hair. You tug hard, making him groan.

“Baby.” He says lowly, voice grating and strained. Every thrust of his hips hurtles you closer to release, one of his hands snaking down your body to circle your clit. You can’t talk anymore, the only noises you can make are loud moans followed by choked out versions of his name. “Fuck— fuck, I can’t last. I can’t..”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pleasure rolling over you from your fingertips to your toes, the weight of Joel’s body keeping you firmly secured on the mattress. It’s like the heavy press of his warm skin multiplies the feeling, nails digging into the flesh of his back.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, and it only takes a few more strokes of Joel’s cock and he’s cumming with you, both of you clinging to each other as you try to draw out the others high. Even when you’re supposed to be fighting, each of you are doing anything and everything for each other.

Joel still feels warm above you, keeping himself inside as long as he can stand before he pulls out slowly. You whimper from the loss, but he shuts you up with a deep, desperate kiss. It’s lazy and meaningful— teeth and tongues clashing from how hard he’s pressing on top of you.

Both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but neither can find the strength to pull your mouths away from each other. You know once you do, it was meant to be over— but it couldn’t be. There wasn’t going to be a version of this story where you missed out on the only good, real thing you’ve had in a long time just because you didn’t have the guts to repeat yourself. You pull back from his mouth as hard as it is, and he groans a little in frustration of having to chase you.

“Joel…” Your hands find their way up to his face, holding him so close that your noses bump together. “I meant it. Come with me.”

“Darlin’, I gotta… Tommy needs me to find him. I…” He looks you up and down again, eyes catching on the little hickeys he’s left over your chest and neck, and you think he might be considering the possibility of leaving everything behind and just following you despite it.

But you’d never ask him to. You had this thought out— and if he’d just listened to you the first time, he would already know.

“I know. We can find him. The pills— I’m trading it for a full tank of gas for a car I repaired. It’s just outside the safe zone.” He shifts up, thighs still straddling over your waist. “We can find him, find my family.”

“You fixed a… of course you did. Fixed a fucking car right under their nose.” He shakes his head, laughing before leaning down and smothering you in a suffocating kiss. He’s still smiling when he pulls away, tucking your body into his chest. “Jesus. You’re unbelievable.”

“I would of told you.” You say, not having the nerve to look up at him. “That night— I tried to tell you. We have people that need us, but I need you, too.”

“Mm.” He says, burying his face into your hair. You can feel the smile in the way he hums, his hands grabbing at your sides and holding you closer. “Need you, too.”

“What was that?” You try to turn and look up at him, a teasing smirk on your face but he doesn’t let you. “The Joel Miller— needs me?”

“Need your car.” He grumbles and you laugh harder, your legs tangling together in a comforting knot of limbs. “When do we leave?”

“When you get the pills.” He hums again.

“Tomorrow. I’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”

“Oh, you fucking asshole. You were getting them the whole time, weren’t you?” He still refuses to let you move, strong arms keeping your bodies together. He doesn’t say anything, just laughs and nods before his breathing starts to slow.

You wanted to turn and see his face when he said that— that he needed you. But as you feel him go limp behind you, you figure you’ll get enough time to stare at his face when you drive across the state to get Tommy, and whatever comes after that. You might not know what comes next, but whatever it is, you feel a hell of a lot better knowing it’ll be with him.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #tlou joel #joel miller x y/n #tlou #tlou joel miller

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mermaidgirl30 · 7 months ago

Text

✨New Beginnings✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1

A/N: I loved writing this, it was so soft 🥹 This can be read as a stand alone, but it is a continuation of my fic Fortnight! I hope you enjoy! This is the ending I wanted for them 🥰 Might write another little cute one shot for them in the near future because I love them so much. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading and helping me with the mood board 🩷

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years healing, growing, and letting go. During a day at the lake, fate steps in when you run into Joel without a wedding ring on.

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: fluff, flirting, making up for lost time, old flame, no use y/n, reader sees Joel again after 3 years, reader has a dog named Sammy

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The summer breeze of Austin rushes through your hair, the smell of fresh oak, the sloshing sounds of lapping blue water, and the feel of new beginnings permeates throughout the air. Summer. Your favorite time of year, your favorite place to be. Georgetown Lake. An escape, a picturesque safe haven where you can sunbathe and let Sammy, your golden retriever, pounce around the clear water as it splashes against his sandy fur.

You’ve been doing okay lately, healing, moving on like you should’ve a long time ago. After sulking around the house days after the mail incident with Joel, you knew it was time to do something, anything to make that pit of sadness wash away. You couldn’t face Tess again, face him, not after you broke down in tears the moment he slipped his calloused fingers firmly around your wrist. It was too much, too soon, too fresh. Even though it had been years since you’d broken up. You never quite got over him, his face, his eyes. But It was way past time, the time to move on.

So you moved, put a sign outside your house to let everyone know it was on the market and sold to the first offer you got. You remember Joel’s face after he saw the posted sign in your yard full of dying roses. He looked so sad, the flecks of his dark irises shining in the February chill as you caught his eyes after hammering the sign in the soft ground. You were wilting more than your red roses, and you needed a breath of fresh air, a way to thrive and grow like your flowers used to be. It was your sign to flee.

After you sold your house and moved half an hour away, you could finally breathe, the wilts of your lilting petals starting to bloom and thrive the longer you were away from them.

You saw the pictures of their wedding on social media, saw how truly happy they looked. You remember shedding a tear or two looking at the photographs, at her flowing wedding dress, at their shared kiss after saying their “I do’s”. It was enough to send you spiraling, enough to make you drop your laptop and crack the screen. And that was the last time you saw Joel Miller. There was no sense in dwindling over what if’s. It was over, done. You swore you’d never see his face again in the city of Austin. He was the past, you had to look towards your future.

You got a new job, working for an environmental engineering company and helping with tracking the bluegill and catfish populations in the lakes around Austin. You liked working outside, loved being near the water. You always felt at home out on the lake with the soft sand sinking between your toes, the calm breeze always blowing away any worries of your messy life. But it wasn’t so messy anymore. It was peaceful, bright, made you feel alive.

You throw the damp tennis ball again, laughing at the way Sammy flops into the water and splashes around, eagerly fetching the soaked ball as he brings it over to you again.

“You ready, Sammy? Go get it!” you yell as you toss the ball back towards the water. He shakes his soaked fur and makes a run for it, but he stops half way and perks his fuzzy ears up at something in the distance. “Sammy?”

You watch him pant happily and make a dash for it in the opposite direction, barking at nothing you can see. “Sammy!” You follow after him, sprinting behind as you hear his chipper barks and feel your hair blow back behind you as you chase after him.

“Sammy, come on! This isn’t like you,” you breathe out as you run until your legs feel like jello and feel as if you’ll pass out at any second.

Your bare feet drag through the sand on the shore, your breath feeling as if it’s on fire as you run and run and run until you finally see his giddy, long tail and golden paws that leap up off the ground. What’s got him so excited? He never runs up to strangers.

“Sammy! Come here, boy,” you clap your hands together as you walk towards whoever he’s got wrapped around his cute, fluffy face.

“I’m so sorry. He’s not usually like this. I…” You freeze, your breath hitching as you stare at the man that fully consumes your vision. Joel.

He looks over at you, a warm smile curling against the edge of his plush lips as his golden brown eyes crinkle down at you. It nearly takes your breath away. He looks so… good.

He’s filled out more, his flexed arms and broad chest clinging to his white t-shirt, corded veins twisting down his tan arms almost like you remember. He looks more buff, more healthy, like maybe he stopped drinking that amber colored whiskey he used to love. His grey threaded curls are grown out, his doe brown eyes more shiny, more alive than the last time you saw him. And he looks like he’s happy, so happy. It’s amazing what three years of not seeing him can do to your own mind. The sight of him almost makes you dizzy, delusional, like maybe this is fate.

“Joel?” you whisper out, your voice shaky and breathy as your eyes slide down his blue swim trunks, his leather sandals, his tan skin that seems to glow like glitter under the orange beams of the sunlight.

“Yeah, it’s me. Nice to see Sammy’s doin’ good. Guess he remembers me,” he chuckles as he bends down and scratches the back of Sammy’s fluffy ears. Sammy jumps up and licks the side of his face as another infectious smile takes over Joel’s glowing face.

Joel laughs as he wipes the slobber from his greying scruff and stands back up, bright eyes blazing through you as he flicks his gaze slowly over your figure. You feel a little self conscious standing in your too short denim shorts and baby blue crop top as you fold your arms nervously over your chest. Why are you so nervous?

“It’s uhh… good to see ya. How ya been?” he asks slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as his hand drags through the curling strands that sit against the nape of his neck.

“Good. Yeah, good,” you nod as your fingers dance nervously up and down your scorching arms. “What about you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good, too. Busy, but that’s always good. Been workin’ a lot, contractin’, the usual.”

You nod your head, watching the way his heavy gaze never leaves your eyes. Suddenly, it feels too hot, too intense. That spark simmers low in your stomach, that strong pull that you always felt when you were around him. It’s almost like you were meant to meet here like this, unplanned. Maybe it was fate. Maybe… but then you remember Tess. Where was Tess?

“You, umm enjoyin’ your new place? House, apartment, wherever you moved?” His tone is gentle, like he’s genuinely interested in how you’ve been, where you moved. And it feels strange, but also like it needs to be asked.

“Oh, yeah. Actually, I love it. I moved just a few miles from the lake. It’s so peaceful, being able to come out here whenever I want to.” Your eyes flick over the calm water, examining the gentle ripples of the clear lake, but then Joel’s deep voice brings you back to the present.

“Sounds like you’ve been doin’ good.” He gives you a lazy smile, one where it’s crooked and soft and so serene that you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I really have.”

“That’s good, real good,” he says as he nods his head, just continuing to stare at you in awe. And it’s like you’re just seeing him for the first time, that summertime glow just sizzling off his tan skin.

Your eyes wander over him, lapping up his broad muscles and dreamy smile and untamed curls. He looks so handsome. You don’t know what it is, but something brand new seems to shine through him.

“You look… different,” you say with narrowed eyes, trying to assess what exactly is different, but you’re not sure what.

“Yeah? That a good thing or bad thing?” he chuckles as he runs a hand straight back through his lush curls. The action makes your breath get caught in the back of your throat.

“I dunno. Think it looks good on you, whatever it is.” You smile nervously up at him and bat your eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Yeah?” he smirks as the flecks of his dark eyes glisten under the rays of the hot sun.

“Yeah,” you reply bashfully. “You seem more… happy.”

He chuckles as he shoves his thick fingers into the pockets of his blue shorts. “Guess that’s what happens when a man stops drinkin’.”

Your eyes grow wide as your mouth drops open. “You? The Joel Miller has stopped drinking his precious whiskey?” you ask dumbfoundedly.

“Mhm. Mostly. Haven’t touched a bottle in three months. Been doin’ good, feelin’ stronger, more sharp. Even been hittin’ the gym.”

You smile warmly over at him, your eyes alight as you drop your arms to your side and nod, his words taking your breath right out from your chest. “Joel, that’s so great. I’m so… so… proud of you.”

He nods slowly at you, the dimple indenting the middle of his cheek as his crooked smile makes you feel things you haven’t felt in a long time. Like there’s hope. “Proud of me, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whisper out.

“Well, that’s sweet of ya to say, darlin’.”

Darlin’. He hasn’t called you that in so long, you almost forgot how good it feels to hear seep off his sticky sweet voice, that gravelly lull that soothes your racing pulse in your chest.

You suddenly notice his left hand, tracing every inch, every tan speck of his thick fingers. It’s unusually bare, no gold ring like in the wedding pictures you saw online. It’s gone, vanished. Was Tess and him, dare you say… over?

He watches you assess his empty ring finger, his eyes flicking over your narrowed, confused face as you stare so hard that you think your eyes might fall out onto the smooth sand.

You open your mouth, drawing air into your tight lungs, until you release the words you’ve been wondering this whole entire time. “Are you and Tess still…” You can’t even finish your sentence, afraid that maybe he’d just left his ring at home or left it at the jewelry shop to get polished up.

He lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Nah. We ended things last year.”

“Oh.” You’re dumbstruck, your mouth agape as he says the words you were almost too scared to hope for. Not that you wanted things to end badly between them, but somewhere deep inside you still wished that maybe one day you could find each other again. And as fate twisted its tethered vines around the two of you, it seems like this was meant to be.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you say with tight knit brows.

“Don’t gotta apologize, wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but still. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

He shrugs his broad shoulders and gives you a tight lipped smile. “After gettin’ married, we jus’ realized we wanted different things. Things weren’t the same as before, and we decided it was better off if we went our own separate ways. There’s no hard feelings, jus’ was better off not bein’ together. We gave it a good two years, but ultimately it jus’ didn’t work out, and that’s fine. Had a lot of growin’ to do after, found my own pace again. It was the best choice. I’m much… guess you could say happier now.”

“Oh, well that’s good. I’m glad things turned out for the best.”

“Me too.”

You give Joel a small smile, and he sends a dreamy one back your way, all crinkled eyes and that crooked smile that makes you dizzy every time you look at him.

He shifts his weight and digs his heel into the soft sand. His eyes look down towards the ground, then flick slowly up towards you, almost like he’s nervous.

“Hey, do you maybe wanna go grab some coffee this week with me?” His hand scratches the back of the scruff on his neck nervously as his jaw ticks from the building anticipation.

“Houndstooth Coffee?” you ask with a raised brow.

He chuckles warmly and nods. “‘Course. Only the best.”

You smile in reply. “Okay. Yeah. I’m in.”

“Great.”

You both stand there in the heat of the afternoon, gentle smiles pressing against both of your lips as Sammy barks and runs circles around you and Joel.

As if Sammy is trying to intrude on the awkward moment between you and Joel, he jumps up and presses his damp paws on your back which knocks you off balance and sends you lurching forward.

“Sammy!” you whine. As if on cue, Joel reaches out and catches you, wrapping his strong arms around your hips as he balances you back on your feet.

“Whoa there, easy now,” he chuckles as he lingers his big hands on your shimmering skin. Your mouth parts open, and you gasp as you look up to find kind, dreamy brown eyes staring down at you, almost like he’s mesmerized. And for the moment, it feels like the first time the two of you ever met, almost magical, but this seems new.

You hook a strand of hair nervously behind your ear and laugh. “Always showing up at the right time it seems.”

“Yeah, seems like it,” he smiles kindly.

You stand there breathing his air, feeling a little dizzy at the smell of his woodsy scent, no more whiskey fragrance lingering in his sandy hair. You feel the tension, the chemistry just bursting at the seams. And you know now that this was fate, it had to be.

Joel gives Sammy a couple more scratches behind the ears and then looks over at you with a crooked smile. “Well, it was good seein’ ya again. Been a long time,” he sighs while you nod in response.

“Yeah, it really has…”

Another long minute goes by and then he’s taking one hesitant step back. “Well, guess I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll umm text you about coffee.”

Before he can take another step back, you hold your hand out as if to reach him. “Wait.” He ticks his jaw and knits his eyebrows together as he waits for you to finish. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He smirks over at you. “Jus’ thought I’d let you get back to enjoyin’ the lake. Figured I was interruptin’.”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. Please, stay.” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, and he chuckles in response as his dark brown irises seem to glow in the sunlight.

“Always knew how to get me with those big, beautiful eyes.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and bag your eyelashes sweetly up at him. “What, like this?”

He just crosses his broad arms over his chest and smirks over at you. “Mhm. Jus’ like that, gorgeous. Jus’ like that.”

Your cheeks heat up as you feel the crimson blush taking over, lingering your fingers against his wrist as you ask sweetly. “So, will you stay?”

Joel nods and smiles. “Yeah, darlin’. I’ll stay.”

And he does stay, until the sun starts to slip under the fluffy clouds. He stays the entire afternoon, walking along the shoreline with you, playing fetch with Sammy, catching up on lost time together, starting fresh. It’s almost like he never left, picking up right where you left off. And maybe it was supposed to be like this. Like you had to fall apart to fall back into one another.

And when the sunset starts to fade to light purples and pink colors in the distance while you sit on the edge of the wooden dock, he leans over and kisses you softly. It’s like the world fades to black, and there’s only you and Joel getting lost in one another. His hands cradle your face softly, his plush lips melting into yours as you taste him and let the syrupy taste mix in with yours.

This is how it was supposed to be, how it was always supposed to be. You had to find each other later in life, begin again, have this special moment in time. It was fate, always had been. He was always the one for you, and this just solidifies it.

When he breaks the kiss, you lean against him while he wraps a large arm around you. You gaze out to the calm blue water and take a breath of fresh wildflowers in the air. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums as he looks down at you.

“Thank you for staying.”

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “‘Course, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Gonna just stay right here with you in my arms.”

You lean your full weight into his warm chest as he scoops you up into his lap and hooks his arms around your waist, his lips lingering against your jawline. You take a deep breath and smile as you look out against the misty lake. You were finally home, with him.

Your forever.

Tags: @laurrrra @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @littlevenicebitch69 @honey-dip-24 @sawymredfox

@orcasoul @thundermartini @solllaris @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker @vie-is-punk

@hoeruiner @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @amyispxnk @morallyinept @milla-frenchy

@laramc-02 @keylimebeag

#joel miller fan fiction #Joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #no outbreak au #no use of y/n

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mountainsandmayhem · 8 months ago

Text

Right Person, Wrong Time

Joel Miler x Female Reader

AN: This is for @undercoverpena 's April Showers Challenge. And for once, I did not write smut. I know, who am I? This is not beta'd or really proof read. I'm basically having imposter syndrome over the whole thing soooo...Love you, say it back, bye!

You know that famous saying, “Right Person, Wrong Time”? Well, that was Joel Miller. He had the potential to be the absolute love of your life, but as a single father to a teenage girl and a small business owner, he just didn’t have the time right now. You were about to turn thirty, him thirty six in just a few days time. So, the night before his birthday you made the gut wrenching decision to end things with him.

“What do you mean we should see other people? There’s no other people.” He proclaimed, eyes filling with tears, mirroring yours.

“It’s just not the right time. I want to get married and have a baby, Joel. Do you really want that?” You have to remain strong, it had only been three months, you hadn’t met Sarah or any of his family. Same with your side, he knew about your sisters but no one else was at risk of being hurt by this break up outside of the two of you. This was the right thing to do before you both got in too deep.

Right Person, Wrong Time.

Almost twenty five years later and you still find yourself replaying that conversation. Every September, Joel flashes behind your eyelids - still perfectly clear, almost like it had just happened yesterday. Dark curly hair, patchy scruff, big brown eyes and furrowed brows; one day he’s going to have a permanent crease between them from all his sexy scowling. If you focus hard enough, you can feel his rough and calloused fingers on your skin. You can still hear his deep and silky voice, almost managing to make you feel lighter every time he said your name or called you darlin’ or sweetheart.

“That feel good, Darlin’?”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

The outbreak happened not even 24 hours after you broke up with him. Had he survived? There’s no way you survived and he didn’t. Your suspicions were confirmed the day Tommy Miller showed up.

For the most part you liked to keep to yourself, running the community garden. You’re thankful for the small and safe community, but word gets around. And when you hear that Tommy’s brother has come to town you shrink even further back into the shadows, unsure if you want to see him again. Would it hurt more if he remembered you, or if he had no memory of you and that conversation that has imprinted itself upon you? Joel Miller is your last memory, both happy and sad, before the world fell apart.

Him, and the little girl he showed up with, left before you found the courage to approach him and soon winter took over Jackson, leaving you without the garden. Without the distraction from your thoughts of Joel.

The winter is long and brutal. April finally rolls around, and you trudge out into the rain and head to the dining hall for dinner. The gates open in the distance, but you’re lost in your own thoughts. This is more rain than you have seen in months. The garden is going to love it, you think. Just as you’re about to step up the creaky wooden steps you hear your name. It floats across the commune in a deep, gravelly, and oh so familiar voice.

You stop, tears flooding your lash line and the mud squeaking under your rubber boots as you turn to look at him through glassy eyes. Your lips part and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. The world around you melts away. All you can see and hear is Joel Miller. He’s aged, grey peppers his temples and facial hair, he has those lines that you knew he would permanently etched between his brows, but those big brown eyes are like they’ve been frozen in time as they dance around your face.

“It’s you,” he says softly, voice shaking in a mix of sadness and relief, as he takes a few steps towards you. “I-I can’t believe it. I’ve, well…” He rakes his fingers through his soaked curls as you stare at him. The rain is coming down in a steady sheet, the ground becoming a muddy mess, and both of your clothes completely soaked through. You haven’t taken a breath in what feels like hours.

It’s you.

“I have thought about you almost every day since the world fell apart,” he continues, his warm voice washing over you like molasses. “When I was at my lowest I would think of that little dimple you get when you smile, or that time wine came out of your nose from when you laughed at that stupid joke I made. I don’t remember the joke, but I remember how happy you looked as the sun set and the orange glow lit your skin. I’d remember the way your face scrunched up when you tried whiskey for the first time. I would remember where all your freckles are, and how soft you were against my lips as I kissed every single one. I’d think of that first time we made love, how I’d never felt that overwhelmed with emotion for another person before, how in that moment I realized that I was truly fucked when it came to you. It was anything you wanted, sweetheart. Even if it meant you wanted to break up. I never should have let you go, darin’. I’m so sorry. I tried to find you before we fled for Boston.”

By the time he’s done talking you’re right in front of him, chest grazing his, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. You have no idea how you got that close to him. You don’t remember moving your feet. Joel Miller, your Joel Miller. Greyer, lines around his eyes, but yours.

As the rain pelts down you waste no time, reaching up around his neck as he lifts you up and into his embrace. Your noses graze as you whisper a quiet ‘I missed you so much’ into his lips.

“I’m never letting you go, baby. Never again.” He says and then you press your lips into his in a searing kiss. It lights your whole body on fire, you feel like you’ve been hit by a defibrillator.

You’re alive again.

====================

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi i @pedritoferg @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @baar-ur @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey @iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel angst #joel miller angst

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crowandmousewritingco · 2 months ago

Text

If You're Reading This

Pairing: Joel Miller x nb!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Rating: PG-13, there's no spice. It's all angst bay-beeeeeee

Summary: You met Joel while out on a 'hunting run', you startle him and in return he almost shoots you. After everything settles the two of you get to talking and decide to stay in contact one of the only ways, via letters. Over the time writing each other, you grow feelings for him, and learn things about yourself that you don't know how he'll handle. Telling him, he goes silent, but you refuse to give up hope. Will your hope be enough to keep you going?

Author: Mod Crow (Got a new job so life has been ahhhhh)

Author's Note: The reader says their age. This was for @burntheedges' Roll-A-Trope! I was very back and forth on how I wanted this to play out, in the end I'm pretty happy with it.

Masterlist

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide, and mentions of raiders and guns.

Dear Joel,

Thanks for not shooting me today, I wasn’t even in my best attire to die. I’m kidding. Not about the not shooting me thing.

It was nice really meeting someone who didn’t want to kill me or rob me. It was also nice having the help dragging a deer all the way back to this place. I only hope my butchering and fileting skills aren’t getting rusty. But hey, if they are, you said something about you showing me “the way it’s done in the big beauty of Texas” or however you worded it. I know you aren’t here, but I need you to know that I’m currently laughing. I made myself laugh. Gods, I’m losing it aren’t I?

Anyways, I should probably start cooking myself something to eat before the sun goes down. If you ever head this way and stop at this place, you should leave me a little letter or something. Obviously, I left this one for you in an obvious spot -and that’s what you should do as well- then after that we can start putting them in more well-hidden places, we can’t have someone finding them before we have a chance to. But that’s for the next letter.

-Y.F.

P.S. Y.F. means your favorite, I know what I am, you don’t have to tell me.

Hey Smartass,

Now that I like the sound of. Oh, and drop the formality, I’m not your pen pal or some shit like that. Ellie wanted me to tell you that “if you try to replace her as my favorite, she will stab you”. I don’t pick favorites. Just so you know. I haven’t had a favorite person in a while now…

God let’s stop talking about the sad shit anymore. I saw a baby squirrel on the porch as I was walking up. I thought maybe he had lost his mama or daddy; I’m thinking that’s what he also thought because when one of his -what I can only assume- parents came back they had scared that poor little thing so bad that he damn near jumped three feet high. I was kind of wishing you could have seen it, I remember you telling me how much you loved nature and all that stuff. Don’t read into that.

Anyways, I don’t know what it’s like heading up from the southwest, but Ellie and I ran into more raiders than we normally do. I don’t know why there’s more, but I’m not liking how things are looking.

I left you some ammo and rations hidden in the fireplace. Ellie left you something, she wouldn’t tell me, besides that it was hidden in the bathroom. That’s all she told me, so I’m guessing that means good luck.

-Joel

I’m not calling you my favorite, I don’t have a favorite between you two nuisances

Dear party-pooper,

Yes, that’s what I’m calling you from now on, you fucking party-pooper. ANYWAYS, I found your stash, thanks. The ammo was a life saver…literally…the rations could have at least been a good one. You left me some beef jerky (the only good thing in that damn ration), some stale ass cracker, and some unidentifiable fruit-like substance.

The raiders though, they’ve actually been better. Based on my guess, I think they might have migrated up your way. If you think it’s getting too bad for a bit, I get that, don’t feel pressured to write me back whenever you’re here next.

On a lighter note, Ellie hid a book that she’d think I’d like. So far, her shot in the dark has struck bull’s-eye. Tell her I said thank you. As for where she hid it -you’re gonna love this- she pulled the medicine cabinet off the upstairs bathroom’s wall, knocked out a small bit of drywall, and hid it in the wall before replacing the cabinet. It took me far longer than it should have, but who the fuck would look behind the cabinet on the wall? The cabinet, mind you, looked like it had never been pulled off the wall. Fuck, I really gotta give her credit for how creative she is with hiding places. You should take notes. Your hiding spots in the past have been…kinda in plain sight. Love you old man, but you suck at hiding. Expect, I give you credit to this last drop, up the chimney fluke. Maybe you still have it in you after all, old man.

Anyways…I left some things for you in the door of the fridge. It’s not much this time, things have been rough at this place. We let in this new couple, and they’ve been super suspicious. The first night they were here, the woman -Gabrielle- was found snooping around in the owner of the farm’s wife’s dresser. Gabrielle couldn’t give us a straight answer as to why she was snooping. That wasn’t even the weirdest bit, that same night the man -Kenneth- was snooping around in ALL of our shit. I woke up at gods only know, probably 3 or 4 in the morning. I didn’t think he got any of shit. I didn’t look though, and that’s on me. He got away with most of the things I was going to give you, what he didn’t take is hidden for you. I left Ellie some magazines I found about alternative bands from before the pandemic. I don’t even know if she knows what alternative music is, gods you probably don’t know what alternative music is. I’ll explain that to you in person one of these days.

-Your favorite nuisance

You fucking child,

You and Ellie act like the exact same person sometimes I swear. Sometimes I feel like it’s just Ellie leaving me these notes.

Forget all that, you said that the ammo I stashed for you came in handy? What happened? Are you okay? Were you injured? What happened to the other guy? That’s something I would have paid to see. If half of what the shit you’ve said in the past were true, then you’re a pretty good aim.

What you left me enough, the granola was honestly a god sent. You have no idea how boring coffee was getting. Ellie also said -and I quote- “Hell yeah these bitches look sick.” I have no idea where she’s heard that, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.

Backtracking -kind of- I know we’ve talked raiders, how have those fucking clickers been? I think because of that “migration” or whatever the hell you called it, they’ve been out there killing those fuckers while they snuck through the shadows. Our raider problem went up, but the clicker problem. It’s been too quiet recently. But following that thought, your raider problem went down, so that means your clicker problem got worse. Didn’t it? Fuck… You’re a pain in my ass, but I like this banter I get to have. You should come with Ellie and I back to our little place. It isn’t much, but Ellie’s been complaining that where we are isn’t “comfortable”. I swear she says what she says just to test my patience. But, yeah, Ellie would love it. She’d never shut up and it wouldn’t be me for once. Just give us the when and we’ll meet you here.

-Joel M.

Hey grumpy,

I think I like this nickname the best so far. I do swear one thing to you grumps, I am 100% NOT Ellie. I’m your…something. I’ve been kinda held up in my room at the farm this past week. I’ve been thinking about some things after the raiders. That’s not something I lied about; I am a pretty good shot. So was the leader of the little gang. He was 100% aiming for my head, I’m only alive because I got lucky. He drew his gun quicker than I did, he aimed quicker than I could, and he pulled that fucking trigger before I could…His gun jammed. It took me a minute to even register that I was still alive. When I realized though, gods, was I ready. Almost dying makes you really think about how you want to be remembered by people.

I don’t even know if what I’m thinking would make sense to you. Ellie might, but all she’s ever known is…well whatever it is she grew up knowing. These are things that I haven’t thought about since…fuck, well before the outbreak. Bare with me as I try to figure out to explain this in writing that isn’t going to be a fucking novel.

Actually, before I do that, I want to get this out there first. if you aren’t sure you want to be a part of this emotional blah, I got lucky. Ken left his bag open in Gabrielle’s room right next to her bag in her room! What’s even better? Neither of them were anywhere near the bags, Gabrielle was helping with dinner and Ken was helping with fence repair. I left you just under half of the ammo they had -hey, gotta keep myself safe- and Ken’s utility hatchet like thing (you’ll see what I mean). I also snatched you some more granola. I have no idea how this old couple is doing it, but they have so many oats. They also have a fucking bee house! You know what that means? Fresh honey! And just for you grumps, I snatched a mason jar for the two of you. Honey’s also good for a sore throat. I know it’s getting cold out there. I’ve actually been knitting (I know, I must be lying about my age. I’m not, I swear. I learned how to knit because of my grandma. When I was probably six or seven, I made a huge deal out of wanting to learn to do what my grandma was doing. So, she taught me. After the outbreak, I needed something to do with my hands, otherwise things…things would be incredibly different right now. Gods, sorry about the ramble.) some scarves for the two of you. You have no idea how much yarn got left behind in the stores. If after you read this, you decide you still want me to go with you I will. We can do it the weekend after next. Next week is my birthday and Marieann and George (the old couple of the farm) told me that it was “my day to relax and rest up after the hard year.” Who am I to go against what a sweet old lady tells me to do? That being said, I don’t like not knowing what’s going on and how the two of you are doing. At this point, what’s even the point of keeping track of birthdays anymore? Like, “Yay I lived another horrid year on this dying hunk of space rock, can’t wait to suffer through another one! Anyways, I'm sneaking out past curfew to leave you a note if the plan has changed. Anywho…I found more magazines for Ellie. I’ve hid them in the pantry. She’s smart. Your is hidden in the basement behind that dresser, it’s the same idea as what the kid did in the upstairs bathroom cabinet.

Back to the emotional blah…If anything I write doesn’t make sense, you can try asking Ellie. She may know. Gods, I thought it would be easier to write this out, not having to see your weathered (ignore that) expression change. To what? I don’t know. Anything? Fuck it…Joel when we meet, I thought I had figured myself out. When I met you, I was sure I was a woman. I don’t think that I am…I’m not a man either though. I’m neither? I don’t know how to explain this. Okay, so I was she/her when we met, you were -and still are- he/him. Well, if I’m neither of them I have to have a way to refer to myself, right? I do, instead of she or he, I’m…them. Or they! Well, it’s more like both, they/them. Gods I’m shaking so bad right now haha, I’m just really scared of losing you two…You two have been the first good thing since this shitstorm started. I know I can’t make you write me back, but I can ask you to at least leave me something saying you’ll either come back and write a new note or some kind of…I don’t know sign? That doesn’t feel like the right word, but note isn’t the word I want to use…I don’t know Joel, just please leave something. I don’t care how long it takes; I’ll keep coming back till I get another note from you. Even if that means I die doing this because you chose to leave, and I wouldn’t hate you for it.

That’s all I’ve to say. I really do…like you Joel, when thinking, remember I am the person from all of those letters and the few times we met.

-Your Raven no Magpie also no Crow now that’s one I like

Joel,

Hey, I came back this weekend, I’m 26 now! Yay! I’m not going to lie; I’m terrified right now. The clickers are getting worse around the farm, they aren’t too bad on the way here yet, but I know they will be.

I checked to see if you took the stuff, and you did. I saw that Ellie left me a comic book and a band shirt from one of those mags I gave her. I can’t believe she was able to find one, let alone one in my size. I also saw that you left me some ammo and another ration. I know it isn’t much, but it’s something. It gives me hope, and that’s all most of us have nowadays. Along with that hope, I also hope that you'll come back again. If that’s the case, I’ve left you both some things, same places as last.

Joel, for you, more granola (enough for the both of you), a scarf for you, some peach preserves (Marieann opened up some preserves she had made to be opened about this time), and some bread I baked. I warn the bread isn’t pretty, but with the chill, it should last a bit longer.

For Ellie, her scarf, a couple of mangas I found (this will be fun to hear how that goes), a Swiss army knife I found on a dead raider (I know it’s gruesome, but it’s the world we live in now), and a slightly used deck of cards. I felt like she could find a way to entertain herself why you do whatever it is you do when you want to be alone.

-Your hope filled Crow

Hey again,

You took the things again, and you left some more for me. It’s still something. No matter how little. It just hit me, these letters are going to be getting shorter and shorter until I hear from you huh?

Should I even keep writing to you? Maybe don’t answer that. Or do. You take all the time you need. I’m leaving you guys some more things, the same place as before.

-Your Crow

Hey,

I’m sorry about how long it took, I’ll be honest, I didn’t understand at all, and it freaked me out a bit. I asked Ellie if she they understood it and they did. They also came to realize that about themselves too. No, I don't fully understand it, but I’m willing to learn.

Thanks for the scarves, they’ve really helped with the chill at night. Ellie was so intrigued by that one that I’m guessing was the manga. I have no idea if they figured it out, but they’re having a blast trying.

The clickers have been a bit more active around us too. I wonder where they’re all coming from though.

Ellie and I are ready to head out, just tell us when. We’ve gathered all we could, the rest of the stuff we’re leaving is replaceable. Thanks to your scarf we’ve managed to carry a bit more stuff, not the way you meant for them to be used but they’re multifaceted.

I don’t know if Ellie has anything to leave, but I’m assuming it’s in the bathroom. I don’t have much to leave, I found some yarn. I just happened upon it when looting some cars on the main road. I also found a broken bow. I don’t know if you can fix it, but maybe that old man, George(?) could fix it, or maybe someone else in the house. They’re in the basement, it’s the only place they’d fit.

I want to help you keep that hope alive. I have one of my own, I hope we can get somewhere warm and safe together.

Joel, with…

Holy fuck,

Joel, you came back?! Thank you fuck…thank you. If you could see me, I am a mess right now. Gods you’d get a kick.

I wasn’t able to fix the bow, but George was! I guess he used to bow hunt back in the day. He said it may take him a bit; he has to dig out his tools. I’ll leave a letter the night before with an update. If you find a letter then there’s kink in the plans, if you don’t find a letter then it’s because I was there waiting, or I died. Or some other third thing, I like being dramatic sometimes.

With this plan may be happening, I’m not leaving much. This time it’s a kindle of firewood. Dry firewood hidden in the sugar in a mason jar. I remember you saying you drank coffee, and you were growing tired of the taste. So have some sugar, make it sweeter. Maybe add honey too.

-Your Crow

Dear Joel,

I know you hate the formality of these kinds of letters, but for once, just let it be. See the thing is I’m writing this as a “worst case scenario” kinda thing… I started writing about an hour ago for me, gods only know how long it’s been for you. To put in perspective the time difference, I’m writing this the same day I read your letter you had left, the letter about the plans about me coming with the two of you to find somewhere else.

I don’t know what has happened to me to force my hand in leaving this letter, but if I had to take a shot in the dark, I’ve probably been shot by other survivors. I’ve been bitten. If I remember, I’ll try to come back and write what really happened. Anyways, I know we had a plan, I also know that you’re a strong man. You don’t need me; I would have just slowed you down. So now you have to promise me you’ll keep that kid safe. Oh, and if you happen to find yourself in Omaha -I know we’re several hundred miles away, but you never know- stop by 1004 Cicada drive. It’s where I was living when all of the shit hit the fan. Now, I won’t be there to give you the tour, so you better not go tracking mud or anything inside.

Look, there are some things in that house that I think could be beneficial to you, I know you’ll find what you need. I have some things out in the garage, there’s some other things in the attic, and then there’s some things down in the basement’s crawl space. Now, it’s going to be dusty and dirty down there, but back before all of this, it was a beautiful basement. I had just finished painting it that beautiful blue color that has since been destroyed by some fucking raiders. Fuck, look at me gushing over my old basement. I must really sound like some weird fucker, huh?

Anyways, if I’m dead and that’s why you’re reading this, I just wanted to tell you some things…Where do I even start? I guess I’ll start light, that’s what you do right? I don’t know why I keep asking questions, I don’t know your answers to them. Gods do I wish I did know your answers, writing this with the unknown has been killing me. If you could see me right now, you’d have a pretty good laugh, I’m shaking like the last fall leaf in a big dying tree in the middle of a tornado. Fuck, I’m rambling…Look I’m really happy we ran into each other when we did, that day you almost shot me in the forest -behind this decrepit house- I lied to you. You asked me why I was out there, I told you I was looking for some animals to catch. I wasn’t…I couldn’t take any more of this bullshit. So, I was gonna beat the zombies to my death, and I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of bringing me back to be some brainless creature monster. I was going to paint a bit of the forest with gray matter. When you insisted on helping me because you also needed food, I was honestly kinda pissed. But now? Now I’m happy you stuck around. Joel, I don’t wanna make you feel any type of way but…You are the only reason I’m still here on this shithole of a planet. Also…you sticking around had affected me in ways I wasn’t expecting…Joel thanks to you Joel, spending all of that time with you, getting to actually know you, exchanging stories, all of that shit. All of that meant means far more than you could understand, and in that time, I grew to fell in love with you Joel.

I should have told you in person not through a piece of paper. I know there isn’t much I can say now…. but I am sorry. I wish I could have told you in person, I really do, I wish I could have heard your lips say it back. I can only imagine how your raspy, yet honeysuckle sweet voice would say those three words “I. Love. You.” Gods the thought of it…

Anyways, if I keep going, I might accidently write you a book. For whatever reason it is that made me tell you where to find this, I’m happy I got to meet you when I did. Make sure to tell Ellie I said hi. You make sure you keep that girl safe or so Gods help you, Joel Miller.

-Your Crow, with love

P.S. Joel I don’t know how much longer I have till I turn, but I just wanted to say before I die, I love you Joel, tell Ellie I love her too. I left you my remaining ammo and handgun. I left Ellie my lucky bullet casing -we both know she’ll love it- and my bracelet, the one with that little metal rabbit foot charm. You have no idea how excited I was to leave that lonely farm. I would finally be with people I cared about and who cared about me. Like who actually cared about me.

I had a weird feeling that this is how things would go, so I planned. I know I’m leaving you my handgun and ammo. The handgun only has one bullet right now. You can fill it the rest of the way and leave, or you can do what I was too scared to do in the end…Kill me. Right now, I’m in the kitchen writing this. I don’t feel good, I feel like someone beat me with a lead pipe. My head is throbbing, and I can’t tell if I’m sweating because I’m hot with a fever, or if because of a cold chill.

I thought I’d have a bit of time, you know, write you some more, pour my heart out on paper for you, but I don’t. It wasn’t a deep bite, but it was a bite, nonetheless. I tried to sneak past this clicker, I was doing so well until I lost my balance and stumbled, twisting my ankle. I didn’t try to fight it, I thought I’d have better luck running back here. I didn’t…

I love you Joel, I really really ….

*Joel’s POV*

Your writing at the end was practically ineligible, trailed off almost. Joel wasn’t quite sure, what he was sure of, was the feeling of his heart break. An all too familiar break, one he hadn’t felt since Sarah’s mom…

Joel quickly and silently tore his path through the house, he was certain that you were playing some kind of sick cruel joke.

“Joel. Joel! Come on man,” Joel could hear Ellie, but for some reason his legs wouldn’t stop. He had to prove Ellie wrong, that’s why. Yeah, that makes sense. “Joel, Jesus fucking Christ. STOP!” Hearing Ellie’s loud voice had pulled him to a halt.

“Joel, I know you loved them man, I did too. I don’t know what hell-bent path you’re on, but you aren’t going to find them okay. I know,” Joel looked to Ellie, his unfocused eyes taking a moment. When his eyes finally focused, he could see it, he could see the tears that were pouring from Ellie’s face. That’s when he realized he too was crying. “I looked for them after I found their rabbit’s foot bracelet. I think they’re in the basement, the door is locked or jammed. I can’t get it open.” Joel swallowed the pained howls that wanted to rip through his tired body. Clearing his throat, Joel quickly wiped his face on his jacket sleeve.

“You stay up here; I’ll get it figured out. No matter what, I don’t care if you're curious or something else, don’t under any circumstances come down there am I clear?” Joel clenched his jaw, he needed something to focus on something, so why not something he can do.

Ellie never responded verbally, but Joel saw the stiff nod. Turning from Ellie Joel tried to make quick work of finding the things you left. It took him far less time than he expected. Joel also found a key; one he could only assume you left. It wasn’t particularly noteworthy or showy, but if he had to guess, it would unlock that basement door. Was that even something he wanted to do? Kill you? Or rather, kill the already dead you?

Heading back to the dining room, Joel looked at the things he had found in the house. The one catching his attention first? Your handgun. The one with only one bullet loaded in it. Picking up the gun, Joel examined it in his hand, the handle was worn, faint groves noticeable to the touch. The metal on it had definitely seen better days, days when the metal was clean and before it was used in all of this shit.

Swallowing the lump in his throat down, Joel took the key -along with the gun- to the basement door. Standing there, Joel simply stared at the handle. God only knows how long he stood there, but hearing Ellie walk into the dining room, pulled him back to the doorknob in hand. Gripping the gun tighter, Joel carefully put the key into the knob. Giving it a trying twist, Joel felt it resist for a second, before a soft ‘click’ could be heard. Gripping the knob, Joel twisted it slowly and carefully pulled the door open. There wasn’t a single sound coming from the basement, maybe you had found a way to do this. Something he was now dreading. Readying the gun, Joel carefully made his way down the stairs, trying to be as light as possible on his feet.

Once his feet hit the basement floor, Joel clicked on his flashlight. The basement wasn’t huge by any means, but it did have a smaller room off the back wall. Walking towards the doorway, Joel practically held his breath to listen for the all too well known cl-

The sound of clicking slowly filling the air as he grew closer. The sound put him to a stop. Can he really do this? Yes, because you shouldn’t have to be one of them. Clenching his jaw Joel continued on.

In the doorway, Joel could barely make out the shadow of you, or at least what used to be you. It was kind of hard to tell for certain where the bite was for certain, but it seemed as if it was your shoulder. As he stood there, Joel was silent, he wanted to remember what you were like, this wasn’t you and he knew that. You were gone by now, long gone and he knew that. Raising the gun, Joel closed his eyes for a moment. Opening his eyes, Joel cocked the handgun, the click of the hammer grabbing your attention. Staring at what used to be your face, Joel could feel the tears run down his face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t quicker my Crow.” His last word punched through the silence, with the loud echo of a spent shell.

'''''''

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 7 months ago

Text

The Dangers of Hope Epilogue

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5,849

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So this is it, the epilogue, the end. I'm so sad to say goodbye to this series. I've really loved writing it, even if it kicked my ass a couple of times. I know I've said this already, but it definitely bears repeating - I'm so unbelievably grateful for the love and support you've all shown this series. Thanks so much - and I hope you enjoy this little peak into Dean and Y/N's lives a decade later. This ended up about twice as long as I'd planned. Lol! Enjoy! ❤️

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Spring, 10 Years Later

The rumbling engine of the Impala was silenced as Dean pulled into the garage and parked Baby in her spot. The camp had eight cars now, so they'd had to expand the garage two summers before. The cars got shuffled around all the time, but Baby always kept her spot on the end. Everyone knew it was her spot.

The late afternoon sun shone in through the garage windows as Dean removed the keys from the ignition and pushed them back into his black, denim jacket pocket.

Sam was sitting beside him and shot him a questioning look when Dean didn't immediately jump out. “Dean?”

Dean nodded and then looked over at his little brother. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Sam sighed. He'd already answered this question from his brother, in various forms, three or four times.

The Deerling Survivors Camp, a small camp located almost seventy miles away, had sent a message to Dean a week earlier, requesting a face-to-face meeting. Dean had asked Sam to come along and they'd stayed overnight at the fledgling camp. The pseudo-leader there, just a young kid who’d been thrust into the role, had asked them to let Deerling join Camp Chitaqua, and after seeing the shape of the camp, Dean had agreed on the spot.

Years earlier the four smaller camps surrounding Chitaqua had joined them, expanding the camp by miles and miles and raising the population by more than two hundred people. It had been a big decision, and Dean had consulted with the council for a couple days before agreeing to the expansion.

It was a very good decision in the end, since they now had enough land to plant six, four acre farm plots. They made sure to rotate crops, leaving one field fallow every season and using it for grazing pasture. But all that fertile land meant that the campers all had plenty of fresh vegetables. Their expanded size also allowed them to enlarge their barn, so they could now house and care for four cows and a bull, two horses, dozens of chickens, a rooster, two pigs, and eight sheep.

They'd bartered and traded with other camps for most of their animals or found them wandering around alone and unclaimed. But they bought their sheep from a farmer living in what used to be Iowa. A lot of farmers had started over there, scratching out a new life from the soil, now that the world had started turning once again.

Seven years ago they'd finally succeeded in producing a vaccine. It had taken a lot of hard work. For three years, every single person that worked on it did so with nothing more than a promise of a better tomorrow.

It had taken another two plus years to get the word and the vaccine out to people, but now most of the population was vaccinated. The vaccine had also been carried overseas. They couldn't be sure how things were going across the pond because communication was still very limited. But they'd heard rumors that it was going well.

Some infrastructure was up and running again; they had electricity in some places, and some cities had running water again. There were even some places that had phone lines connected - in and around the bigger cities where people were beginning to congregate.

Things seemed to be progressing quickly out west in the former California, where they'd reportedly started broadcasting some form of Television again. Not very many people had TVs anymore to watch, but it seemed comforting to people just to know something resembling their former lives was returning.

Not everything was perfect, of course. There was no centralized government, or structured, widespread laws. Most areas had variations of camps like Chitaqua with leaders in charge, or occasionally small, internally elected governments that ran the camp. Lawlessness still existed in a lot of places, but it was being beaten further back every day as groups banded together.

There were also still some areas that were uninhabitable because massive groups of Croats still roamed there. The researchers that had created the vaccine were working on a cure for those who’d already been infected, but thus far they’d proved unsuccessful. Croat attacks still happened sometimes, but the vaccine meant that people just had to deal with the bite itself, making sure it was healing properly - something that was becoming easier as medical stations were springing up in and around larger populations as well, as doctors went back to healing people as they’d been trained to do.

Chitaqua had a physician, Dr. Turner, who lived in the camp. The Medical Tent was no more and instead the doctor’s office and their cache of medical supplies were now housed in a big log structure that had been tiled inside to keep it as clean and sanitary as possible. Patrick was happy to be rid of guard duties these days, working alongside Dr. Turner to watch over the health and well-being of the campers.

There weren’t many tents left nowadays either. They had a bunch stored away in case the camp ended up with a big influx of new campers and temporary housing was needed. But most people lived in log cabins of varying sizes, dotted over the two and a half square miles of the camp. There were well over five hundred people in the camp now, since amalgamating the four other camps. They also had a reputation for being a prosperous, strong community, so people tended to migrate there as well - which continued to add to their numbers.

Now, after the meeting with the Deerling camp, they’d be adding another ninety-six people to their ranks, inflating their population to nearly seven hundred people. Dean was worried about the fact that he’d made the decision to absorb the smaller camp without consulting the council this time.

The council was a group made up of eight other people besides Dean. Sam and Y/N were on it, as well as Brandy, Risa, Dr. Turner, and three other campers who were there representing the hunters, the farmers and the builders.

Day-to day decisions were still handled by Dean, but he relied on the council for other bigger decisions - taking their thoughts, ideas and opinions into account before he ultimately made a decision. Agreeing to take in another flock of people and develop another thirty acres of land was definitely one of those big decisions he’d normally take to the council, which was why, Sam knew, Dean had been second guessing his unilateral decision to say yes to Deerling’s request.

Sam shook his head at his brother as he answered Dean’s worry again. “Dean, you acted out of generosity, the council will understand. I can vouch for the fact that those campers need a lot of help very quickly. Those kids were starving, you could see that.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I just brought the camp more strain on resources with no benefits.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, there’s the land.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, unfarmable land that’s separated from us by almost eighty miles. And Brisbane camp sits between us and Deerling, and they already think we’re trying to take them over. Joining with a group on the other side of them is gonna make them even more suspicious and possibly turn them unfriendly.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should have consulted the council.”

“Dean, there’s no way the council would have opted to just let a bunch of kids and sick people die. They’re definitely going to agree with your decision, and this way you’ve simply ensured that we can get food and medicine out to them by tomorrow instead of making them wait days for it. Trust me, you made the right decision.”

Dean grunted his response, still unsure.

Sam slapped the back of his hand against Dean’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna go talk with the Doc about getting supplies together and coming out there with me tomorrow. Will you talk with Brandy later about food?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” A smile finally lit his face. “And then I’m goin’ home.”

Sam smiled and opened his door to climb out of the Impala. “Good plan. Give Y/N and the kids a kiss for me.”

Dean climbed out too and slammed his door behind him. He called Sam back as his brother began to walk away.

“We should also figure out a time and day to have a sit down with the new leader from Brisbane, talk with her about our intentions regarding Deerling. She’s tough, but she seems more approachable and level-headed than their last leader. Maybe we can convince her we’re not looking to take anything over.”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Dean frowned. “What’s her name again?”

“Eileen Leahy.”

Dean noticed his brother’s cheeks turn pink and he immediately turned back into an annoying big brother, his grin wide.

“Right, right, you met with her alone last time. She’s cute, huh? Something we should know? Maybe you should invite her over to our place for dinner next week. We can have our little sit down conversation then. What do you think?”

Sam had already turned and started walking away. “You’re an idiot!” He called back over his shoulder. But Dean made a mental note to tell Y/N all about it later.

With Y/N firmly in mind he started out across the camp. Their cabin was situated on top of a low hill in the Southwest section of the camp, not all that far from where their old red tent used to sit.

They’d built their cabin when they came back to Chitaqua eight years ago after helping to set up the research facility. The vaccine was still a year away, but they’d done all they could do and they were ecstatic that after two years of traveling back and forth from camp, gathering doctors, researchers and searching for other psychic kids, (they’d only found two others) and after Y/N had given gallons of her blood to science, they could finally come home for good.

Not long after returning home, Y/N realized she was pregnant and Dean became obsessed with building them a beautiful home. It was around that time that the camps had all joined together and building homes for everyone became a priority of the camp.

The builders grew in numbers as they took on apprentices and taught them the trade so that more people in the camp could join in the work. It took almost four years of constant building, but eventually all five hundred plus campers had permanent homes.

Gotta pull the tents out for the Deerling folks, Dean thought as he walked, his mind immediately occupied with figuring out the logistics of where the new campers could stay, and how they could join in the life of the camp, once they were all healthy.

He stopped by Food Storage and spoke with Brandy as Sam had requested. And just as his brother had suspected, when he explained the situation, Brandy was one council member who was very glad he’d made the decision he had. He felt more sure now that the others would feel the same.

As Dean wound his way through camp he got stopped quite a few times, people wanting to talk with him about one concern or another. He generally pointed them in the direction of the person or group in the camp that could help them. But he also got stopped by friends wanting to say hi and talk for a moment or two.

He was happy to talk, but anxious to get home to Y/N.

He looked out towards the large school building where Y/N still taught every day. The new building had been built on the site where the main cabin had been burned down. It was even bigger than the old cabin, with six rooms for the seven teachers that worked there now.

Y/N was also the principal of the school for all intents and purposes; she and the other teachers taught over two hundred kids from ages five to sixteen. Theresa had finished school and immediately joined the staff as a teacher, working with Y/N every day and loving it. Brandy was so proud.

But Dean wasn’t surprised to see the building empty now, however; he knew it was a day off. He picked up his pace, weaving through the buildings that resided where the old tents had taken up space.

They’d greatly expanded the food storage, and had an entirely different rations system now that fresh vegetables, fruit, fish and game made up the vast majority of their diet. Brandy was still in charge and was constantly innovating to make things easier and to stretch their food as far as they could in order to feed everyone.

The former tent area also housed three large storage sheds, a small building that worked as an office/meeting space for whatever group needed to use it, and a small mill where they processed the wheat they grew - that process had included a steep learning curve, but they’d eventually made it work.

There was also a small, open area where a kind of market had popped up organically as the campers traded amongst themselves for things like homemade jewelry, homemade clothes, and other non-essentials.

He walked behind the buildings and began climbing the gently rising path that led to their cabin at the top of the hill. About halfway home he heard loud barking and looked up to see their seven year old Bernese-Husky cross, Clifford, bounding towards him, the way he usually did when any of the family came home.

“Hey, boy.” Dean said softly, scratching him behind the ears. “Miss me?”

Clifford barked happily in answer and ran ahead and then back to where Dean stood, obviously urging him on towards home. Dean laughed and sped up, chasing after the big dog who sometimes still acted like a puppy.

As the path through the trees ended, opening up into their wide front yard, Dean sighed deeply. “Home sweet home.” He murmured.

Even though he'd been away less than two days, he was still so happy to be home. He felt the peace that filled him up every time he stepped around the last bend in the path and caught sight of their home in the distance.

The way smoke curled lazily from the chimney and the scent of something delicious wafted through the half open Dutch door, never failed to make him ache to get his arms around his wife and bask in her light. Dean shook his head at his sentimental thoughts, but hurried his pace to get inside.

As he drew closer however, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see his son walking East, coming out from behind the house. Dean figured he was heading over to his friend Freddie's, and he was about to continue on into the cabin, but then he noticed what his eight-year-old was holding in his hand.

“Gabriel Eric Winchester!”

Dean's voice bellowed out, freezing the young boy where he stood. Dean strode towards him, anger clear on his face. To the boy's credit, even when he turned and saw his father's anger, he still walked forward slowly, until he was standing directly in front of him.

The gun he held, however, was tucked just behind his back, as though he was hoping Dean hadn't noticed it.

Dean held his hand out. “Give that to me this second.”

Gabe's face fell and he brought the gun forward reluctantly, dropping it onto Dean's palm.

Dean immediately checked to make sure the small, .38 caliber, Smith and Wesson revolver was unloaded and when he saw it was, he held it in his fist, directly in front of Gabe's eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing with this?”

His son's eyes were wide and they got watery quickly.

He shrugged. “I was just gonna bring it to Freddie's. Josh said he could teach us to shoot.” He said, referring to his friend’s older brother. “Just cans on a fence.” He was quick to reassure Dean.

“And did you ask your mother if you could remove a gun from the weapons chest?” Dean asked, already well aware of the answer.

Gabe shook his head. “No.” He said quietly.

“How did you get it?” Dean asked brusquely.

Gabriel’s voice was still soft as he admitted what he’d done. “I grabbed it yesterday when mom took out a rifle to scare away some raccoons that were trying to get into the compost. Josh said he could teach us if we had guns. So when I saw it last night I just…” He trailed off as he looked up at Dean's face.

“So what you're telling me,” Dean said quietly, “is that while your mother's back was turned you STOLE a gun and planned to use it without asking either of us for permission.”

Gabe's tears spilled down his cheek at his father's disappointed tone and accurate words. He nodded and then sniffed.

“I'm sorry.” He said thickly.

Dean crouched down so he could look his son in the eye. “Gabe, a gun is not a toy. I thought you knew this. It's not something to mess around with or use on a whim. It is a weapon. It's incredibly dangerous. If you'd gone off and started shooting, even just at cans, you could have seriously hurt or killed yourself or your friends. Do you understand me?”

Gabe nodded but bit his lip. “But you carry a gun.” He said, pointing to the ever present gun strapped to Dean’s thigh. “And you started using guns when you were even younger than me. I heard you talking about it to mom before. And I…” He sniffled again. “I just wanted to be like you.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Oh, buddy, I want you to be so much more than me. Your mom and I, we've worked really hard to make things better for you guys, to make the world safer so that when you grow up, hopefully you won’t have to walk around with a gun strapped to you at all times. It’s my job to protect the people in this camp. That’s why I carry a gun, and why I sometimes carry a rifle. But that’s not your job. Your job is to just be a little boy.”

Dean saw Gabriel pout a bit about being called a little boy. He smiled gently and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “Trust me, buddy, you should enjoy being a kid, don’t try to grow up too quickly.”

Gabe nodded begrudgingly and Dean pulled his son in for a hug. After a moment, he pulled back from him and stood up straight again, before nodding towards the cabin. “Go to your room now until supper, and when you come out, you’ll owe your mother an apology for going behind her back. Also, nothing but school and home for a week, do you understand?”

Gabe looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it when Dean gave him a stern look. “Yes, sir.” He said in acceptance and turned to run into the cabin.

“Gabriel!” Dean called. When his son turned back, the tear tracks on his grubby cheeks still visible, Dean spoke quietly but with conviction. “I love you and that’s why I know you can do better.”

Gabe’s face lost some of its forlorn look and he gave Dean a slightly awkward smile, lightly banging his fist against the side of his leg. “Love you too, Dad.” He said quickly before bolting for the house.

Dean shook his head and slipped the gun into his inside jacket pocket. He’d have to have a few more conversations with his son about gun safety and responsibility, but he was confident he could drill the dangers into him.

He walked up the stairs to the front door, more than ready to see Y/N and his girls. When he walked inside, however, he could hear voices coming from behind the kitchen door, and they didn’t sound very happy.

He pushed open the swinging door and saw Y/N and Emma inside. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dean!” She said happily as she saw him and crossed to the door to pull him down for a kiss.

“Ew.” Emma said.

It was the standard reaction from all of their kids when they kissed in front of them. Emma had a hand over her eyes as Dean finished the kiss and looked over to where she stood by the sideboard that held all their plates, cups and glasses.

“You can look now, kiddo, we’re all finished.” Dean told her with a grin. “For the moment.”

Emma rolled her eyes and made Dean chuckle. Y/N frowned up at him. “Did I hear you yelling at Gabe?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, gotta talk to you about that, but you guys sounded angry when I came in. Anything wrong?”

Y/N looked at Emma and shrugged. “I’ve been telling Emma that she needs to invite her new friend for dinner.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled as he looked at Emma. “You don’t want to bring your friend over for dinner?”

Emma looked at Y/N with frustration, clearly annoyed that she’d told Dean anything.

Dean tried again. “What’s going on kiddo, since when don’t you want us to meet your friends? Who is it, by the way? Didn’t realize any new kids had started at the school.”

Y/N shook her head. “Jeffrey’s not a new student, he’s just a new…friend.” She said meaningfully.

Dean caught on and his face immediately dissolved into a scowl. “Oh.” He said without enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See?” Emma barked out, pointing at Dean, but talking to Y/N. “I told you this is how he’d be!!”

“What?” Dean asked defensively. “What are you talking about?”

Emma folded her arms, her posture and scowl mirroring Dean’s. “You get like this every time I bring a boy home, even when he’s absolutely just a friend. You scare the shit out of them!”

“Emma!” Y/N said, reprimanding her for her language..

But Dean just scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean. How do I scare them?”

Emma glared at him. “You interrogate them, Daddy, you know you do.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, if they’re too freaked out to answer a few simple questions then-”

“Simple questions?” Emma interrupted with a humorless laugh. “When I invited Timothy Sutherland over here you forced him to sit down and answer a thousand questions about his family, his background, where he grew up, what his plans were when we finished school. He ran out of here and never looked back.”

Dean threw his arms out. “Do you really wanna date a loser like that anyway? Who can’t even answer a couple questions?”

“Ugh!” Emma stomped her foot and stormed out the back door.

Silence reigned for a moment when Emma left before Y/N turned towards Dean, giving him a tilted smile. “So, welcome home!” She said in a would-be cheerful voice..

Dean sighed as he pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. They enjoyed the simple peace of each other’s embrace for a few minutes before Y/N spoke.

“What happened with Gabe?” She asked.

“He stole a gun and was gonna go shoot cans with Josh and Freddie Young.”

“What?” Y/N shouted, pulling back to look into Dean’s face.

He nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I handled it. He’s in his room till supper and he’s grounded for a week. And I talked to him about how dangerous guns were. I have more conversations planned around the subject for the near future.”

Y/N shook her head before laying it back on Dean’s chest. “Good lord.”

After a couple minutes Y/N pulled away and poured them each a cup of coffee. They settled beside each other at the wooden table and instinctively linked fingers.

Dean took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I don’t really interrogate all her boyfriends, do I?”

Y/N pursed her lips. “Well, she’s never actually had a real boyfriend. And I don’t think that's because boys don’t want to date her. She’s smart and kind, beautiful and well-liked. So…” She shrugged. “It seems probable that the boys who like her are just too intimidated by her father - you know, the legend who fought monsters, Croats, angels, and WON - the soldier that leads the camp, wears a gun, and asks scary questions, all while donning a very good mean-face.”

Dean exhaled loudly, but before he could respond, their youngest child came bouncing into the room. She was just six years old, and looked so much like Emma at that age that it sometimes caught Dean off guard.

But she was definitely her own little bundle of energy. Having never known hunger or hardship, she was all bright smiles and busy excitement. It seemed as though she’d been born smiling and simply hadn't stopped. Very little bothered her, and she was absolutely spoiled by the entire family, including their found family members in the camp.

Everyone loved Hope.

“Daddy, you’re home!” Hope shouted as she jumped into his lap.

“Oof.” He grunted as she landed hard on some sensitive places. “Hey sweetheart!” He said, slightly out of breath.

“I missed you. Mommy said you might not come home until tomorrow, but I said that you would come home quick because you like to be home and you don’t like to stay away. Right?”

He nodded, trying to keep up with her racing words. “Yeah, baby, I love to be home.”

Before his sentence was ended Hope was on to her next thought. “I saw Emmie running out the back door and I tried to talk to her, but she looked mad. She was sitting on the tree swing in the back and I wanted a turn, so I told her to push me, but she just helped me on the swing and then she left to walk through the front yard and leave. And when I tried to follow her, she told me not to leave the yard and to go inside and see you cause you were back. So, I did.” She paused for breath before asking, “Why was Emmie mad?”

Y/N answered. “It’s nothing sweet pea. Why don’t you help me make supper? You can shuck the corn.”

Hope clapped her hands. “Yes, I want to pull all the strings off.”

Y/N held her daughter’s hand as she hopped off of Dean’s lap, and then leaned forward to kiss Dean slowly.

“Ew.” Hope said, shielding her eyes as her sister had.

Y/N smiled against Dean’s lips and whispered to him. “Go talk to your daughter.”

Dean nodded and stood up, bending to kiss Hope’s shiny chestnut curls on the crown of her head. “Hey, promise me something short one.” He said, continuing when she looked up at him. “Promise you’ll take a really long time to grow up, okay?”

She smiled at him, cheeks round and rosy. “Okay, daddy.”

He winked at Y/N who smiled indulgently. “She promises.”

***

Dean instinctively knew where he’d find his oldest child. She coped with stress and frustration the same way he did, the way he’d taught her to.

He walked through the door of the garage and sure enough, there was Emma, wearing old, blue coveralls that were too big for her, and bent over the hood of the little Chevy hatchback that sat next to the Impala. He knew she heard him come in, but she didn’t say anything, just kept working.

Dean hopped up on Baby’s hood and waited for her to be ready to talk. Eventually, she caved and looked over at him, her face slightly shuttered and a little hard to read. “Hi.” She said simply.

He smiled at her. “Hey kiddo.” He nodded at the open hood she was under. “How are things looking? Still need a new oil pan?”

Emma shook her head. “No, I replaced that last week. Risa found me one in the back of the storage shed.”

“Good.” Dean said. They were both quiet as Emma leaned back in and continued working.

After a moment she cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m gonna need new brake pads though. Think we could go to Lowry’s and see what he’s got.” She asked, referring to a guy in Brisbane who collected car parts and often traded with them.

“Sure. I’ll be busy for the next day or so. But we can go after that. One day after school?” He asked.

Emma nodded and stood up, wiping her hands on the rag she had stuffed in her pocket. She was quiet as she slammed the hood closed and then stepped out of the coveralls and hung them up on the hook beside the door.

She wandered over to Baby and hoisted herself up beside Dean on the hood. After a moment she leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dad. I’m glad you’re home.”

Dean lifted his arm so she could snuggle closer, and then wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, squeezing her into his side.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, baby. Apparently I’ve been unconsciously scaring away the tons of boys who would otherwise be beating down our door. Though, if I’m being completely truthful, it probably wasn’t entirely unconscious. Cause I just know not a one of them is gonna be good enough for you.”

Emma chuckled. “I don’t think it’s tons of boys, Daddy. And I’m not interested in a bunch of boys. I’m interested in Jeffery. And I really do want you to meet him. I think if you give him a chance you’d like him. He’s really sweet and funny and just…” She sighed. “I just like him.”

Dean squeezed her again and felt his chest constrict with love and bittersweet memories, remembering how she used to crawl into his lap and let him read her to sleep. Those days were long gone, but she was still that little girl to him and she probably always would be. But he knew she was growing up and he needed to loosen his grip, at least a little.

So he sighed now and nodded. “Okay, kiddo. If you like him, I’m sure I’ll like him too. So, invite him over for dinner one evening and I swear to keep my questions to a minimum and be perfectly cordial.”

Emma laughed. “I don’t know if cordial is ever a word I’d use to describe you, Dad. Let’s just try to leave out the death stares.”

***

That evening after dinner, it was Gabe and Hope’s turn to do dishes. Gabriel washed and Hope dried with some assistance from Dean. As they were finishing up, Keisha and Julianne showed up on their doorstep asking if Emma was free to go for a walk around camp.

Y/N nodded when Emma looked to her for permission. “That’s fine. Be home before dark. Oh, here.” She said to the twins, grabbing a bag and passing it to them. “Take these home to your mom, it's the dress patterns she loaned me.”

Keisha went to take it, but Y/N pulled it back. “On second thought, nevermind. I’ll bring it to her tomorrow afternoon. Gives me a reason to visit and gossip.”

The girls all laughed and then waved as they headed out the door. Dean had to smile as they walked away, their high pitched voices and giggles floating back to them on a breeze. Some things hadn’t changed and he was grateful.

Gabe went to his room to read, since he was housebound for the next while. Hope played with some well loved and worn out dolls for a little bit before they took her to her room and put her to bed. They tucked Gabe in not long after, and then took their coffee cups out onto their little front porch and sat in one of the big Adirondack chairs that Dean and Sam had built three years ago.

Y/N settled happily into Dean’s lap, her hands cupped around her warm mug. The late spring air was soft and warm, and the sounds of the camp drifted up the hill towards them. They listened contentedly for a little while as Clifford came out of the house and flopped down on Dean’s feet.

They talked about the kids and they talked about the Deerling camp; they talked about Sam, and Y/N admonished Dean for teasing him about Eileen.

“Be nice.” She scolded. “I hope he will bring her to dinner. If he likes her, I mean.”

They talked about anything and everything, and as the sun began to set, Emma came up the path and smiled as she saw her parents cuddled together in one chair. As much as she rolled her eyes and hid her face when they started getting kissy, she loved how much they loved each other. And she knew she’d never settle for anything less than what they had together.

She told them goodnight and went inside, Clifford rising slowly to follow her and sleep at the end of her bed as he did every night.

Soon the fireflies were buzzing loudly and the camp was getting quiet, so Dean stood up with Y/N still in his arms, leaving their coffee cups to sit on the porch until morning. She laughed as her husband carried her effortlessly into their bedroom.

He set her on her feet and locked the door before he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his own. Y/N moaned softly and immediately pulled off his flannel shirt and yanked his t-shirt over his head so she could spread her hands across the wide expanse of his still beautifully muscled torso.

“God I missed you.” She breathed, even though it had only been one night. “I hate when you go away.”

He smiled against her skin as he stripped her down to her bra and panties. “Missed you too, sweetheart. Promise not to go anywhere ever again.”

Y/N laughed at his impossible promise as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He continued kissing her as he crossed the room and lowered her to the bed. She wouldn’t let go of him and pulled him down on top of her.

Dean chuckled at her hold on him and then mouthed his way down her body, licking and nipping at her skin. Ten years later she still had the ability to make him instantly hard and aching for her.

They spent most of the night making up for the one they’d been apart. In the darkest part of the night they found light and life in each other’s arms and fell asleep knowing tomorrow would dawn bright and busy - filled with responsibilities, joy, love and most of all…

…hope.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #endverse!dean fan fic series #endverse

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

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please write more night walks!joel, i simp so hard for that man. and idk what it is but the night walks version of him but it made me simp even harder. the point is that at this poin i would do literally anything for just a little blurb about him.

Gotta say, I kinda love the increasingly desperate night walks & raider joel asks lmaooo these joels have too much power. For the next night walks, I received some hot thots and had some of my own. I have a vision I’m excited to work on this week. I hope no one is sad if I don't do their asks on this one, I may still in the future. Have to listen to the night walks!joel in my head sometimes . . .

MEANWHILE, since your ask was so humble, Idk what a blurb is officially, but here's a little blurb, I think.

night walks horny blurb(?): liquor store

350 | night walks!joel x reader | master list

You’re at the liquor store on your way back from the gym wearing shorts and a sweatshirt. you bend down to pick up a handle of your preferred liquor. Before you can stand up, you’re startled by something cold running up your inner knee, along your thigh and coming to a rest between your legs. You freeze.

“I’d recognize those legs anywhere,” he murmurs lowly. “‘specially from that angle.” You stand up before you turn around. His voice does something to you. You wish it wouldn’t

“Jesus, I almost hit you with this,” you say with the bottle in your hand. Why are you relieved? Maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing.

He’s holding a bottle, presumably what he touched you with, and wearing a chunky cableknit sweater that zips at the top and has a standing collar. You almost want to say he cleans up nice, until you follow his hand down as he adjusts his crotch. He’s wearing pj pants again. Double cheeked up, hard-on blazing at the moment. Jesus.

He follows you to the check-out and you both have to wait in line. He waits behind you. “Where ya goin’ with that,” he asks.

“Nowhere,” you say.

“We should hang out,” he says and steps into your space. His massive hand gently lays on your ass and his fingers spread out. He presses them into your shorts and his middle finger runs up the seam of your shorts, making them dip into your crack. He helps himself to a handful of ass.

“Don’t think so,” you say and step forward. You're rapidly getting wet and don't want him to feel it.

“Sure ‘bout that?” he asks and steps closer, putting his hand around your hip and pressing his hard-on into your asscheek.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m exhausted.” Interesting that you give him an excuse instead of simply saying you’re not interested. Implying if you weren’t tired, you’d be down. . .

“Suit yourself,” he says and steps back. He adjusts himself again, clearing his throat.

You stand in line in silence after that. When you glance back as the cashier rings you up, he checks you out starvingly, wets his lips, then gives a fakely respectful nod.

You take your paper bag and receipt, and say “bye.”

“See ya 'round, pumpkin,” he says.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione

#night walks!joel #neighbor!joel #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #creepy!joel miller #perv!joel miller #perv!joel #pervy!joel miller #horny!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️

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smallishzine · 18 days ago

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hey guys thank you for the lovely responses to the interest form, I appreciate everyone calling me handsome and amazing and tall, and also to everyone calling me an idiot you’re in fact correct but guess what you’re the one filling out the form and I’m the one who made it so shut up shut up hahahaha. Sorry. I don’t mean that, please don’t shut up I’ll be very sad if everyone shuts up and I’ll have no one to talk to. This post is to address some of the things that you pointed out as us having forgotten, and we preemptively apologize for burying important info in this mess. It’s like a scavenger hunt! Or bureaucracy. Take your pick.

how humble we are (true, true. So humble. The humblest.)

smallishbeans (I’m fairly certain we remembered this one)

an ego check (yup, still there)

Eefo (you’re so right it’s a crime that we’ve forgotten him we will rectify this mistake immediately)

many variations of “timeline?” which we answered in this post

that you, the form fillers, are tall and handsome as well (indeed)

that one of you was watching shrek 2 as they filled out the form (good job. We approve. Not that you should care what random people on the internet think of your taste in movies, but 👍)

more smallishbeans (it’s like they knew)

how much one of you loves ldshadowlady, sparkle heart emoji (true and real. Only correct take. We also love ldshadowlady)

chicken murder (we decided to put the chicken murder before the form rather than in it, so as not to distract from your form filling experience. We apologize if this isn’t what you wanted, we will be sure to include more chicken murder in future forms.)

A spot for obvious professionals in form filling to rate the form, so they had to do it in the what did we forget box. we received the following ratings: 5/10, 10/10 (< a genuine thank you to whoever submitted this one), 0/10 (:(), 7.3/15, 6/20, and several more

multiple variations of “age limit?” Which we answered in this post

Jeremys blessing (which we actually didn’t forget you stupid idiot haha I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me I promise you are not a stupid idiot even if you don’t finish reading forms before submitting)

that one of you likes shrek but is cooler than us so really the form is egregiously incorrect (egregious is a bit harsh. More, stupendously incorrect! Or, fantastically incorrect! Also, if you’re so cool, why don’t you prove it by participating in the zine huh? Huh? Thought so. 😎)

That I am cool, and I haven’t forgotten but you wanted to remind me (I am mod Dinn and I approve this message)

our epic arson related plan of action for when the ship burns (I’m afraid I have some bad news for you…)

“Can I join??” (yes)

hey it’s you dailyboatboys let you in let you in let you in (absolutely)

other words of affirmation that we greatly appreciate. Everyone who called me cool, handsome, amazing, and other good things or who complimented the form or who expressed excitement and interest in the zine hold a special place in my heart. I read through every response so far and to every person who said that I was really cool, or that they were super excited for the zine, or that the interest form was really good, or that they were so down participate, thank you. Now enough with being sappy back to answering questions, lightly worded hate mail, and people who are also obsessed with Joel smallishbeans!

you’re all idiots (due to limited funds we cannot afford to purchase our own suggestion box, so we are currently borrowing the permit office’s. Did you hear that sound that sounds exactly like sizzling lava consuming a piece of paper with your eloquently worded submission on it? That’s the sound of our complaints department hard at work to remedy this issue. Thank you for filling out the form!)

can you write ships? (This is a really complicated question which we have a lot to say on so we’ll make a separate post explaining more in depth, but the gist is: yes, but that yes has an asterisk attached with a footnote a mile long)

a spot for ideas about what pieces you may contribute, which is actually a good point we’ll probably poll about what things people most want to see/art pieceify (writing is art too) at some point. As for your admission of obsession, gender-neutral-dude, what do you think we are?

these are just some of the responses we received, thank you to everyone who has filled the form out so far, and you haven’t, what are you doing here go fill out that form!!

-mod Dinn

#smallishzine #smallishzine asks #smallishzine being idiots #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #smallishbeans joel

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penvisions · 10 months ago

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return the favor {chapter 21}

Pairing: Post-Outbreak! Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader

Summary: After an explosive fight the night before, your trio gets ready to depart from Jackson. Finding yourself back on outside the gates, everything seems different. But then again so are you, so are your circumstances.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical angst, canon typical violence, use of weapons, use of guns, use of machete, fighting, violence, reference to previous injuries, reference to past traumas, ptsd symptoms in both joel and bean, self-depreciation, super fucking sad moment in scene two of this one, MAJOR ANGST, yelling, conflict, emotional baggage, talk of outbreak day, medical jargon, reader has a lot of thoughts on a cure for the virus, existentialism

A/N: inspiration for this chapter was 'let it burn' by shaboozy. these two have grabbed a hold of my thoughts and i am writing pages like a mad woman. bean and joel mean so so much to me. hopefully it's all coherent, please let me know what y'all are thinking! i know it's a mess for these two right now an the content is angsty and may be triggering in this part of the story. my inbox is always open, love y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

The morning came quickly, no sleep having been found under the cover of night.

You couldn’t have dosed off for more than a few minutes at a time, an hour at the most spent on the cusp of awareness. That in-between state where you were immobile, and your mind tried it’s hardest to let you slip under but just shy of lying about. It was warm, that was the only consolation of the house offered to you for the night. It wasn’t another night sleeping on the frozen ground and hoping the temperature didn’t drop or the windchill robbed you of breath and feeling. Of constantly waking to check if the other sleeping bags were still rising and falling with the even breaths of those inside.

Sighing, you reached out across the empty bed to stretch out your arms from the curled up position you had adopted. But you sat up suddenly when the spot your hand had reached was warm. As if someone had been sitting on the edge of the bed. As you did so, a thick blanket you didn’t recall seeing when pulling the covers back pooled around your waist.

You heard the front door open and close, but no footsteps came further into the house. Not Tommy coming over to begin the day, but his brother departing on his own.

He must’ve returned after you hid away for the night, biding his time until things calmed down enough for him to enter the house undisturbed. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you pictured him laying the blanket over you, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as you slept.

Of him setting on the edge of his own bed, consumed by his thoughts and feelings that had to be so overwhelming he had decided to self-destruct and tear everything around him down in the process.

It hurt. It hurt to picture him alone by his own creation, but still feeling the desire to make sure you were comfortable in wake of that.

But it didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t. He had made it his mission to find the words that would hurt you the most and use them against you. To use your own insecurities against you, point them out and use them as a way to rationalize this course of action. Rationalize abandoning you, you and Ellie.

Joel.

Joel was standing beside one of the horses, the stall gate open as he fastened a saddle to the tall creature, tightening the buckle to make sure it was secure. The horse snickered, signaling to him that you were approaching if your footsteps hadn’t reached him quite yet. When he turned to look over his shoulder, you felt your body twitch, fight or flight activated in a visceral way.

You immediately dropped Ellie’s hand. She reached for it even as her own emotions fluttered up and became overwhelming. But you stepped away, nearly knocking into Tommy in the process.

When he looked up from his task completely, his eyes met yours and you turned on your feet and walked away without a second thought. Your name followed, but you didn’t turn back. A chorus of your name sounded all around as you fled the stables on shaky legs, face hot and heart thudding painfully hard in your chest. Head dizzy with the brief encounter of a man who you hadn’t expected to see ever again too much after a fitful night.

A hand closed around your arm and you thrashed against it, whipping around and landing a punch on whoever it was right in the middle of their chest.

“Get off of me!” Terror colored the air, the pure feeling of being trapped. Of being touched by someone who you didn’t give permission to. But the person moved toward you, grunting from the force of the hit you had landed on them, breath being drawn back in to recover. Their arms came around you, cradling you to their chest and hands holding the back of your head as you lost the feeling in your limbs. Body going slack in a last-ditch effort of self-preservation.

The person didn’t expect that, and they lost their footing, knees hitting the ground hard when you jostled along with them. But they tried their best to not let you land on your own numb limbs. You could barely hear anything over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears, your own name being called out softly not breaking through. Eye blinking rapidly, you tried to clear your blurring vision, though it wasn’t from tears. You had exhausted all of those last night.

“We gotta stop, darlin’.” Joel’s somber tone finally broke through, his voice thick with tears he wasn’t letting fall. They were a shine in his beautiful eyes when you looked up at him with an unfocused gaze. Vision blurring and sharpening in a rapid succession. His own softening when he realized you were barely there, barely present under the direct attention he was giving to you now. You watched the wrinkles around his brow furrow, deepening as he tried to coax something, anything out of you.

But you were unable to comply, unable to give him anything else. He had taken everything already, burned down what he didn’t like with vicious words that had festered all night. Taken ahold of you and ruined the rest. You had nothing for him anymore.

“I-I can’t keep feeling like my chest is gonna cave in every time I lose sight of you.” He murmured into your hair, leaning down to speak only to you. Distantly, you were aware of the watching eyes of Ellie and Tommy, just inside the threshold of the stables. Both uncertain of what to do, if they should separate you from each other or let this play out. Joel was holding you with such care, such caution and it made them both pause. “My breathing gets stuck, it hurts, darlin’. Feels like knives when you get hurt, spreads all over my body, it numbs me. When I can’t help you, when I can’t see you or reach you, call you back to the present. And that’s not good, we both know that.”

“Joel…” You cautiously treaded, voice sounding foreign and so unlike your own even to your own ears as they steadily cleared. Unsure why he was doing this. Now, of all times. He had already made his case, tore you down as he self-destructed. But he was trying to explain now the reason he had done so in such a catastrophic way. Just like how he was trying to make amends with Ellie, giving her the choice he had so selfishly stolen from her on the same path of destruction just the night before.

“It’s not…it’s not easy. And the further we’ve traveled, the more time we spend out here. It’s just…it’s not something that can last. And for that, I am sorry. I-I didn’t mean any of the bullshit I fired at you yesterday, you have to know that was all projection. You are strong, you are capable, you are so god damn smart, darlin’. But…it’s not…” His gloved hands were strong on the back of your head, on the small of your back despite the way they ached in the cold of the early morning. One last hold on you before he let you go. You knew him, you could read him, and it was too real of an understanding that he was trying to spell out for you now, even through the fog taken over your entire being.

You had known, deep down. That the feelings didn’t mean anything, even if you acknowledged them. They didn’t change anything, didn’t alter the dynamic, only gave it a depth that was dangerous.

“I’m the one who isn’t strong enough, can’t move fast enough. Can’t keep up with everything thrown our way to get here or what’s to come. But I would try until my last breath, darlin’, please believe that. And that’s the problem.”

“Because you do feel something for me.” You didn’t argue, didn’t try to call him out. You simply wanted to understand, the hurt of his words still rooted deep in your mind and heart.

“…yes.” He finally admitted, finally decided to be honest with you about what had begun to develop over the journey here. But it didn’t bring you any joy now, to know that the man felt for you the way you had begun to felt for him. It was damnation, he had been correct in his description. Because you both knew that clinging to that spark was far more dangerous than trying to cultivate it into a fully grown tangible thing. It would prompt the most resilient of things from you both, violent in their tendencies and ugly in the worst ways if picked up upon by others. Leverage to use against one or both of you, something that would bring about death.

“Okay.” Was all you could say, face calm despite the storm raging inside of you. It was breaking, beginning to wane and soon it would disappear. It would leave you empty, a gaping hole in the thick plaster you had slathered and smoothed over yourself in order to make it in the world as it was today. Having already been torn down once by a man with careful words and hands, capable of helping you to create something when nothing seemed to matter.

He had given you hope, but the man standing in front of you now was different. Joel wasn’t feeding into the same notion, instead adding his own layer of solution over the walls he had stumbled through in clumsy motions. He wouldn’t be helping you to dismantle it, too afraid of what it would mean. Too afraid of what it would symbolize in this world. So unlike the man before him, but so similar in the ways that he had nestled himself into the confines of your heart.

Your arms didn’t feel like your own as they reached up and snaked around his neck, your legs didn’t feel like your own as they moved to straddle one of his own and give you purchase to embrace him back. Your lips didn’t feel like your own as they met his in a chaste kiss. A goodbye that wasn’t bittersweet, but venomous. His tears finally fell, dampening the skin of your neck.

Overcoming the disastrous events of yesterday would take time, something of a luxury neither of you had. He was trying to make amends, trying to make you understand. That’s all he could do, was try. And all you could do in return was take the heavy stones he had tied around his limbs and loosen them. Let them fall away and take them on yourself so he wouldn’t have to carry them. You had before and you could do it again.

“I can’t go with you.” You whispered, lips brushing against his as the words sprouted from you. The truth too painful to admit at full volume, too painful to say at all. But you had to. You had to tell him you understood it was the right thing, that he understood it was the right thing. Distance. Perhaps long-lasting separation that turned into only once knowing each other.

“I know.”

He helped you to stand back up, putting distance between you both as he walked back into the stables. Tommy trailed after him, both men giving you a moment with a confused and concerned Ellie. She was too young to understand that despite the apology, the bridge had been burned and it was only one of you who would take her to where she needed to go.

You turned to her, not wanting to do this, not wanting her to see how hurt you were but knowing that whatever she did glimpse, it was absolutely not aimed at her. “I’m not mad at you, Ellie. I just…I’m not good enough to get you where you need to go if he’s there. And he’s not good enough to do it if I’m there. He made it clear as crystal he has one care he’s allowing himself in the world and it’s you.”

“You’re being selfish! I know he’s an ass. He yelled at me too, but look! I’m trying, I’m giving him a second chance. Why can’t you?” Her words were sharp, cutting into you like the blade you wielded and you took each one without a grimace.

"Ellie, that man is your future. He will protect you until his last breath. But we can’t all travel together again.” Your eyes moved from her deep frown and her hands gripped tight on the second bag that dangled by her legs to the figure of Joel leading a singular horse out of the stables. “I have so much care and love for you, but it’s not a good fit. All three of us, it was always supposed to be him, Ellie.

I’m not able to protect you, I’ve been out of it most of our trip, unable to do anything without his help. He’s the one who can get you there, he’s the one who is capable. I’m so sorry for making you feel like you could count on me, I’m not the one to place your bets on. He is.”

"So what, it all meant nothing? The whole fucking journey here didn't mean anything to you?"

"Ellie, please listen to me and hear me, it meant everything to me. but it's past and there are some things I have to take care of."

“You’re just gonna leave me? Like he tried to, like he regrets trying to do. But you’re actually gonna fucking do it, huh? You’re a real piece of work. So much for sticking with me. Fucking liar.” She stalked off, refusing to hear anything else you had to say. “Go, get the fuck away from me! I never want to see you again!”

Joel’s hand curling around her shoulder as she crossed the threshold of the stables made them the perfect wounded pair and you turned your back on them as they began to walk away, hoping that this was all for the best. That you were making the right move.

You were still at the stables when Tommy returned, his pack still over his shoulders but his rifle was missing. He was silent as he entered the stall you were readying a horse in. It was a beautiful animal, with white and brown patches all over. You figured the coloring would help you to blend into the landscape easily, having a long journey ahead of you.

“Where will you go?” Tone so unlike his brother, though the twang of a Texan accent curled around his words all the same.

“Home.” You grunted as you tightened a bag to hang from the saddle, the pack holding a small collection of camp kitchen supplies. Maria had tried to give you as much to work with as possible, not wanting you to starve or be without a source of heat should more storms greet you outside the gates.

“And where is that?”

“California. Should’ve gone back a long time ago, but…things never worked out.” You could sense the curiosity in him, so unlike his brother who hid his emotions. He had been nothing but kind to you, even if you hadn’t directly interacted with him. But if he was related to Joel, he was a good man. Indulging him, you found yourself opening up to him with more directness than you had with anyone before. Wanting a lifeline here in Jackson should you find your way back here. “Tennessee was home when the Outbreak happened, stuck around there for a while….then found myself in Boston. I remember catching glimpses of you with Joel, every so often. And then suddenly you disappeared. Wasn’t ever sure what happened, but I figured a loss is a loss.”

“Yesterday was such a hectic day. With falling on your arm and everything…will you be okay?” He followed you out of the stall, out of the stables, the horse letting you lead it leisurely along. Two shadows waiting close by, a horse already saddled and ready beside them.

“I hope so.” You offered him a soft smile, grateful for his concern.

“Will you be okay?” His inflection changed, eyes looking between both of your own as he moved closer and placed a hand on your shoulder. You sighed, trying to shake the thoughts of what happened today from your mind, knowing they would be revisited tonight when you try to rest.

“I’ve done pretty good so far, think I can manage to get over your big brother.” You knocked his shoulder with your own. His arms suddenly came around you in a hug, his chin hooking over one of them and nearly knocking your hat from atop your head. But you didn’t flinch, too worn out to fight against comfort if someone wanted to offer it to you. With warmth blossoming in your chest, you let your head lean into his own and closed your eyes.

“Thank you.” His low voice was strong, emotions strong as you hesitantly returned the sudden embrace. “Thank you for helping get him here.”

“Thank you for being alive,” You whispered back, the worry of how this all could’ve turned out weighing heavily on you even in of luck and chance. Of the sheer determination Tommy must’ve exhibited to not only leave with the Fireflies all those years ago, but to actually leave the organization and not find himself on a hit list. That he found refuge here in Jackson, a life here in Jackson, it was all so overwhelmingly wonderful. For a man who had been down so many wrong paths to find a good one to travel on after so long. That it allowed him to not only survive but live, given him the opportunity to reconnect with his brother.

Given him the chance to make something out of the wreckage of this world that would last.

“You have a home here.” He leaned back, arms still around you as he looked down at you, trying to find the right words for a goodbye that wouldn’t add weight to the events since arriving. “Maria likes you, sees you. I like ya just based on the fact that you’re not afraid to holler back if someone comes at ya. Can throw a hell of a right hook too. We’ll be here for you, whenever you decide to return.”

You nodded once, allowing him to help you mount the horse and followed that morning’s patrol through the town and toward the gate.

The railroad was easiest, so you stuck close to it when you could. The open land setting your nerves on high alert, there was no coverage out here on the plains. But you were hoping that the advantage of having a horse now would allow you a good head start if someone tried you, the rifle on your shoulder too. Maria did well, giving you everything you might need. More help than you could have ever hoped for, including the map you had found in the pocket of your new coat, detailing the route Joel and Ellie would be taking.

You had stood still for a long while, beside the horse you had let loose to get a drink from a small creek. The map tight in your gloved hand as you stared out toward the expanse of Colorado. The state line between Wyoming and Idaho close by, only a few minutes travel. Torn between moving in the opposite direction of them, worried for them and the possible threats that awaited them. But they were strong, stronger without you. They would be okay, you had to hope they would be okay. Tucking the map back into your pocket, you clicked your tongue to get the horse to come back to you.

Mounting it easily, you made your way west and crossed the state line.

Night fell and with it you hunkered down in the mild protection of the woods. The horse laying down and allowing you to lean up against their warm body, one blanket thrown over his neck to help stave off some of the cold. You had your sleeping bag curled over your shoulders, unzipped to make a small shield against the biting chill, but even with all the supplies and advice and kind words Maria had offered you, you were still utterly and completely alone. The fire crackling in front of you did nothing to warm the cold that had taken root in your chest, not born of the weather. It would only defrost with the snickering laughter of a sarcastic teenager, in the rumbling chuckle of a stoic man, in the lightness they both inspired in you despite the endless circumstances that decided to rain down upon you all.

Your heart ached for the gruff grunts Joel would make when settling down for the night, either in front of the fire for an imitation of a family dinner or for the attempt at getting some sleep for the evening. But it was a thing of the past, something you wouldn’t hear again. Alone. Completely and wholly alone. A sentence of your own making, a reality brought on by your foolish naivety that you were now subject to. Journey now shrouded in the selfish need to seek answers to questions that had plagued you for far too long. No longer intertwined with that of a brooding older man who had space in his heart enough for a girl who hid her pain behind terrible jokes. No longer a part of that dynamic, unsure if you ever were supposed to even be a part of it in the first place but having forced yourself into the fold when faced with returning behind the walls of the quarantine zone.

Spit back out in such a damning way.

Sighing, you stretched a boot out to stamp the small fire out. Shrugging tighter against the horse behind you, prompting them to turn their head and snuff against your hat in a teasing way. He was a good animal, easy to direct, willing to follow, gentle. But still, you were alone. Surrounded only by the bare trees of the wilderness you had to cross.

It was the fifth day after departing from Jackson when the universe decided you were ready for it to pick back up the punches. Tracking your progress on the map as you tried to calculate how many hours or steps it would take to trek through the dense woods that would get you through the state of Idaho and into the desert landscape of Nevada. It had been a discussion, between you and Maria, which route would be the most logical.

Either to gear up impossibly so in order to endure the remaining time of winter through the pacific northwest and make your way south through the long state of California to your hometown. Or to put up with the snow and ice for the duration of traveling through a corner of one state before finding relative refuge in the desert landscape that made up most of the south west part of the country. It would mean more exposure through the desert, but it would also mean lesser chances of running into people or Infected. More reliance on supplies and rationing.

After admitting that you weren’t very fond of the cold, of winter in general, maps of different states had been brought out from where they were collected in the council’s meeting place. She had allowed you to look them over, wanting to give you the best chance she could at accomplishing what you were set out to do. To help you, to help you find what you needed to in order to move on and begin to heal on your own terms. A journey she did not envy, but one she would do whatever she could to give you the best chance of returning to Jackson someday.

She liked you, came her admittance over a cup of coffee. You had sought her out in the early morning before Tommy had awoken to ready himself for the task his brother had desperately asked him to take over. Maria had been awake, her kitchen light visible from the house you were in across the street. Not having the courage to bother her otherwise in the wake of being torn down so completely by someone who you thought had accepted you. Hesitant to reach out and force a connection with the woman who had a literal commune’s worth of worries on her shoulder, paired with the ups and downs of pregnancy in a time where every aspect of it was washed in uncertainty.

But she saw you. Most likely told of the disastrous confrontation that had happened by her husband. Perhaps seeing you more then than she had previously.

You had initially planned to take Ellie to where she needed to go, staying with her for however long it would require hearing the Fireflies out. To apply logic and statistics to their case of proposed action with Ellie now in their hands. With her blood and tissue at their relative disposal in order to run tests, to assuage that she truly was immune in tests and medical procedures that would warrant a solid base to work off of. You weren’t being honest though, with either Joel or Ellie. You didn’t think it was possible. You didn’t think the creation of something so expansive that it would eradicate the very real and adaptive being of cordyceps would be easy, if at all possible. In this lifetime or the next.

The world had shifted. And there was no way to turn back the hand of time on something so complete and expansive. The world had decided what the new order was, the best way to endure it was to adapt. Alter ways of thinking to align with it, accept it. Hell, cordyceps had found a way to adapt in a relatively short twenty years. Evolution almost fast tracking in order to preserve itself for a longer duration. Another thing to consider when thinking about overcoming it. Adaptability meant survival, and if it was fast acting then surely it would find a way to take on elements of a vaccine or cure and circumvent the attempt.

The issue didn’t lie solely in the science and medical proficiency of the staff, but in the resources that it would take to even jumpstart such research. Ellie was only one person, so young and developed into her own mindset, she would’ve listened to them. Turned to you for your opinion, your guidance.

And you would’ve been honest with her then. In the face of whatever plan the Fireflies had concocted up while playing the waiting game. Playing the hoping game. That she would have to most likely remain at their facilities, if they even had any up and operating on the level they would require for such an egotistical task of altering the shift the world had deemed to make. That she would have to give herself over wholly to them, to their ministrations. That she could weaken her immune system in the process, fall victim to some other illness or virus in the efforts to find one for the outbreak. That it would be a shadow of a life, with no guarantee that it would make a difference, let alone a universal one.

That you believed it was hopeless.

And then you would’ve told her of your hometown, beginning the journey in that direction with the determination to show her the other coastline. To help her find another meaning for her life to have worth. Even if it was simply being alive. It meant so much these days, to simply be alive.

Though your thoughts were zoned out on an endless play of ‘what if’ ‘then what’ that didn’t matter anymore, you were on alert as you continued on. The sun trying to break through the cloud coverage in the last dredges of the day.

Just as your foot came down in another, countless step you swooped down to cloak yourself behind the fallen trunk of a pine tree. Ears straining and chest hurting with the effort to quiet your breathing, you could hear the distant sound of branches crunching, people walking among the wooded area just like you were. One voice sounded feminine, the other masculine. It was an easy conversation between them, a simple request to gather kindling for a fire since night would fall within the hour.

They weren’t speaking English, as least not completely, the voices sounding in a mixture of it and Spanish. Familiar but yet so wedged into the crevices of your mind after years of not using your household language. Such a tantalizing siren song that would allow for easier connection with the people you otherwise knew nothing about. Closing your eyes, you felt more than the pull of a weak desire to announce yourself, take a risk of introducing yourself in much the same way.

As soon as their voices seemed to move away, you pushed yourself up from where you were hidden and turned the other way. Not wanting to be around people after the disastrous attempt of connecting with someone so fresh and painful, a weight that you’re not sure would ever lift from your mind and heart. Resigned to be a singular soul wandering around the desolate landscape of what was once the world.

You were about to turn away when you heard a shuffle far too close for comfort. Followed by the hesitant call of something you hadn’t heard in over two decades. Your name. Your full name.

Head jerking around, rifle aimed at the ready; you gazed into a pair of eyes so similar to your own.

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lionlena · 1 year ago

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Dancing With Your Ghost (JavierPeñaxreader) Epilogue

A/N:

Ok, so that's the end of this story. I started writing it almost 7 months ago, not really knowing where it would lead me and having the idea until chapter 6… Along the way, I abandoned this story for Joel… But sooner or later, my heart always missed Javi 🥺 I would like to thank you all for your comments and likes. Everyone who read this series enjoyed it. I hope you'll be happy with the ending🥰

Epilogue

Since Javier found out you were pregnant, theoretically nothing has changed. He still loved you madly, he still cared for you, you still spent magical Sundays, and he still worked hard on building the house.

On the other hand, everything has changed. Javier worked even harder and at the same time spent every free moment with you. Even if it meant driving half an hour into town just to spend twenty minutes of your lunch break with you, he did it. And of course, he couldn't keep his hands off you. And he fulfilled all your desires without blinking an eye, including sexual ones. You suddenly discovered that pregnant women can be very horny, but that was no problem for Javier. If he had to, he would fall on his knees in front of you every evening and listen to your moans with pleasure.

You also noticed that the bigger your belly was, the prouder Javier was. When you were walking through the city streets or sitting in a restaurant, he would always put his hand on your belly and look around with a cocky smile as if to say, 'Look this is my work. Thanks to me, her belly is swelling.'

It made you laugh, but at the same time, you didn't want to take away his joy. After all, he deserved it for what a wonderful man he was to you, for supporting you every step of the way and going with you to all your doctor's appointments. Thanks to this, you felt confident and your fears about your child's health decreased significantly. Everything was going perfectly.

When you were seven months pregnant, the construction of your house was officially completed. With a wide smile, Javier led you into your beautiful living room. And even though you had been there many times before, somehow knowing that everything was over filled you with delight and you looked at everything as if you were seeing it for the first time.

"Everything is amazing." You said with emotion in your voice.

Javier kissed you passionately while tenderly stroking your belly.

"It's all for you, my little ghost, and for our baby."

Then suddenly Javier knelt down on one knee in front of you and pulled out a small box from his pocket that contained an engagement ring. You were speechless at that moment.

"Y/N, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met in my life. You taught me that love is more than a physical connection, it is a connection of souls. You gave me peace and warmth that warms my heart. Please be my wife. Be Mrs. Peña. Let's have a little wedding next week."

You looked at him in shock and quickly said, "No."

Javier looked at you surprised, maybe even sad. "No?" he repeated quietly.

Seeing the fear in his eyes, you knew you had to fix the situation quickly. "No... I mean yes, but no."

This didn't help at all. Javier was still kneeling in front of you, now on both knees and tilted his head to the side, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. "Yes, but no?" He asked confused.

You took a deep breath and gently stroked his hair. "I want to marry you." You said calmly, and the sadness instantly disappeared from his face. "But not next week."

Javier smiled coquettishly. "What are you doing next week?"

You huffed and pointed to your belly. "I'm carrying your baby, in a week, in two... basically for the next two months."

He laughed softly and kissed your belly sweetly. "And? I still don't see the problem. One little extra guest isn't a problem."

You groaned in annoyance. "Javi, I don't want to get married with a huge belly... I don't want to be ugly and fat in my wedding photos."

Javier immediately tightened his grip around your waist, gently squeezing your ass and still kissing your belly.

"Mi amor, hermosa, cariño, how can you say such terrible things about my future wife? You are beautiful, the most wonderful, and I can't wait to see that beautiful belly in a white dress... Oh, believe me... This makes me get hard..."

You gasped in surprise as his hands squeezed your ass tighter.

"Javier..."

"I'm telling the truth." He kissed your stomach and looked down at you. "But I will understand and respect any decision you make. We can even have a big wedding next year if you want."

And suddenly, as usual, all your fears disappeared.

"Actually…" You started quietly. "You're right. I want a small, modest wedding and I want our baby to be born with your surname."

Javier smiled widely and gently placed the ring on your finger. Then he stood up and looked at you with eyes shining with joy.

“Y/N, I dreamed of this moment.”

He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, but it was a different kiss. It wasn't a passionate, hot kiss... Or hungry or longing... It was something completely different. It was a kiss filled with love and gratitude. Your heart was beating like crazy and suddenly you felt your baby move. You placed Javier's hand on your pregnant belly and he chuckled.

"Someone here is as excited as Daddy." You purred against his lips and he kissed you lovingly once again.

A week later, you and Javier were married in the meadow behind your house. You were wearing a plain white dress that fit your pregnant belly really nicely. You wore a wreath of white flowers on your head. It was surprising, but you felt like a princess. Everything seemed wonderful and so peaceful. You said 'yes' surrounded by your loved ones and friends, and then you all had fun together until late.

That night, Javier took you to your bedroom and made love to you in such a gentle and caring way as he had never done before. And he wasn't just doing it because of your pregnancy. He really wanted to prove to you that he will be the best husband in the world.

Two months later, after almost ten hours of labor, your son, José Peña, was born. You were tired after giving birth, but happy as you held your healthy baby in your arms. And for the first time, you saw former DEA agent Javier Peña cry like a little baby. When he took your newborn son for the first time and looked at this little miracle created with his help, so tiny that he could hold José with one hand, he just cried. And he wasn't even ashamed of it. He hugged his son to his chest and kissed his little head, whispering sweet words. It was a sight that melted your heart and you were sure that Javi would be the best dad in the world.

...

You woke up one night and Javier wasn't next to you. You felt anxious for a moment but quickly calmed down. You started listening to see if José was crying, but you didn't hear anything. Still, you decided to get up and look into his crib. However, your son and husband were nowhere to be found. Your heart started beating a little faster. Common sense told you that nothing had happened. Maybe José couldn't sleep, and Javier took him for a short car ride. It was something that quickly calmed your three-month-old baby. But Javi never did it alone. You quickly went out of the house to the terrace to check if there was a car outside and that's when you saw them.

Javier sat on a rocking bench with his son safely placed in his strong arms. For a moment, you wanted to be angry at him and tell him that he shouldn't scare you like that, but... It was such a sweet and adorable sight that it melted your heart.

However, you noticed that something was bothering Javier. He didn't take his eyes off his son's sleeping face. You carefully sat down on the bench next to him and touched his arm.

"Mi amor? What happened? José couldn't sleep?"

Javi still didn't take his eyes off the baby. He gently touched his son's chubby cheek with his finger.

"He was crying, but as soon as I changed his diaper he fell asleep, but I... I couldn't put him down in the cradle..."

You smiled and nodded. You knew this feeling very well. You yourself have held your baby in your arms many times after he fell asleep. However, Javier's next words surprised you.

"I felt a sudden fear. I was afraid to put him down... I was afraid that as soon as I let him out of my arms, something bad would happen to him."

You sighed and gently stroked his cheek.

"Javi, what's going on?"

Javier finally looked away from his son and looked at you. He smiled sadly.

"I don't know, cariño... The cocky, arrogant, and malicious DEA agent suddenly became soft and scared."

You giggled quietly. "You're still cocky and devilishly handsome."

Your comment made Javier laugh softly. You always knew how to cheer him up. He carefully placed your son on his chest, holding him with only one arm. So that he can wrap his free hand around you and pull you to his side. He kissed your forehead and whispered:

"I wonder if I've made the world a safer place for our son. Catching Escobar, and taking down the Cali Cartel, does it all matter? The world is still dangerous. Maybe retiring was a mistake. There are so many things that could hurt him. So many bad things, bad people. Now he's still tiny... For now, I can really wrap my arms around him and protect him, but then what...

You smiled at him understandingly. Javier always had a tendency to get lost in thought. Often unnecessary.

"Javi, darling. The world is dangerous, and we are not able to protect our baby from everything. This is the pain and fear of all parents. In a few months, our son will start walking and he will surely trip over a stone more than once. You want to remove all the stones from the area?"

Javi looked at you with determination. "If necessary."

You rolled your eyes.

"You know it's impossible, but you know what is possible? Our comfort. We will wipe his tears, bandage his hurt knee, and assure him that we are with him. And this is how we will keep him safe. At every stage of his life we will love him and accept him and thanks to this, he will know that he can always come to us and ask us for help.

Javier looked at you with eyes full of boundless love.

"You are very smart, hermosa."

You giggled quietly. "I learned a thing or two about life by being a ghost."

Javier laughed softly. Then he kissed you on the forehead and then your son. He looked at you with those puppy eyes of his.

"Can we sit here for a while? I don't want to put him in the crib just yet."

You nodded and snuggled into his warm, strong body. You looked at your son's calm face and realized that he felt exactly the same as you. That Javier Peña would do literally anything, even burn down the entire world, to keep you safe, happy, and loved. You closed your eyes and whispered, "We can stay here until morning."

You felt Javier hug you tighter and rest his chin on your head. You no longer needed words. Everything was perfect, right in that moment, when he held in his arms the two people he loved and needed most in the world.

...

Six years later, you still felt the same peace and security when you were in your husband's arms. You've had harder times, but you've always been in this together. You didn't hide anything from each other, you didn't fight each other. You loved each other.

Your son was healthy and growing quickly. From a baby, he became a small, charming boy who loved life. He was cute and feisty like his Daddy, but he was also calm like you... And he wasn't the only one.

Four years after your wedding, your little girl, Maya Peña, was born. And if you thought José was like his dad, then... Your little girl looked like a little copy of her daddy. Her eyes were identical.

And currently, she was looking at you with those sweet brown puppy eyes that were tearful and very tired. She put her thumb in her mouth and hiccuped. Her cheeks were red and the hairs on her forehead were wet.

"Oh my little one, you really need a nap."

"Papi…" She whined indistinctly and you already knew you had no choice.

You've been trying to put her down for a nap for the past forty minutes, but she's only gotten more grumpy and cranky. There was no other option. You must have to used a secret weapon. You took her in your arms and left the house, heading towards the horse paddock.

Your son was just sitting on a little white pony and looked very happy. His grandfather Chucho held the reins and Javi secured his son, but you knew that your little boy could handle it even on his own. So you walked up to the fence and waved your hand. Javi immediately said something to his son. You could only guess that he was asking him to hold on tight and be careful.

When he got closer to you and your daughter, he immediately noticed what the problem was and without asking, he reached out his hands, taking Maya away from you. His two-year-old daughter immediately snuggled into his chest and let out a few grumpy purrs. Javi chuckled and kissed her head.

"Someone here is tired but doesn't want to go to sleep?" He asked, knowing the answer perfectly well. "It's okay. Daddy can handle it."

He smiled at you and kissed your forehead, whispering. "I love you."

You smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Even after all these years, he still took every opportunity to make sure you knew how much he loved you.

"I'll go to José." You said and kissed your daughter on the head before Javier took her towards the house.

When your son saw you, he smiled broadly. Chucho gave you a friendly smile too.

"Is everything okay with the little princess?" he asked with concern.

You immediately felt your heart melt. Your children not only had a wonderful, loving, and caring father, but also a wonderful grandfather who always spoiled them and cared for them.

You nodded and moved closer to your son, placing your hand on his back.

"Yes, the heat today is just bothering her. But I'm sure Javier's magic will work on her and she'll be asleep soon."

Your son giggled (in the same way as his daddy) and asked, "Papi can do magic?"

You smiled widely and touched his sweet cheek.

"Yes, it always puts you and your little sister to sleep in minutes."

Your son eagerly nodded and added: "And he can turn ghosts into people!"

You laughed. This was your son's favorite story. Of course, Javier told your story in the form of a fairy tale, omitting the tragic moments and changing a few things. And of course, only you and Javi knew that it wasn't just a made-up story at all.

Half an hour later, your son finished riding the pony and, together with his grandfather, took the pony to the meadow so that the animal could enjoy the fresh grass and rest.

You came back home, quietly entered the living room and your heart beat faster.

Javier lay on the couch and slept with his baby girl, who was dozing comfortably on his broad chest. You saw them both calm and finally resting. You looked at them, enchanted, for a moment. Then you went to the kitchen and started preparing lemonade. You were sure that soon your son and his grandfather would come home, and then your daughter and Javi would wake up. And you all need a sip of refreshing, cool lemonade. Soon your quiet home will once again be filled with the joyful screams of children and the laughter of their father. And as always, Javier will grab your hips whenever he gets the chance, kiss your neck and whisper some dirty words in your ear, because some things never change.

And your love for the man who danced with your ghost will never change.

...

MASTERLIST

Part I

Part XII

Taglist: @aestheticangel612 , @kittenlittle24 , @hxpburn76 , @creedslove , @ranahx , @yyiikes , @fuglyputa24 , @picketniffler

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena and you #javier is so sweet #soft!javier #narcos fanfiction #fanfiction #dancing with your ghost #hurt/comfort #pregnant!reader #daddy!javier #javier pena is papi #happy ending

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beardedjoel · 1 month ago

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I LOVE SMOTHER! I'm so sad the end is nigh, but I really appreciate you sharing this story with us. Others have said it but the characters are so well-developed which I think is frankly incredible for a story as complex as this one, where you're writing on taboo topics and balancing creating a compelling, interesting narrative that is also hot and makes us all wanna scream :) This is what I'm talking about when I'm like... fan fic is literature. I've been reading a second time and gotta say you write the internal turmoil Joel and Blossom grapple with sooooo so so well, like especially as they navigate their dynamic in the first part of the series so far. You build it up so well that this second bit of the series has unfolded so effortlessly, although I know you put a lot of work into this and it is very much appreciated! In the beginning bits where Blossom is going back and forth in her mind about her desire and sense of comfort versus fear and hatred and anger (especially in the times where Joel loses it on her, especially in penitence). And Joel just clearly feeling like a piece of shit about a lot of stuff but also wanting so badly to protect and nourish what is possible for them. I could go on forever! It is all just so well done and now with the plot ramped up I am so excited for whatever happens next. I almost want him to be willing to let her go (very begrudgingly of course) but I'm also like... would he really ever let that happen? In my mind, they are HEA and he teaches her archery and even though she becomes more experienced in the ways of the world as time passes, she is still always his little innocent little princess 🥺P.S. I also truly do not mean this is an annoying disrespectful GIVE US MORE CONTENT way because I know it is terrible when people do that to authors and you truly have given us so much, but wanted to echo that what the one anon suggested about a one shot where Joel takes care of Blossom while she is sick fucked up my whole brain because we all know you writing Joel taking care of his girl makes our hearts stop in general, so him doing it when she is sick... like Joel gently cooling her down with a towel if she has a fever (but inevitably heating her up again 😏) , making sure she has the comfiest pair of PJs, playing with her hair or rubbing her back and not caring if he gets sick too... I CANNOT. I'm just glad someone put it in my head because it will be in my day dreams lmao😱 Thank you again for everything!

oh my god HI

literally how the heck am i supposed to respond when i'm literally still speechless at you taking the time to send me this! honestly, just thank you so much for loving joel and blossom and their story that i'm telling 😭 i think upon reflection you saying how the beginning was so tumultuous and kind of unsure that them finally finding their stride together really came at the right time. like you said, in a way it came about naturally and effortlessly to me as the storyteller cause it just made sense for things to progress like that in my mind!

and i do love the idea of joel being willing to let her go, it's kind of so tragically sad it eats at me in that angsty writer way haha. he may grapple with that some in the wake of what's happening right now, but like you said in the end that man would not be down to do that like AT ALL.

the one shot idea honestly is so cute. i've rolled it around in my mind, and if enough ever sticks so that i'm like yeah i could write a whole one shot around enough ideas for it to be fun to read for you all, i'll do it! i do plan to write one shots for them in the future as i'm inspired to so it's definitely not out of the realm of possibility! 🤍

anyways!!! thank you again so much. i'm always down to yap about smother anytime.

#ask

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 1 year ago

Text

When It All Falls Down [a Frankie/Joel x f!reader fic]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us / Triple Frontier

Ship: Joel Miller x you/reader, Frankie Morales x you/reader (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, major angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, Death of a loved one, Assault, Blood and Injury, executions, Implied Suicide Attempt, Miscarriage, Loss, frankie and joel are both soft but in very different ways, cunnilingus, fellatio, piv sex, bad sex good sex all is sex, choking, pls tell me if I missed anything this one is a lot.

Summary: You live in the Boston QZ, trying to get by, when you become involved with a certain Joel Miller.

Words: 14,098 (oops)

A/N: Holy cow I started writing this almost six months ago when the show started! It was meant to be a very different kind of story but as it dragged on, it changed. Now I'm just happy to have finished it. I don't know if this fic is a dead dove but I just want you guys to be safe. Be aware that it's pretty heavy and there is definitely not a super comforting happy ending. But there is a certain kind of closure. Read at your own risk and let me know if I missed a warning.

Darkness lies thick around you when you stumble into the tiny apartment that is your so-called home. Exhausted yet wired, you take your time washing, and having a drink, knowing you can't fall asleep anyway until you take the two pills you got from the dealer with the salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He has an aura of danger around him, but you've never felt afraid so far. You carry an assault rifle, after all. He's surely armed as well but yours is fully visible, and your fatigues and ravaged face will let surely let him know that you are a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, you find yourself drawn towards the narrow bed. You pick up the bottle of liquor that was no doubt made in a toilet, shake out the precious pills from a small plastic bag in your breast pocket, and down them with some generous gulps of the piss-colored liquid. It burns its way down your throat, warms your belly, and with a deep sigh, your collapse on the bed. As you look up at the ceiling, you see the flaking paint dance before your eyes, not from the drugs and the alcohol, but from sheer exhaustion. You turn onto your side and press your eyes shut and make your brain go blank.

Almost asleep, you hear the front door open and close. Too groggy to care about making sure it's not an intruder, you immediately recognize the footsteps anyway. They echo the tiredness you feel in your body, and the mattress dips heavily when your husband lies down next to you. You scoot back clumsily, longing to see him. His face is lined with the same hard years as yours is, but he has managed to preserve a glow of humanity in his kind eyes. You love that for him, and now you find yourself smiling.

"Hi," he smiles back, touching your cheek with calloused fingers.

"Hi."

"I missed you."

"Are you okay?"

You nod, and a sad kind of mirth flashes by in Frankie's eyes.

"Liar."

"I feel better now that you're here."

"Me too."

You raise your hand to his cheek, mirroring his gentle caressing of your skin. His scratchy beard is growing long enough to almost cover the bald spots along his jawline, but your thumb finds them nevertheless.

"Will you shave tomorrow?" you ask, feeling an inexplicable desire to see those spots, kiss them like you used to back when the world was normal and he kept his facial hair a little tidier.

"Just so that you can point out to me that I'm unable to grow a beard?"

"That's not it at all..."

"We'll see, sweetheart. Now sleep."

You touch your forehead to his, and only then can you let yourself be dragged under by the pills.

///

The sun is beating down from a clear blue sky. Your mouth is filled with cotton, and it doesn't make it any better that the smoke from the burning bodies is somehow finding its way to your tower. The smell of burning flesh should make you gag, but it doesn't, not anymore. The smoke, however, irritates your lungs.

"Goddammit," you hear Peters, your guard partner for the day, cough behind you. "We need a big fucking fan."

"Rain would be better," you reply, looking around you, seeing nothing but blue skies.

"Rain just impregnates the smell into the clothes."

He's right, of course, but you still wouldn't mind rain. Looking around you in the guard tower, you stop when you notice movement some distance away. Frowning, you stop still and wait to see it again.

"You got something?" Peters asks, having noticed the change in your posture.

"I got something," you confirm in a mumble. He lifts his rifle to look through the scope, searching for a moment before finding it.

"That's a goner," he shakes his head as he lowers the weapon. You grab the walkie at your belt and call it in. Soon after, a trio of soldiers appear on the other side of the wall. They close in on the wandering figure and shot rings out. You watch indifferently as the figure drops where it stands. Shortly after, your walkie crackles, and the kill is confirmed.

Peters coughs again, and the day continues in the same manner.

When you're relieved of your watch, your closest superior wants to speak to you.

"FEDRA HQ is sending us more soldiers," he tells you, ”So we won't be needing you at the moment. Report at the job office."

You merely nod. There is nothing to say, and you know that you were on watch duty by necessity only. You were never a soldier, Frankie was. When the world went to shit, he taught you everything he knew, and he knew a lot. You went from never having touched a gun to a weapons expert in six months. Your sinister competence was probably the only reason you were still alive.

You relinquish your rifle, missing the heavy weight of it in your hands, and change into civilian clothes. There is no hurry to take a new job, nobody is keeping tabs on you, but you are used to keeping busy. The alternative is going back to your so-called home and spend the rest of the day doing nothing by yourself. And that is not an option.

You draw the worst number imaginable: arrival clinic. The place where new arrivals either get checked for infectious diseases, or receive a lethal injection that kills them immediately. You'd much rather be burning bodies. At least those are covered, and already dead. It's a lot worse trying to avoid looking a person in their despairing eyes right before you stick a deadly needle into their arm.

It's just a job, you remind yourself as you're changing into medical scrubs and a face mask. You've done it before, so you just nod at the medical officer and start to make yourself useful. The uninfected ones have to undergo tests that you find intrusive, but you don't think about that.

A new patient is rolled in on a gurney: a young woman. She's softly sobbing, a sound which does not affect you, but then you hear the quiet whimper and realize that she's holding a swaddled baby in her arms. You stop still, stomach dropping and filling with ice.

"The baby is sick," the medical officer explains briefly, and you know what that means: there's something else ailing it, not infection. You see the officer prepare a syringe, and know what it means: the mother is infected, and must be disposed of. Despite how revolting you find your actions, you still take the baby from the protesting mother.

"No, please, I have to hold her, she's sick, please, don't take her from me..."

You swallow hard, unwanted images flashing through your head. It becomes a little difficult to breathe as you take the baby out of the room, ignoring the mother's pleas that are turning louder and more desperate. You look down at the baby and see from its dull eyes that it is not well. Unswaddling it, you find that it is looking malnourished, and is burning up with fever. The thermometer reveals a temperature of 103.

It's a miracle this baby is still alive, but you can tell it won't be for long.

You leave it in the plastic bassinet and re-enter the procedure room, where the mother is dozing off. Her face is shining with tears. She's younger than you, maybe the same age you were when...

"The baby?" the officer asks without looking up.

"High fever. Dehydrated and malnourished," you tell him bluntly. He nods.

"Better to let it go to sleep. We don't have the resources anyway."

You don't question it, you just prepare the injection and administer it yourself. More fuel for the fire that's stinking up someone else's lungs now.

///

It's dark when you're let off your shift. On heavy feet, you drag yourself home. No interest in food or hygiene, you plop down on the threadbare couch and start to drink. For every time you raise the bottle to your lips, the sound of the crying mother is turned down a little in your head. You decide to not stop drinking until either the bottle is empty, or Frankie comes home. Luckily for your liver, Frankie arrives not long after.

Blearily, you look up at him, expecting scorn but receiving sympathy. How does he do it, how does he remain so humane?

"Rough day?" he asks quietly. You rub your neck with a joyless bark.

"Every day is rough now."

"I'll get you your pills."

He comes back with two of them, but you shake your head.

"Three," you mumble throatily. You crave oblivion tonight.

"Not with liquor."

You grunt in dissatisfaction but accept the two pills, down them with yet another gulp of toilet booze, and relinquish the bottle to Frankie. He puts it to the side table and offers you his hand.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

He holds you as the world dances, kisses your clammy forehead as he lays you down on the bed.

"I'm not up for this anymore, Frankie," you tell him quietly, speaking words that you can barely allow yourself to even think. "I'm not strong enough."

"Of course you are," your husband tells you gently, stroking the hair out of your face. "You are way stronger than I ever was. You were always the backbone of our family, my love. You suffered through all those years when I was overseas. You held everything together when I was on my coke adventure. You found the strength to forgive me and take me back."

You giggle drunkenly.

"That sounds like a kids' movie. Francisco's great coke adventure."

He scoffs. "Not a movie I'd let my kids watch."

Your mirth disappears just as fast as it came, and now your eyes fill with tears. Being reminded of kids with Frankie breaks your already shattered heart.

"She would have been fifteen now..." you start to sob, hiding your face in the lumpy pillow. Frankie sighs deeply.

"I know. I miss her too. I think about her every day."

Your body starts to shake as you remember the lifeless weight of your baby in your arms.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you break down, shaking and crying into the pillow as your hands fist into the sheets. "I'm done, I can't do it!"

Frankie watches you patiently as he softly caresses your back, letting you cry it out without saying anything. It's not your first time and it won't be your last.

When you finally fall asleep, your head aches from both the crying and the beginning of a hangover, and you have lost your voice from screaming into the pillow.

///

The days keep coming, one after the other, with never-ending relentlessness. You go to your designation at the clinic, put your work in, return home, sometimes by way of the rations office. When you run out of pills, you seek out the man who resembles a graying yet still fierce watchdog. Meeting him in a secluded backyard, you ask for the usual amount but find out that he's all out.

"When are you getting more?" you ask, fingertips tapping together in your pocket at the thought of the sleepless nights you are sure to have until you can get your hands on more drugs.

"Unclear at the moment."

"When will there be clarity?" you bark, annoyed at the non-answer. He towers above you, as if reminding you of his size.

"Do we have a problem?"

"No," you mutter, in no mood to start a fight despite your desperation. He nods in agreement.

"Good." He pauses, before adding: "Check back in a few days."

Abruptly, you spin around on your heel, and leave. On your way back to your apartment building you notice after a while that you are being followed. Slinking into a narrow passage between two buildings, you hide behind a couple of trash cans, crouching low as you pull a knife from your boot. You don't have your gun; bringing it with you to work is too risky, you would be arrested if a FEDRA agent found it on you.

The sounds of voices and heavily booted feet come closer. At least three men are talking amongst themselves about you. One voice sounds familiar: it belongs to an absolute asshole who has been on you before for working for FEDRA.

Shit. You press yourself against the cold wall, hoping they'll pass by. You have no chance of fighting them all, and you don't want to know what they'd do to you if they got their hands on you.

You are about to find out. The steps come closer, and then one of them is standing right in front of you. You slash at his legs, feeling the impact before he kicks at you, his boot hitting your arm that you managed to raise to shield your face, but the momentum brings your arm up to your face, and you're knocked down on the ground. The knife clatters somewhere next to you but you don't know where, and in the next second you're curling up on your side, gasping for air from the kick you received to your stomach.

"You fucking cunt!"

The pain is blinding but when the second kick comes, you manage to wrap your arms around the foot. Twisting your aching body, you pull your attacker down. Next thing you know, you are being battered with kicks from several feet, and you make yourself as small as possible, try to protect your head.

You are pulled up and slammed into the wall. Spitting blood, you try to focus your gaze on your assailants, but your vision is blurry and impaired by a quickly swelling eye.

"You'll regret this."

Hands close around your neck, cutting off your air supply. Panic rises in you, floods your limbs, making you kick and flail with your last ounces of strength, choked protests pressing out between your lips.

Your salvation comes not from your fighting, but the chain around your neck.

"What's this?" The grip loosens a little, fingers pluck at the chain.

"There's someone coming." Another voice warns. "Finish her off."

The rings on the chain around your neck get pulled out from underneath your shirt and you start kicking again.

"Is this gold?"

A snap, and the chain breaks. The familiar clink of the two rings in the palm of someone else's hand makes you furious.

"Give them back!" you scream, but the words only come out as hoarse whispers. You throw yourself at the shape closest to you but only fall to the hard, cold ground as the assailant side-steps your pitiful attack. You receive one last kick to your ribs before the sound of heavy boots running away thunders in your ears.

"Fuckers," you croak, fumbling to get up, but failing as your ribs and stomach hurt too much.

New footsteps close in, the accompanying crackle of walkie-talkies telling you it's probably FEDRA. You think you recognize one of the voices but by the time the agents are with you, you have lost consciousness.

///

Ten minutes is the total amount of time that you were willing to spend in the clinic after you woke up. A fractured rib and countless bruises as well as an eye swollen shut and a bleeding lip is not enough to keep you in one of the sad hospital beds. The physician shrugs and dismisses you, and when you stumble out onto the street, Peters from guard duty is waiting for you.

"Figured you wouldn't stay," he shakes his head and starts to walk alongside you.

"You don't need to escort me."

"No, I don't. But I choose to do it."

You walk in silence for a few blocks before glancing at him.

"Did you catch them?"

"Do we ever?"

You grunt, your aching head already trying to plan for how to find them yourself. You need those rings back. Gold has no worth today, not like it used to, and the rings mean nothing to anyone but you. The loss of them is like a void in your chest, and your neck feels naked without the chain.

"You okay?" Peters asks.

"Sure."

"I saw the medical officer. You don't have to come in for a couple of days."

"That was unnecessary. I need to work."

"You can barely stay on your feet."

He's right, but you're not going to give him that. Reaching your apartment building, you just tell him bye before slipping through the front door. Almost succumbing to the three flights of stairs, you eventually reach your front door. Not until you are on the other side, locking the door and sliding the deadbolt, do you allow your body to sag, the tears to rise.

The physician gave you pain pills, and you down them with alcohol, all at once. Then you drink until you pass out on the bed.

It's late morning when you wake up, head throbbing, body immovable in its soreness. You blink at the sunlight, groan and turn your face away from it.

"My poor girl."

Frankie's voice is soothing right next to your ear.

"I lost them, Frankie," you whisper, unable to open your eyes and look at him. "Our rings."

"It doesn't matter. You're alive, that's what matters."

"It matters to me."

"They're just items."

"Symbols of our love."

"I loved you before I put a ring on your finger, and I love you after it's gone."

You start to sob, each one tearing through your body like a bullet through flesh.

"I know you're hurting, baby, but you gotta keep going." Frankie's encouragement is quiet and sad: he knows how hard it is for you, how unbearably tired you are.

"You can do it." He wraps his arm around you, very gently so as not to hurt you, and his lips are wonderfully cool against your hot forehead. "I know you can."

Sleep returns to temporarily release you from your pain.

///

"Frankie, she's not breathing!"

"Lemme see."

You cradle the still baby against your chest: the chest in which your heart has stopped beating. You're barely breathing yourself anymore, at least it doesn't feel like you are. If your baby is no longer breathing, how can you?

Frankie checks your child for a pulse, his grim face slowly falling apart when he realizes that which you don't want to acknowledge: that the fever has finally taken your daughter away from this burning world.

Halfway to the nearest town in which you had hoped to find a doctor, he turns the pickup around and return to the Millers' ranch, where you had taken refuge as soon as the cities started to empty because of spreading infection. You hug your baby to you the whole way. When you come back, William and Benjamin step out on the porch. They know how far it is to the nearest town, and that your early return only means one thing.

Frankie starts to dig a grave in the backyard that very same evening. You stand next to him in the twilight, still holding your child. When it's time to put her in the ground, the tears finally come.

///

The empty hollow in your chest is a stark contrast to the mind-numbing soreness of your body. How you manage to get out of bed and use the bathroom is beyond you. Returning to bed with an unopened bottle of moonshine - your last one - you force yourself to remember the dreamed memory of how you lost your daughter. In dark moments, such as this one, you think that it was for the best. What kind of a world is this to raise a child in? A fever is a lot less dramatic than getting bitten, infected, shot, burned. At least now she got to go to sleep peacefully in your arms. You buried her. Benny played a song on his old guitar and sang with a quivering voice. It meant so much to you.

The following year was hell. Frankie was just as heartbroken as you were, but he was the one who kept the marriage alive. Every time you pushed him away, he held you tighter. When you finally appeared from the tarry, stinking hole of grief, you discovered that you loved him more than ever. Loss makes some couples grow apart, but you had grown together. It was your salvation.

You take a swig from the bottle and grimace. Your head is pounding, and you can't remember the last time you ate anything. Alcohol poisoning is starting to feel very real, but you find it hard to give a shit. What more is there to live for, really?

Hunting down and killing those assholes who took your rings.

The thought sobers you up enough to put the bottle away. Sniffling from the pain, you heave yourself up from the bed, drag yourself to the bathroom where you vomit almost neatly, like it was planned all along. Avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you turn on the water in the shower, undress, and step into the cold, slow drizzle. You stand there until the shower runs out of water and you are shaking. Slowly, wincing with pain every time you move a muscle, you dry yourself, put on clean clothes, and leave your apartment.

The heat of the afternoon sun feels good, but you don't reflect on it as you limp with purpose through the crowd moving on streets of the QZ. Your stomach complains of hunger, and you're dehydrated, but the mission at hand is more important right now.

You find the drug dealer at work, burning bodies. The lower half of his face is covered by a kerchief against the smoke and smell, but you'd recognize those shoulders anywhere. Without hesitation, you walk up to him as he makes his way from the pyre to the back of a truck. You can see the dead bodies stacked there, like logs. Or spoilt meat.

"I need to talk to you."

He recognizes you, and there is a split second of dismay when he sees your beat-up face before he squares his shoulders and looks at you with disinterest.

"I don't have anything to sell."

"It's not that." You step in front of him when he tries to get past you. "You know where I can find the people who did this to me."

Even with his mouth covered, you can see the tightness in his lips.

"Why would I help you?" He pushes past you, and you glance towards the armed FEDRA guard further away. He's not paying you any attention, so you follow the man to the truck and watch him lift another body from it.

"I have no idea," you confess, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the dead weight in his arms. It's easier to just think of the bodies as firewood, not the physical home of a once living person.

"I'd be in your debt," you try. He barely even looks at you.

"There's nothing I want from you."

"I can get you drugs," you tell him quickly. It's not a good idea, you're fully aware of that: every supply and every pill in the medical center is zealously accounted for, and you don't even have access to anything worthwhile. But he doesn't need to know that.

"I work at the clinic," you explain, now in a lower voice so that not one word will carry over to the FEDRA guard. The man stops, now eyeing you up and down.

"Why would you risk it?" he wants to know.

"I really need to get my hands on the men. They took something from me."

He grunts, leaning his weight on one leg and hooking his thumbs through the belt hoops of his jeans as he considers your offer. Eventually, he nods.

"What did they look like?"

///

Two days later, you're working in the clinic when FEDRA brings in man they found wandering outside the quarantine zone. He's middle-aged and a little malnourished but seems to be in otherwise good condition. He's brought in in handcuffs, and the agent leading him in gives you a little headshake.

The man's infected. You purse your lips, annoyed at the agents for not just shooting the man on the spot. Why do they have to bring them in here, where you have to pretend like they're not just about to die?

"How do you feel?" you ask lightly. "Any fever? Nausea?"

"I'm tired and hungry, I've walked for days - "

"You'll receive a meal and a bed shortly," you interrupt, grabbing the scanner so that you can check the man's status for yourself. The field agents sometimes bang up their scanners, so you don't trust them to give a correct reading.

The scanner's red light seals his fate. You hold the device away from him so he won't see it. Not that it matters: he must himself know that he's been bitten.

"I'll just give you a little shot of antibiotics," you tell him, turning your back to him as you prepare a syringe. "It's standard procedure for new arrivals."

You hear a shuffle and a broken gasp, and swing around to find him on his knees, looking up at you with fear in his eyes.

"Please," he implores you, "please don't kill me, I beg you, please!"

You swallow hard and nod at the FEDRA agent, who steps up and secures the patient so that you can administer the injection.

"I don't want to die."

Your hand starts to shake as his words start to move the sharp pieces of your broken heart around in your chest.

"I'm not ready to die."

Your throat feels constricted, but you manage to pump the entire dose into a vein, and the man grunts. You watch his eyes get sluggish, and take a step back when he slumps forward. His body twitches a couple of times before it lies still.

You tear off the mask and hurry out of the room, hurry down the dwindling corridors until you reach the back door. You burst through it and take a deep breath of the fresh air in the mid-morning sunshine. Your heart is chafing in your chest, which feels smaller than normal.

I'm not ready to die.

Leaning against the wall, you press your eyes shut and try to focus on your breathing. In, out. Calmly. Frankie's voice haunts your memories. You can do it, baby, I believe in you.

Someone is approaching, so you snap your head up, your fist closing and ready to swing.

It's the drug dealer.

"I found them," he informs you without preamble. "Are you free tonight?"

"I'm free now," you tell him, desperate to get away from the clinic. He nods, and you ask him to wait fifteen minutes. Returning inside, you tell your supervisor that your injuries are bothering you. Once you receive a permission slip for the rest of the day, you change your clothes and leave.

Your guide is still waiting for you outside, arms crossed in front of his chest, face set grimly.

"Did you get the drugs?" he asks you when you come out. You shake your head.

"It needs planning."

"You've had two days of planning."

"I'll get to it, okay?" you snap, and he yields. It is a little strange to you that he would help you without any guarantee of payment, but you don't dwell on it. What matters is that you're on the move towards justice.

You follow the smuggler, who introduces himself as Joel, through the busy streets towards the blocks out of reach for FEDRA's concern. The crowd thins out, leaving only individuals of questionable intent and suspicious gazes. You don't feel unsafe, though: there is something very reassuring about having Joel walk in front of you, like his broad shoulders serve as a barrier between you and the bad things surrounding you. He moves with confident wariness, staring down anyone who dares to throw an unfriendly glance at the two of you. Finally, he stops outside what looks like a former bodega, and turns to you.

"There's three of them," he informs you shortly. "In the back room. Not very bright, but armed. You carrying?"

You pull out your handgun from the waistband of your pants. You've carried it since the attack, damned be the consequences if it were discovered on you. Joel nods, produces his own gun, and clicks the safety off. You do the same and follow him into the building. He moves surprisingly silently for his size and heavy boots, and you do your best to match him as he leads you through the derelict space to the back door. He gestures for you to cover him from the side, then counts down by holding up first three fingers, then two, and finally one.

Then he kicks down the door and fires a warning shot as he enters the back room, where three startled men scramble for their weapons. You crash in, immediately shooting one of them in the knee.

"Don't fucking move!"

"On your knees," Joel commands them. The one that you shot is already writhing on the floor, and the two others raise their hands as they kneel. You recognize the leader immediately, and his features tell you that he knows that the day of reckoning has come.

"Where are they?" you demand, pointing the gun at him.

"What?" He has the audacity to even ask you: he and his companions took nothing from you but two rings on a chain. Everything else you ever had, including love, your sense of security, your sense of self, were taken years ago.

"The rings!" you roar, coming close enough for the barrel of the gun to touch his forehead. "The rings you fucking took from me, where the fuck are they?"

"I sold them!" His voice is growing panicked.

"To whom?"

"I don't fucking know, it was just some guy!"

"The QZ isn't big enough for you to not know every single fucking lowlife that crawls these streets," you point out. The guy starts to shake.

"I promise, I don't know!"

You don't even think: your trigger finger makes the decision for you. The shot rings out as your hand jerks back a little with the recoil. Warm blood stains your fingers, and you point the gun at the next guy.

"What about you? You don't know either?"

"I don't know, I swear!"

You shoot him too. The last one is the one with only one good knee. Putting him down is an act of mercy, but he holds out his hand as you turn to him.

"No, wait, wait!"

You fix him with your gaze as well as the gun, and let him speak.

"I don't know his name, but I think he's FEDRA. Thin guy, around six feet, light hair, blue eyes."

Your nostrils flare as you recognize the description. Lowering your gun, you turn away from the man bleeding on the floor.

"What are we doin'?" Joel demands, but you click the safety back on, a new purpose forming in your mind.

"We are not doing anything," you tell him. "I don't need you."

You walk out of the building. A gun goes off behind you, telling you that Joel put the last assailant out of his misery.

///

Peters is on a smoke break outside the FEDRA headquarters. He nods when he sees you, and without wasting any time, you march straight up to him. You push him roughly, sending him back two steps.

"Where are my rings?" you demand, resisting the urge to reach for your gun. Peters' eyes narrow.

"If you want them back, I need something from you."

"What?"

"Meds. Drugs. You work at the clinic."

You stare at him, your hatred spilling into your features, letting him know just how much you despise him.

"You must know I can't just waltz in there and fill a shopping bag."

"That's your problem," Peters shrugs. "Get me pills, or you won't see the rings again. Moreover, I'll report you for killing the men that attacked you."

"How do you know I killed them?"

"You just told me."

You bite your jaws together as you realize that you've been had. Peters smirks.

"I thought you were smarter than that."

You can't stand to look at him one more second, so you turn around and leave.

///

The night is long when pain keeps sleep away. You toss and turn, your brain working feverishly overtime in trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. You remember how Frankie wanted both of you to stay clear of any kind of organized attempts to keep the new status quo, or the opposite. He was a contender for becoming a FEDRA agent because of his military background but refused to serve a government that shackled and killed people. Yourself, you could have joined the Fireflies, but he didn't want that either. It's just best to mind our own business.

You did that for a long time, and you still lost your daughter. You took every precaution when leaving the Millers' farm to make it on your own with Frankie, and still...

He comes to you in the small hours of the night when your brain can no longer tell the difference between reality and delusion. His familiar smell invades your nose and comforts you, and his strong arms gather you to him, to his steadily beating heart.

"You went and got yourself in quite a pickle now, corazon."

"I know, I know. You told me so."

"I did. Still, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

You sigh deeply. "Me too."

"You'll figure it out," he states matter-of-factly. Of course you will. You have to.

You sigh again and reach your hands into his hair, those soft curls that you have loved since day one.

"I want you, Frankie," you mumble. He kisses your forehead.

"You know we can't. We can't risk it."

He was always the careful one. You were on the pill when society collapsed, and you didn't exactly think to pack them when you had to flee your home. Whenever you raided a grocery store, Frankie would always check for condoms. When there were no more to be had, you had to resort to other ways to pleasure each other. The world may have gone to shit, but you still wanted each other. What you and Frankie had was a once in a lifetime thing. You could not not want each other.

"Just use your fingers?" you suggest throatily. "Your mouth. Like you used to."

"Why don't you do it to yourself, sweetheart," he coaxes you with equal amounts of honey dripping from his voice. "Let me watch."

He kisses you, teasingly, longingly. It has been ages.

"Let me watch you, baby..."

"It's not the same."

It was that objection, spoken years ago, that led to the penetration that resulted in a pregnancy. Your daughter had been dead for three years and the need to be with Frankie, really be with him, had grown too great. Your cycle was unreliable, and you figured that the risk was low.

Low risk, your ass. You got pregnant on the spot. And lost the baby only a few weeks later, the day you had to put a gun to your husband's head and pull the trigger.

I'm not ready to die.

That's what he said, as if you were any more ready to lose him. To lose him was unfathomable. But he had been bitten and had to beg you to put him out of his misery.

I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I'm making you do this. But someone has to. God, I'm not ready to die.

Tears begin to fall, and your body starts to shake. You roll over onto your back and sob out loud. Frankie is no longer with you, and all you have is a battered body, a broken heart, and a huge problem to solve.

You have to survive.

///

The medicine storage room is only accessible by key card and code. Only Craig, the physician at the arrival clinic, has both. You track his movements for the next two days, hoping to find some fault in his routine. When none presents itself after those two days, and you know that time is short, you try something new. Complaining of lingering pain, you earn a prescription of painkillers, but he won't release more than a couple at a time to you.

When you get ready to leave for the night, you throw a glance through the open door to Craig's office. He's sitting there; a middle-aged, bearded man, in a circle of light cast by the desk lamp, deep in paperwork. It's funny that medical staff should have paperwork even now.

"Good night," you say tentatively. He looks up, nods at you.

"Good night. Lock the door behind you. I sent the guards home."

You nod, and when the door clicks shut behind you, you have a plan. But for that you need Joel.

Still limping, you look for him in the deserted back alleys where the light faded already before the sunset. When you finally find him, he gives you a look that could almost be described as a smirk.

"You have my drugs?"

"Almost," you answer, squaring your shoulders that are dwarfed by the sheer wall of deadly that constitutes Joel's upper body. "I need your help."

"You're racking up quite a debt."

"I need your help to break into the clinic and beat the physician into giving us the drugs."

You state your business with the confidence of someone who has planned this to the very last detail, but the truth is that you don't really have any idea of how to do this. You're out of options, and you can't burst in there on your own, guns blazing. You need help, and you don't have anyone, not even Joel, but you have to convince him somehow.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow at your bold proposition. "Are you on some kind of suicide mission?"

"I'm in trouble. I need those drugs, not just for you."

"I don't associate with desperate people. They get sloppy."

You purse your lips, angry at yourself for letting your despair shine through.

"If I don't get help, there will be no drugs."

He looks at you with narrowing eyes and for the first time you feel small next to him. You are at his mercy, and he knows it, and you don't like it one bit.

"It's not just about the drugs," he finally says, "there's something more. It has to do with those guys that we killed."

His eyes see right through you. "You know who they sold your rings to."

Fine. "He's a FEDRA agent, and he threatened me. If I don't get him drugs, he'll turn me in."

"Fuck." The curse comes out as a sigh.

"So if you don’t help me, they're going to kill me, and you won't get anything at all," you point out. Joel shakes his head.

"I need more than that. What are these rings? Why are they important?"

Now it's your time to cross your arms and glare at him. However, there is no beating that stone cold face. You could stand here until the end of time and you wouldn't win a staring contest with Joel.

"Me and my husband's wedding bands," you finally admit, defeated. "I wear them in a chain around my neck. They matter to me."

You expect him to scoff but to your surprise, you are instead served the hint of a crack in his grim facade. He looks down, seemingly at his left wrist right in front of his chest. The edge of a wristwatch peeks out from underneath the fraying cuff of his jacket.

"Okay," he finally nods. "Let's go."

///

The plan is simple. You will wear masks, get in with your key, surprise Craig, and force him to use his key card and code to open the storage room. A knock on the head and he hopefully won't remember much the next day.

"Can you walk without limping?" Joel asks as you pull the FEDRA-made balaclava over your head. Not surprising to you, he had managed to produce two of them very quickly. He doesn't explain and you don't ask.

"Don't worry," you tell him curtly and take out your gun. "Come on."

The clinic corridors are dark and silent, but you know that Craig will be in his office. His sleep deprivation manifests in dark circles under his eyes each morning, as well as in the way he cherishes his big mug of surrogate coffee every day, like it was a delicious Guatemalan roast. He has no family, barely any conscience either, but he has always shown a weary patience with you when you started working at the clinic. Not a chatty type, but then neither you.

The light spilling out the open office door tells you that he's still working. You gesture towards the door and Joel shows with a nod that he's understood. Quietly but quickly, with your heart thumping in your throat, you make it to the door. Joel makes himself known first, his tall and broad form claiming the entire doorway.

"Let me see your hands. And stand up."

Slowly, Craig obeys, but when Joel tells him what he wants, the physician is not moving.

"Did you not hear me?" Joel growls, but Craig doesn't move a muscle.

"I'm not giving you drugs."

Shit. You didn't count on him being a hero. Not knowing what to do, you hold back a gasp when Joel walks around the desk and smacks Craig in the face with his gun.

"How about now?"

Spitting blood and trembling from the shock of the sudden assault, Craig nevertheless shakes his head.

"No."

Joel growls again, and grabs Craig by the collar. Dragging the man after him to the corridor, he looks in both directions. "Which way?"

Craig doesn't answer, so you nod to the right. Joel sets off, pulling Craig with him. A tearing sound is heard when a piece of his shirt fabric breaks from Joel's rough handling, but Joel doesn't blink an eye. You follow, cursing under your breath. Just fucking give him what he wants, Craig!

Joel stops at the door to the storage room and shoves Craig against it. "Open it."

"No." The word is spoken in a small voice, but it is a no nonetheless. Joel cocks his gun and puts it to the older man's forehead.

"Open it."

You suddenly feel sick. This isn't right. This isn't how you wanted to do it. You push your hand down his pockets, finding the key card, and you immediately scan it by the door, but without the code, the door doesn't open.

"The code," you ask him, but he only shakes his head. You shove the gun under his chin.

"Don't be a hero."

"I'll die before I give you the code."

"Let me oblige you," Joel growls. "I'm counting to three."

You look into the physician's eyes. You may not know him, but you can see that this is a man who has made up his mind. What traumas does he carry that makes him so eager to part with his life? Maybe this end comes as a blessing to him?

"Fuck!" you exclaim and slam the gun against the side of his head. With a heavy huff, Craig sinks into a heap on the floor, blood seeping out of a cut on his head. Joel looks down at him, then turns his dark face to you.

"What is wrong with you?"

"All of this!" you hiss before turning around promptly and starting a brisk march down the hallway, away from the situation, out and as far as you can get. You don't know if Joel follows you, and you don't stop, except to dispose of your balaclava into a trash can halfway home.

Frankie is nowhere to be found as you pace your small apartment all night, waiting for FEDRA agents to come and arrest you. When the first rays of morning light come in through the window and nobody has been at your door, you collapse on top of your bed, and sleep restlessly for three hours.

Showered and with clean clothes, yet still looking half dead, you venture out of your apartment. You don't really want to but know that you have to make an appearance at the clinic, see how Craig is doing, what the consequences of your break-in are. You have a lie to serve about why you're late and are ready to serve it with a straight face. When you arrive at the clinic, however, nobody is interested in questioning you. There is blood at the entrance, and extra guards who check your credentials before letting you in. You walk through the halls towards Craig's office, fearing what you'll learn, what more lies you'll have to come up with to explain why you didn't come to work in the morning.

It turns out that nobody cares about your absence: everyone is more concerned with the assault and subsequent death at the clinic last night. Slowly, you begin to understand the picture, even if you can't understand it.

Around midnight last night, a man and a woman broke in, threatened the physician, then rendered him unconscious with a nasty blow to the head. He woke up by a gunshot, traced it to the back door, and found a dead man holding the gun he recognized as belonging to the masked man who threatened him. This dead man has been identified as Jeffrey Peters, a FEDRA agent.

Peters. Discreetly, you make sure that there's a wall behind you, and lean on it to make sure you'll stay on your feet.

"You okay?" Craig asks you, and the FEDRA agents all turn to you. Shit.

"Yeah..." You make a show of rubbing your forehead and sighing deeply. "I did guard duty with Peters."

"How well did you know him?" one of the agents ask, and you shrug.

"Not that well. We didn't talk much about ourselves. He seemed nice enough, though."

"Was he punctual? Reliable?"

You hesitate. "He... sometimes, a couple of times, he'd ask me to cover for him, and he'd disappear for a few minutes or so."

"While on duty?" another agent prompts. You nod.

"I always assumed he went to piss or something."

"Would you have thought him capable of something like this?"

You swallow, your hesitation real as you try to navigate these tricky waters. How do you raise suspicions about Peters without expressing a dislike for FEDRA?

"I think that his training made him capable of many things," you finally saw, eyes cast down.

They buy it, and you're let off the hook together with Craig. You apologize again for being late, blaming headaches and pains, and get the rest of the week off.

You immediately start to look for Joel. When darkness brings another night over the QZ, you still haven't found him. Instead, you find your local bootlegger and trade in a ration coupon for two bottles of something not-quite-clear that you're positive has a high enough alcohol level to kill off whatever germs it most probably contains.

The liquor tastes vile, and you long for the carefree emptiness that the pills provide, but at least you pass out soon enough. The nightmares you have are of Frankie and the bullet you put in his head, again and again and again you're forced to relive the terror, the guilt, the absolute devastation of having to first kill your husband, then live without him.

When you wake up the next morning, your anguish is only trumped by your hangover. It takes you half the day to get out of bed, shower, dress, and eat without getting sick. When you finally venture out it's late afternoon, and you are on a mission to find Joel. A nagging suspicion about him is making you uneasy, and you need confirmation, even if you have no idea what to do with the knowledge.

You finally find him hanging around the usual alley where you know that he deals. He's performing a quick transaction with a young, haggard-looking woman, and you wait at a respectful distance until she's gone. Joel's gaze follows her before fixating on you, and you see his hand quickly stuff some coupons into his pocket.

"You're dealing?" you demand at once. "Where did you get the stuff from?"

"Another source came through."

"So we beat Craig up just for fun last night?"

Joel gives you an almost disdainful look. "It was your idea."

Your head is pounding, and you feel the bile rise. Fighting to keep it together, you turn away from Joel and rub your palms over your face.

"Did you kill Peters?" you ask, your voice subdued beneath your hands.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He complicated things."

That's for sure. You take a deep breath, will your stomach to settle, your head to cease spinning. Slowly, you raise your gaze to Joel.

"How did you do it?"

He folds his strong arms in front of his chest and dips his chin a little as he regards you.

"You sure you want to know?"

You nod. Yes, you're sure. You need to know.

"I told him your plan and said I needed his help to execute it. He jumped on it at once. As soon as we had broken in, I took his gun and shot him. I left my gun in his hand and put my balaclava on him, then left the scene. The doc soon raised the alarm."

Joel tells you this matter-of-factly, like he was talking about a walk on the beach. But there is still one issue he hasn't addressed, and now you have to.

"The rings," you remind him. "My rings. Did he have them on him?"

"Yes."

Your heart almost stops. "Yes?"

Joel sticks his hand in his pocket and fishes out the gold chain. The two rings clink softly when he places them in your trembling hand. They feel warm from his body heat, and for a moment you can almost feel Frankie's touch on you.

"Thank you," you whisper throatily, closing your hand to keep the rings safe. "Appreciate it."

Joel only grunts.

"I'll get you the drugs," you promise. "Somehow."

"Forget about it. You don't have to."

You look up at him, surprised and wary. Nothing is free in this world, and Joel is a smuggler. There is no way he wouldn't want anything for his troubles. You're indebted to him, no matter what he says, and you hate that feeling of him having something on you.

Joel's dark gaze offers no answers. You pocket the rings and don't know what to say. Lingering in front of him, you almost feel like you did when you were 12 years old and finally had the opportunity of talking to your crush. The feeling mixed badly with the relief of having your wedding bands returned to you, and before you know it, your lips are pressed against Joel's.

Joel is completely unresponsive, so you step back almost as quickly as you advanced. He's like a statue, cold and still, and you suddenly just want to cry from how much you miss normal human interaction, even just a hint of goddamn kindness.

"Sorry," you mutter before slinking away, neck bent in shame and confusion. You head towards the small apartment that was never a home but that you call home because what else would you call it? Sometimes you think that it must be easier for young people who know of nothing else but this world. At least they don't know the loss of, say, sunny Sunday morning breakfasts, exchanging relaxed, loving smiles across the table before leaving the coffee cups and hurrying back to bed...

The heartache is physical, intolerable, and makes you hurry. You need to get away from people, hide between the four walls with peeling wallpapers that surround your designated living area. If you're going to break, you have to do so privately.

As soon as you've locked the door behind you, you reach into your pocket and take out the chain. The rings look as familiar as ever: you know every scratch in the gold as well as the little indentation in Frankie's from that time when he caught his hand in the car door. His ring finger was saved by you still had a hard time getting it off his finger as it started to swell. The rest of his fingers required a visit to the ER. He never wanted his ring fixed. Frankie believed in letting things age as they were, with scars intact.

You slide your ring on your finger, finding it doesn't fit anymore, not only in size, but it also looks foreign on your finger. You sigh deeply and fasten the chain around your neck instead. The liquor bottle comforts you when the pain becomes too much to bear. You drink slowly, mindfully, because you know that drinking yourself into a stupor only makes you pass out. You need the in-between, that special place where you're awake but lost to substance. That's where Frankie is.

He comes before long, sighing deeply as he stands by the bed and watches you in the dusk.

"Missed you," you mumble, reaching for him. Frankie, however, doesn't move.

"You need to snap yourself out of this," he tells you gently. "Baby, you need to - "

"I need to survive, I know," you cut him off. "You always tell me that. I'm surviving."

"Survival isn't just about not dying," he reminds you. "You need to move on, my love. You have to move on."

You blink slowly, trying to focus on him. Has he always been this hazy?

"What're you talking about?"

"I think we should stop doing this."

You jerk up into a sitting position. The room spins, as does your stomach.

"No! Frankie, no, I can't do this without you!" Tears begin to run down your cheeks. Frankie shakes his head and looks at you in the same way as the first time he worked up the courage to ask you out: chin down, warm brown eyes shyly peeking at you. Now, however, he just looks infinitely sad. The trembling smile he gives you rips your guts out.

"You've been doing this without me for years. You can do it. You're strong, baby, you're so strong."

"I don't want to," you weep now, snot mixing with tears on your upper lip. "Frankie, don't make me do this."

"I don't want you to live in the past."

"There is no future to be had."

"There is always life."

He sits down next to you and lets you cling to him. He kisses your hair, caresses your back, lets you cry it out against his threadbare flannel, soft and worn down.

"I loved you since I first saw you," he tells you with longing and regret in his deep voice, "and I loved you until the end."

You want to tell him that you love him too, beg him to stay for his love for you, but your throat is too constricted for words. You cling to him, desperate for one last embrace, to smell his skin, thread your fingers through his soft locks, feel the scrape of his mustache on your lips.

"Let me go," he implores you. "You need to let me go, sweetheart."

"No..." you keen helplessly, pathetically, "please, don't make me do this...!"

"It's okay, baby."

"No..."

"It's okay. You'll be okay."

You don't know when he leaves. The next time you open your eyes to look through a curtain of tears at the room, he just isn't there anymore.

///

Joel's observant eyes follow you when you hurry away from the alley where he deals. Normally, he doesn't pay his customers too much attention, but there's something up with you.

He hasn't seen you in a week, and you look like you've been on a bender for the entirety of that time, and only now woke up, cleaned yourself enough to show yourself in public without attracting too much attention, and then went out to get more shit to fuck you up. Your eyes are bloodshot and unfocused, and he can smell alcohol on you. Your body language is so different: you are hunched up, neck bent, and your eyes fastened on the ground.

You want more pills than usual. When he lies about not having any more, you pull out even more ration coupons. He should say no. He has a terrible feeling about what you're about to do with those pills. Even if he's wrong, he knows approximately how many coupons you get each week and month, and you're giving him pretty much everything you have.

He should say no, but he doesn't. It's business, and those coupons are worth a lot.

Still, he watches you leave, then starts to follow you through the crowded streets of the Boston QZ. He keeps a distance but realizes soon that you have no idea - or don't care - if you are being followed. You bump into people, dig your hands even deeper into your pockets, and let yourself be pushed to the side by an angry passer-by. Still, you walk with a sad kind of purpose until you reach a run-down brownstone and disappear inside. He enters not long behind you and stands still in the foyer, hearing your heavy steps work their way upstairs. Finally, steps along the floor, then a door.

He stands in the foyer for a while, wondering if he should find out which apartment is yours, and see that you're okay. In the end, however, he decides against it.

You're not his problem. Now that all the unpleasantries with the clinic are over, and both of you seem safe from suspicions, he's definitely not getting entangled with you again.

Still, he lingers in the foyer, shifts his weight from one foot to the other while scowling at himself. Finally, he leaves the building and marches away. He has shit to do. He has his own survival to think about.

One block down, he turns around.

///

The rapping on your door makes you jump, and you pull out your gun as you go to look through the peep hole. Seeing Joel, your first thought is that he's coming to kill you and take back his pills, the pills that are waiting on your bed.

"What do you want?" you want to know.

"Just open the goddamn door or I'll break it."

You doubt he'd do something like that, but you still open the door. Joel fills the entire doorway with his broad frame, looking past you into the room. He doesn't even seem to care about the gun you're holding. When he sees the pills on your bed, he takes a step in, and that's when you point the gun at him.

"Don't take another step."

"I need those back." His voice is nearly toneless but you can hear a warning in it.

"I'll shoot."

"I've seen you pull a trigger, you would've shot me already if you wanted to."

He walks past you as if you were but a child who didn't want their toys taken away. When he reaches your bed, you realize that you're really going to lose your way out.

You throw yourself on him, pushing him down onto the bed, and start beating his broad back with a knuckle and the gun. For a moment, he grunts and curls up, but then he seems to find himself, and turns around and grabs your wrists with an ease that's nothing but frightening. He twists your wrists, and you drop the gun, your face distorting into a grimace until you keen from the pain. That's when he releases you, takes your gun, and releases the clip as well as the one in the chamber.

You lie on the bed, panting from lingering pain, your aching hands pressed against your chest, and watch him gather the pills. He doesn't look at you, barely even acknowledges you, except for when he leaves your coupons on the sheets. You feel cheap, used, discarded. Shame burns in your throat, and you just want him to leave, go and let you be alone with your misery.

Instead, he sits down on the couch, grimacing a little when his back hits the backrest. You got in some good hits.

You glare at him. "You got what you came here for, now get the fuck out."

He regards you with a slightly tilted head, even puts his arm up on the backrest, claiming his space with spread legs and a comfortable recline. You think in that moment that you hate him fervently.

"Are you a good shot?"

"What?"

"I said, are you a good shot?"

You stare incredulously at him as you slowly sit up. "Why?"

"Just answer the question," he barks. You shrug.

"Not a great one, but I get by, I guess."

"Rifle?"

"Yeah."

"I could use you on an expedition."

"Are you offering me a job?"

He leans forward, forearms on his knees. "I need a lookout. You interested?"

You chew on your lower lip, still suspicious and frankly, a bit confused. He waits patiently for you to come to a decision.

"Okay."

///

There is something about being outside the walls of the QZ. The air is fresher there, more breathable, more oxygenized. There's greenery, the whole city of Boston is swallowed up by nature. It's heart-breakingly beautiful how when a civilization falls, another takes over. The civilization of trees, animals, plants. Some part of you applauds the reclamation, roots for the trees, so to speak.

Liberating though it may feel, the world outside of the QC is also incredibly dangerous. But with Joel on your side and your former experience of traveling with Frankie, you learn how to navigate the overgrown streets and decrepit buildings.

Coming back from the first run - a shorter one to look for an alternate way through a particularly nasty block - he asks you if you've had military training. You just shake your head, but you can tell that he still is curious about your use of hand signals, how you handle the rifle, your military abbreviations.

"My husband was," you finally offer, not taking your eyes off the road. "Special forces."

Joel grunts in acknowledgement, but neither one of you speak any more until you reach the QZ at nightfall.

"I might need you again," Joel says once you're back inside the city walls.

"You know where I live."

He holds out a small, crinkled slide lock bag with pills, but you shake your head.

"I'd rather not have those around," you tell him quietly. Even if you long for the oblivion the pills can provide, you have decided - for the time being - that you don't need them.

Joel immediately pockets the pills, like he's afraid you'll change your mind. He then nods at you before disappearing into the shadows. You go home, and you sleep better than you have in ages. Still, the lumpy pillow is wet with tears when you wake up in the morning.

///

On the fourth run, you save Joel's life. You're his lookout, perched on top of a smaller building, while he clears out debris in an alleyway. The sun is high and sweat runs down your forehead. You wipe it away and then you see him: a man holding a baseball bat, slowly creeping up on Joel from behind. Mechanically, you take aim and shoot. Joel jumps at the sharp sound of the shot, and the subsequent groan from the man who slumps down onto the street makes him turn around. The man's head is blown to bits, and Joel quickly looks through his backpack and pockets for anything useful. He then looks up at you, gestures for you to keep looking - the gunshot could attract unwanted attention - and goes back to what he was doing, confident that you'll have his back.

You realize that in a very short time, you've become somewhat synced with him. You noticed early on that Joel has impaired hearing on his right ear and therefor wants his right flank covered in dangerous areas. He has bad knees, so you help out with heavy lifting from the ground. He doesn't talk much, but he gives you the last piece of jerky when your stomach growls at the end of your break.

He reminds you of Frankie in that sense. Frankie would also wordlessly see to it that you were comfortable, both before and after the outbreak. He would give you the best couch corner and get you your favorite snacks. He would have you take the last sip of water and stay awake all night so that you could sleep. And he never expected anything from you in return.

The comparison hurts, but you didn't use to think about Frankie at all during the day. He was a bittersweet pleasure saved for the night, for the pills and the alcohol. Now you're thinking about him in the harsh light of day, whenever your gaze rests on Joel's broad shoulders a second too long.

And yet, Joel is nothing like Frankie. You late husband kept his softness, his humanity, even after the loss of your daughter. You don't know what Joel has lost, what he has done, but you can tell he's been through shit. Well, so did Frankie, and Frankie never changed.

Joel is a cold hard killer. You find yourself wondering if he was always that. He has a military background, that much you know now, but what did his hands do when they didn't hold a gun?

Joel has made his way through the clutter in the alleyway, and you climb down to continue forward with him. He grabs you by the upper arm and when you startle, he releases you with his hand sliding down your arm, surprisingly softly.

"Thanks," he says gruffly, and you nod. So that's what his hands can do when not busy beating the life out of someone.

The two of you walk on, attentive of your surroundings, and very aware of the other's presence.

When you return to the QZ with the first light of the morning Joel stops you just a you're about to part ways. His hand rests heavily on your shoulder as he seems to look for something to say.

"You did good," he finally says. You search his face in the hopes of finding something more, but he is as closed off as ever. You finally put your hand on top of his. His fingers flex at the contact but stay where they are. A few moments pass by with the two of you just staring at each other and when Joel doesn't make the first move, you finally do. Your lips are on his, seeking a response that takes some time. When your lips part to let out the tip of your tongue against his pressed-together lips, his hand moves to the back of your neck, his big palm cupping you there roughly. You didn't expect him to be so rough from the way he had caressed your arm before, but it feels right. His tongue meets yours, forces it back into your mouth as he devours you, dry, chapped lips that taste of sweat stealing your breath away with the kiss that never ends, or maybe it's just one kiss after another that picks up before the previous one is over.

When he finally lets you draw breath, you're almost light-headed. He's still holding you by the back of your head, but now his fingers are gently stroking over your scalp. A tremor runs down your spine, and you make up your mind.

"My place is not far away," you tell him quietly. He just nods, then follows you through the empty streets to your apartment and into your bed.

///

He's not there when you wake up. You didn't expect him to, and you feel nothing but relief.

Last night, this morning, was a disaster.

You get up and step into the shower, the cold water making you shiver as you scrub yourself with a rough piece of soap. The events of the early morning replay before your inner eye, and your cheeks burn with chagrin.

He was rough. You welcomed that. Tenderness would have reminded you too much of Frankie, and you couldn't think about him. You ripped each other's clothes off, and Joel did his best to get you off, using his fingers and mouth. But he was in too much of a hurry, and you were stuck in your head. Eventually you just pushed him away and asked him to fuck you. You even turned around so he could take you from behind. So neither one of you had to look at the other, in case you suddenly found yourself wondering what you were doing there.

Muffling yourself by hiding your face in the sheets, you took the backshot as silently as you could, enduring it rather than enjoying. You wanted it, but you found yourself distracted by thoughts of unwanted pregnancies, and found yourself unable to relax. Your tension led to greater friction, his big cock struggling to fit in, and after having assaulted your clenching pussy for a few minutes, you sucked him off.

Neither one of you were satisfied, and you fell asleep by sheer force of will, because it was the only way for you to escape the situation.

Stepping out of the shower, you dry yourself off before wrapping the threadbare towel around you. Your fridge is empty because you haven't been to collect your rations, and you slam shut the fridge door with a frustrated sigh. Your last remaining liquor bottle stands on the shelf. You haven't touched it in a while, but now you grab it and unscrew the cork. A deep line between your eyebrows, you drink deeply, savoring the heat of the drink going down smoothly into your belly. Leaning against the countertop, you rub your forehead and sigh deeply.

This went to shit faster than green grass through a goose.

It was only supposed to help you release some tension. It was only because he touched you like that. It was only because he gave you the rings back. It was only because when you shot that would-be assailant, you imagined for a split second what life would be like if you hadn’t seen that assailant in time, and Joel would have died.

It was only because you missed the touch of another human being.

Inhaling deeply, you will yourself into facing yet another day. It doesn’t matter. Joel doesn’t matter. You’ll survive.

You go to the clinic, you perform your tasks, you return home with rations, but the bottle is more interesting than food. You eat dutifully, however, before emptying the bottle and cursing the fact that it was your last one. Just as you’ve decided to try to get hold of more alcohol, there is a knock on the door. Sober in just a second, you grab your gun and approach the door, craning your neck to look through the peephole.

It's Joel. Frowning, you open, letting him see you’re holding your gun.

He barely raises a brow. “You can put that down.”

You do, but keep the door ajar, staring at him with distrust.

“What do you want?”

He shrugs. “Wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine.”

He nods, then looks down the hall before fastening his gaze on you again.

“Can I come in?”

“What for?”

He pulls out a flask from his pocket and shakes it seductively. It’s full. You consider this for a second, then open the door and walk back into the apartment. Joel follows, closing and locking the door behind him. You take one corner of the worn down couch, he takes the other.

He brings not only the bottle, but also pills. You accept one – a lot less than your usual dose – and down it with the real bourbon from his flask.

“That’s good,” you nod when passing the flask back to him. Joel nods and takes a swig.

“I know a guy.”

“You know a lot of them, don’t you?”

He grunts, unwilling to admit the extent of his network. You’ve met a handful of people during your runs together. None of them ever introduce themselves, and neither do you.

“What about girls?” you ask boldly, the substances starting to mellow you out. Joel raises one brow quizzically.

“I know where the FEDRA agents go when they want to let off some steam,” you continue. “Do you go there as well?”

He shakes his head. “Not my thing.”

“Don’t you fuck at all?” you ask, the booze and drugs slurring your words slightly. “Maybe that’s why your pity fuck last night was so miserable.”

He bristles a little at that. “I’d be inclined to say that it wasn’t all on me.”

“No,” you sigh, “it was me as well.”

Silence descends with the two of you staring at the ceiling, at your own hands, at anything but each other. When you reach your hand across the couch, Joel gives you the flask. You take a large swig, and Joel glares at you.

“That stuff’s hard to come by.”

“I’m sure you have your ways.”

“At some point my ways won’t be enough anymore.”

The conversation is stilted, unnatural. You lean back and sigh deeply, your eyes closing.

“Why are you here, Joel?”

He takes the flask from you, and you hear the cork screwed shut. He then shifts closer, his body heat radiates towards you. You keep your eyes firmly closed and startle when you feel his fingers brush over your cheek. Next, his lips. They slowly cover your skin to your lips, which separate so that he can close his lips around your lower one when he kisses you. Bourbon mixes with bourbon and the intimate flavors of the self when the kiss deepens. Joel slides his tongue in, intimate as if it were finding its way into your slick cunt, not your mouth. It’s met by your tongue, eager and shy at the same time, unable to decide whether to wait or advance. With a calm confidence, Joel takes control, kisses his fill of you, peels raw the sensitive skin around your mouth with his sharp bristles.

His hand comes to a rest on your thigh, fingers loosely spread over the flesh until you put your hand on his and press down. He breaks the kiss, and you feel his shallow breaths right in front of you.

“Look at me,” he demands in a low voice. Your eyes flutter open to meet his: dark as the night but not frightening in any way except in intensely they seem to yearn for love and affection, if only for one fuck.

“You’re drunk,” he states.

“Yes,” you confirm, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

“What do you want?” His hand burns on your thigh.

“I want… I need you to fuck me, Joel.”

He makes some kind of noise, a guttural croak, maybe a growl, and presses his lips to yours again. Now you let yourself react more, your tongue meets his in a powerful dance, your hands run up the sides of his waist, ribcage, and back to pull him in. Your eyes are closed again, you don’t want to see anything, you only want to feel. He pulls his mouth from yours to instead bite and lick your tits, hands cupping and discovering and pinching. When he attaches himself to one nipple and sucks hard, you keen loudly, your head lolling back to meet the wall behind the couch. You find his hand on your breast and redirect it to the base of your throat. Joel only pauses his ministrations briefly before continuing, his fingers closing around your throat for a gentle but firm squeeze. You whimper encouragingly as the light pressure on your windpipe cuts off all intrusive thoughts, allowing you to focus on the pleasure instead.

When your breasts are dappled with marks left by Joel’s lips and teeth, he releases your throat and stands up. You blink up at him, worried for a moment that he grew tired already, but your eyes catch the thick outline of his cock at the front of his jeans, and then he offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up, crashing you into him, back against his lips, and as you kiss you unbutton his denim shirt, rid him off it unceremoniously, then take his t-shirt off. You make no time to admire his chest and stomach, don’t allow yourself any musings on the physique of a middle-aged, hard-working man. You simply duck your head to bite his nipples, suck and nibble just as he did to you. Joel grunts, his fingers slipping through the hair at the back of your neck before taking a hold and pulling your lips off him. You cast a wondering glance up at him, but he’s already maneuvering you to the bed. Not unkindly but with a demand that you appreciate, he pushes you down on the bed, then locks your gaze as he unbuckles his belt. You mirror him, unbutton your jeans and push them down your hips as he does it, and then you’re naked before him, and he before you. Your eyes flicker down to his stout cock fighting gravity as it strives upward. Involuntarily, you start to salivate, your mouth remembering the challenge of fitting as much as possible of that thick cock in it. Your cunt is dripping in the same recollection, and you swallow, your legs separating as you show Joel what you have, your fingers trailing down to part your lips and rub your clit. He inhales sharply before leaning over you to roughly turn you around. He then gets onto the bed, gives you a surprising smack on your ass, and then you feel his bristles and lips against your sex, from behind, as his hands knead your ass cheeks. You yelp in surprise and instant gratification before muffling yourself against the mattress as your whimpers turn into moans, rising in volume the tighter your core winds itself. Lick after slurping lick, you let go of everything but the sensation, your ass in his hands, your cunt pressed up against his face, your clit throbbing from his constant rough care.

Joel’s name is on your lips when your climax breaks free, but you press your lips together, press your eyes shut, press your hand over your mouth as your legs kick and your body trembles. Your walls have barely stopped fluttering around empty when Joel shifts and moves up your body, positioning himself. Your cunt is wet, but his cock still sears through you as he pushes himself in, balls deep with one thrust. Your breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, your scream stops before it’s even out, and then your lungs compress when he lays his entire weight on you. You expect him to pound you into the mattress but instead, Joel starts a slow, deep grind, and it's almost more brutal because he’s deep, so thick, so heavy, and you don’t want him to stop. Your mewls are pitiful, the sheet are half inside your mouth, there is no room to move and when Joel grips your throat again, there is barely any room for breathing, either.

And yet, you want more of it. You want him to choke the life out of you, want him to crush you with that broad, heavy frame of his. You want him to blow you apart, tear you up, fuck you so deep that all there is left for you to do is survive. Survive this slow, all-consuming fuck, the one you wanted last night but couldn’t have because you were thinking too much. Now you’re not thinking at all, but you still have two braincells that cooperate enough to tell you that he’s about to bust when his breaths turn quicker and huffier against your cheek.

“Don’t come inside!” you squeak, and Joel heeds your wish. He pulls out just as quickly as he entered, and you feel him spill on your ass cheeks, hot and sticky.

You feel empty and cold when he climbs off you. Moving your extremities gingerly, as if expecting them to fall off, you slowly curl up on your side. Joel pulls the covers over you and you’re too dazed to dwell on it. Instead, you let sleep take you away.

///

“You talk in your sleep.”

Your head snaps around to find Joel still in your bed. You have just woken up, stretched, and noted that it’s still dark outside, so you decided to sleep some more, if nothing else then to try to suppress the beginning hangover that you feel just behind your frontal lobe.

“What do I say?” you ask, not sure if you want to know. Joel waits until you’ve settled, then turns onto his side, facing you.

“You talk to someone you call Frankie.”

The name hits you like a sledgehammer in the face, and you feel shattered. Murdered. You haven’t heard that name said out loud in so many years…

“He was my husband,” you whisper, like you were afraid that if you talk about Frankie to anyone, he could turn out to be nothing but a figment of your imagination.

But he’s not. You still wear the rings around your neck to prove that Frankie was real, very real. But his touch has faded from your skin, even if your love for him hasn’t left your heart.

Joel doesn’t say anything, but you can sense the grief in him, burdensome and harsh. You wonder what dead loved ones he carries with him, but you don’t ask. Instead, you inch closer, find his shoulder, and rest your head on it. Your head is heavy, a headache waiting just around the corner to break out, but you feel strangely safe like this. You don’t know anything about Joel, but you trust him.

“Go back to sleep,” you tell him, as if you were old lovers, used to sharing a bed, of falling asleep in each other’s arms. You’re not, however, you’re very new lovers indeed, and Joel is hungry for more. He kisses sleep away from you before mounting you and fucking you with the same slow, steady devastation as earlier. Except for moaning, it is a silent affair with no other communication than the direction of limbs into their right places. He has your legs on his shoulders, hands on the back of your thighs, pressing your legs impossibly down so that you’re almost bent double, trapping you between his rock-hard cock and a sharp spring in the worn-down mattress. Each profound thrust pushes the breath out of you, along with a moan, and shoves the bed against the wall with a low knock that you somehow want the neighbors to hear.

You’re furiously rubbing your clit and when the orgasm rises as a dark shadow to swallow you whole, Joel releases your legs and curls his fingers around your throat instead. You cum hard, mouth open in a silent scream, and in the next second Joel pulls out and paints your pussy and hand with strings of hot cum.

He goes back to sleep with one arm around you. It is not the soft embrace of a lover but the possessive shackle of a broken person who has found someone equally broken to take away their pain, tiny moments at a time.

You raise your hand to your neck, and press at the skin. There’s a bruise forming there, you know. You press it softly, feeling your pulse in the tenderness. Right next to it, the rings are softly clinking against each other.

You don’t think you’ll ever take them off. But you also think that it’s time to stop taking those pills.

#joel miller #frankie morales #joel miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #joel miller x you #frankie morales x you #my fic

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