#miles miller angst

[noncrush]

☀︎☁︎ — MILES MILLER: druxy

(“It's winter. You ask me about love and I tell you about violence. I'm sorry. I thought that that's what love was.” — Katie Maria, ‘I used to be a hole in the ground’.)

miles miller x reader | 8k | mentions of death&guns, angst, fluff, yearning, very introspective, lots of backstory, MDNI 18+.

⤷ desc. when you get hired at the el royale, you don’t imagine you’ll be staying there long. you don’t imagine you’ll find the love of your life, either. as it turns out, you’re wrong two for two.

here is my submission for “quiet winter nights” with miles miller in @lewmagoo’s wonderful holiday celebration!!! enjoy this monster (that i blacked out for most of! this is perhaps not the best prompt fulfillment lol) tis the season of yearning everybody :)

Druxy — (adj.) something whole on the outside, but rotten inside; of timber, having decay in the heartwood.

i.

Working at the El Royale used to be easy. When you were still starry-eyed and bright, not yet overtaken by the suffocating, roiling waves of that horrid hotel.

“This job is just a stepping stone, that’s all,” you’d told Miles after your first rough week. He eyed you wearily then, knowing the grim unreality of those words—he’d done the very same, just happy to have a job at all after discharge… before quickly succumbing, a noxious fate he wouldn’t wish on a single soul. But he couldn’t warn you either, not when you started on the Californian bar: forced to deliver rounds of bronze booze and burnt sienna spirits with your piercing steel shaker until the end of the night. There were so many things Miles lost the chance to say, and later he’ll tell you he hates himself for it; later, you’ll hold him close and tell him you could never hate him for it.

You used to pray that promise beneath your breath, just a stepping stone, while staring up at the swelling water damage of your popcorn ceiling. It was a kind of foreshadowing in the tapestry of your life, telling you the longer you worked the harder it’d be to keep your head wading above water. Those early days at the hotel had you reluctantly settling into a seedy dingbat shoebox a few blocks away, the dip of your chin already beginning to sink into high tide. It’s odd to think of that part of your life in retrospect when you were first starting at the El Royale living all by your lonesome-- familiar head of tawny chestnut locks not yet lying beside your own at night. 

That hopeful, almost manifest, mantra was repeated again and again: in quiet hallways, collecting the pieces of your shattered morale off the wooden epoxy bar top, after a customer yelled at you for giving him too little ice. In a dank backroom corridor, after you caught Miles stumbling around with a heavy Vidicon tripod.

“What do you actually do here?” 

“I… I can’t tell you. N-not before you’ve been here for longer than a year. It’s standard procedure, and- and Management doesn’t trust part-timers.” 

Panicked circles paced into the carpet at your discovery, his burdened shoulders growing ever heavier; some sudden shimmer of pity overtaking your words, “Miles-- Miles, it's okay. Just a stepping stone, remember? You… don’t need to tell me, and I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

After you parsed Miles' calendar at the clerk's desk and caught a glimpse of the date. The frustrated heel of your palm digging into the nasal bone: “It’s November, Miles, it’s been-- god, this was supposed to be a stepping stone, something temporary…” Suddenly realizing your life still hasn’t picked up the slack; stranded, your job inquiries left unreplied, buried beneath the unsavoury status of your currentemployment. 

“I have an address. I-- have an entire year's worth of paystubs. I have everything they could possibly ask for.”

“Did--did you tell them you worked here? B’cause… the El Royale’s been losing its prestige day by day, and—Management’s sayin’ we’re lucky we still get our cheques.”

Finally, letting “just a stepping stone” die on your tongue when rent was jacked up, and the thin string of normalcy in your life went frayed. You made little as a bartender at an understaffed hotel, just enough to pay the current rate, and the increase would quickly make your wallet grow ugly and barren. Suddenly, you had found yourself forced to choose between the hotel or your apartment block’s curb; meagre belongings packed up and trailing behind, head growing dizzy with smothering waves of shame clawing up your throat. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to ask, but I--“ Shoulders wilt. Head hung low. The hotel lobby light flickers above you; once, twice, a spark cinders. “I have nowhere to go.”

His mouth, slightly ajar. What could crawl out of there, you wonder: a laugh, an apology, an insult? “California is full, and- er, Nevada’s under renovation.” 

A rejection. Beads of sweat trickled down your trembling spine. Heart sinking into the pit of your stomach; nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nowhere to exist—

“B-but I have a room. In the back. If… if y’don’t mind sharing.” 

Kindness, in a place as consuming as this. You thought every dreg of it had long since been digested, surrendering to the dreary structure of the ogee pattern walls. The fact it existed in the heart of Miles, however minuscule, made your own flicker with light. Hope stirring, unafraid despite how brutally it was beaten down; it was always so stubborn, ceaseless, almost Sisyphean.

However, uncovering Miles’ poor living conditions while shuffling into that one untouched room in the entire hotel made your lips pull into a tight line. You were left completely aghast, as you realized he had not simply been leaving early before you could say goodbye, but had been ducking behind doors and slinking into his closet home. Esteem quickly overtook you: for that shy man, who was awkward, but just as well sensitive, gentle and compassionate to the very bone. Who offered his room up for you, sacrificing a part of his life for the hundredth time without remorse, because it was kind. 

You lay elbow to elbow with Miles that first night, not looking at each other but just speaking, letting the low timbre of tones fill the air. A figurative ball dance: persuading information out of one another and testing the boundaries–akin only to seeing how low you’d let him drag his palm against your back in that imaginary hall, how tight to ischemia he’d let your hand squeeze his own. 

Him, warning you of the worst aspects of the job; giving you an out, because taping others in the privacy of their rooms weighed like lead. “It’s a sinful thing,” said Miles, the words mumbled and scraped off the backs of his teeth, stuck to the enamel like taffy shame. “To reveal other people like this, even if they’re helpless. Even when my meddlin’ realizes the worst consequences.” Consumed with fear his soul would only grow darker by tainting your own. “Those tapes… those tapes are never pretty. Sometimes they’re downright… ugly.”

You, knowing for a fact it was dirty and invasive— but also that you were really very small and very poor, a wretch whose dreams would be out of reach for eternity. A wide-eyed housekeep and a listless bartender having to band together to maintain the El Royale’s realm of order after the other staff left sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. However, choice was a privilege you no longer possessed–you were there entirely out of necessity: “Who else will hire me? Certainly nobody in this town, nor the next one over.”

Two sets of drooping eyes drifting across his clean ceiling, so unlike the swelling, waterlogged one back in your apartment. There's something here, you thought then, something to be said about having an odd heart-to-heart with the man you’ve had less than five full conversations with in an entire year. All the while feeling an odd comfort at the faint cracks littering his ceiling tiles—like pockmarks had existed, once upon a time, but were cared for and repaired with a familiar gentle precision.

Alas, duty continued, and Management swiftly utilized you—now trusted, for you were thought to be living and breathing the El Royale just as Miles did. But being implicated in the true nature of the hotel's existence, via the increase of sordid dignitaries — fortuitous in their decision to stay at the hotel, but brusque and oddly knowing in such a way you knew the El Royales’ name was being recommended in dangerous places — made the job so very hard. You became thoroughly equipped with the all-consuming fear you could spend another lifetime being good, scrubbing yourself clean of the hotel, and still have your fingers stomped on trying to reach the pearly gates. 

As though you could spend mere hours in there and come out thinking a decade had gone by, time in that decrepit hotel served as a mere suggestion. Perhaps, that’s why moving into the hotel seemed to make so much time alone with Miles. It seemed more impossible for a connection not to foster: that quiet night sent your relationship journeying from an acquaintance, to coworker, to dear friend. Shyly circling one another’s empty orbits before growing inseparable. A lifetime of affinity condensed into years, compacted by common sin and mutual memory. A bond that grew ever proximate, stunned by having someone just like you, right there—just as tormented, just as unfulfilled. 

A friendship of comforting one another in the dark: Miles tenderly coaxing you out like a feral animal unused to attention that didn’t quickly follow with a beating, or your attentive fingers gently working the self-imposed restraint out of his muscles, unthreading traumatic memories from beneath his skin. (“You don’t have to say sorry, Miles—I know you don’t have a mean bone in your body.” “Shh, shh, just listen to the sound of my voice. The thunderstorm’s din has nothing on me.” “When you have a nightmare, tell me—I don’t mind, promise.”) Understanding the fear that gripped you at the sensitive scruff, why you woke up floundering beside him in the middle of the night like the weight of your unfulfilled life was pressing itself on the nape of your neck. Uncovering Miles' extent, and what set him off—what made him dig his fingernails into the bed of his palm or bite his sharp canine into his lower lip. Settling your head onto Miles’ left pillow at bed— your pillow, finding that you knew his heart betterthan your own. Fondly remembering the time spent winding the words out of him until your palm recognized him like it did scars marring your skin. 

Naturally, you grew protective of him. How Miles’ remained so tender is a mystery – it felt impossible to live there for so long and not come out the other end worse off; chewed up, spat out, torn into two and put back together all wrong – but that very kindness had invited you into his home, and you worked to protect it like nothing else. Only ever manning the bar when the need was immediate, more content to linger close behind Miles when he checked in customers. Learning to bare your teeth, going from, “My complete apologies for any offence I’ve caused,” to “The El Royale provides poor patience toward guests who threaten the welfare of our establishment.” 

Slowly, the thought bleeding through the air, you began to worry your love for Miles would die in this black hole. Extinguished in the very same place it was first lit, unable to survive the hotel’s suffocation. Nondescript was your relationship, blurred lines wavering between romantic and platonic at every turn—but love nonetheless. For days on end did a familiar chill wrack your spine: some primal, precognitive feeling of guilt, of dread, that something bad was going to happen and you would never be free of it. How your ears pounded, blood rushing because it felt like if you didn’t leave now you’d rot in that hotel’s hollow, refrained to the point of murder or madness. 

You desperately tried to quell that feeling, chalking it up to years spent with your guard up. Thought you’d merely turned spiked and jagged; rough around the edges, making others jerk away at the gentlest touch. The way a Venus flytrap withers and dies, because nobody is brave enough to care for something so biting. Several severe years turned you into the serrated rim of a broken carafe glass—like the chipped Blendo one Miles kept in his room for safekeeping, after you sold off all the other expensive china just to keep the hotel lights on for another exhausting day. Just… paranoid, your fear of losing Miles — and being completely alone again as a result — merely growing insistent and anxious. 

But the last straw was in December of ‘68; a frigid winter, practically turning the hotel subnivean with its wet and heavy blizzards; snowing the place in deep. A night at the El Royale and a quiet night in general, the kind with long, exhaustive hours– a shift that never seemed to end, despite the small number of customers (a group of skiers on the Nevadan side and a family on the Californian) before finally resigning away from the clerk desk at a bleak four in the morning. You’d long since shooed Miles off, “You first, or I’ll take all the blankets in my sleep,” content to man the place on his behalf. He’d gone so long without support, persevering through fatigue and illness with no choice, it was the least you could do,--and you would always rather he woke up with light eyebags. 

You were locking up, stashing the bell in the desk cavity with your neck craned low—when you felt the trained gaze of another over you. You pressed back up to meet eyes with a customer, his horn-rimmed glasses decorated with slow melting flurries: “If you would be so kind to check me out for a back-cabin along tha’ trails, that’d just about make my night, kid.”

“Unfortunately, sir, the bungalows are unserviced and unavailable in the off-season. Our frontward facing lodges, however, are wholly available—“

“You mean to tell me they’re off limits? Why, I jus’ saw someone leavin’ one of those cabins.”

A shiver traipsed down the column of your vertebrae. No door was open to let in a draft, and no winter winds hit your form; it was pure intuition making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The week before last, Management thrust a sudden assignment onto you two— Nevada room 7, tenured professor travelling across state lines for a conference, democratic and incredibly vocal about it— and Miles’ was supposed to develop the tape yesterday, mail it off this morning. But Miles didn’t develop the tape yesterday, no, there’d been a burst pipe in the casino bar instead, and the two of you spent lunch till early dawn fixing it. 

The man shot you a discomfiting smile. Stretched wide across his plain, glib face. “Say,” and he leaned in just as your heel planted you an inch back, gesturing to the photographs of celebrities strewn around, “September ‘63. Sinatra owned this place, and let politicians mingle with Hollywood’s leading ladies. You know anythin’ ‘bout that?”

Anxiety dragged upon your skin. Where was he going with this? “I didn’t-- work here in 1963, sir. Suffice to say I didn’t know much at all about the comings and goings of the El Royale yet.”

He studied carefully; mandible still tilted into that barren smile, but eyes set and stony behind the thin frame of glasses you weren’t even sure were real. The customer set his suitcase down with one hand and his briefcase down with the other, before patting down the wrinkled fabric of his suit—intentionally, or unintentionally, flashing the hilt of a Black Eagle Ruger slung low on a belt holster. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to be sporting some kind of self-defence, especially in dark hotels such as these–but still.  “Your associate, then?” 

“What?” Your blood ran cold, freezing into thin slivers like icicles hanging from the roof outside; like the one that pricked you in the shoulder, and made Miles aid and soothe the wound. 

Miles entered through the front door of the lobby, hair silken with powder-soft snow, murmuring to himself as he dragged his work-issue loafers in. The man jutted his thumb unceremoniously toward him, a calculating sheen lighting his green eyes. 

“Hey, you—“ and he waved Miles over like he were cattle or a dog, “d’you remember any blonde Hollywood Ingenue’s rooming here in September ‘63? You’d know her—hell, she’d have you stumblin’ over so bad you couldn’t just forget her.”

The look on Miles’ face — wide-eyed and perturbed, tired steps creaking to a stuttered stop at the digestion of the man’s words — made the pit of your gut swelter: how cruel to make him flounder, for Miles was skittish. You’d learned to slow your movements and keep steady to ease him, but this would surely frighten him. “Sir? I-I don’t know what you’re…”

You swallowed thickly. “He didn’t— he didn’t work here yet either. Alright? I mean, look at him—he’d barely be out of school.”

The customer’s stubborn smile dropped into thin-lipped obscurity. “Well, it was wortha’ try. Made a bet with some of my buds who heard I was stayin’ here– those sonsabitches thought some kinda tape existed.” He regarded you suddenly with a plain look: acknowledging, bored, seeking your professionalism rather than your conversation.

His look sobered you, making the tremouring buzz of your thoughts (get miles get out of here something bad is going to happen) go quiet. You snapped back into smooth, managerial tones, swiftly checking the man in and handing him the logbook. He hoisted his luggage and left just as suddenly as he’d arrived, leaving you in possession of one odd Laramie Seymour Sullivan signature in cursive. There was something… off about that salesman—be it the thin, almost prescription-less distortion of his lenses, or his odd accented twang of no particular origin—and you hoped his stay in the Nevada room was short-lived.

“Miles?” your gaze snapped up from the logbook you were inspecting to find Miles gone. Fortunately, not out into the thick pillowy avenues of snow from which he came, but forwards: his thin loafers tracking wet stains onto the floor. You set a mental reminder to mop that melt before morning, but Miles’ panic took precedence. He had the habit of scampering away in the face of danger, like a rabbit through dry autumn leaves–and you would never let him deal with it alone.

Finally, you traced your dear friend's prints to the maintenance room you shared; slightly ajar, warm lamp light filling the room, his soaked shoes haphazardly strewn by the doorway. There, you saw him crumpled upon the threadbare cot: on his knees lying down, almost in prayer with his silver rosary wrapped tight around the dry skin of his knuckles. It shone like the glimmer of the sun under that incandescent bulb, and you could hear a panicked recital of scripture along his tongue.

“Hey, hey,” you slide past the door gently, descending onto all fours so as not to box him in or raise the height of his fight-or-flight response. “C’mere, hold my hand,” you crawled over and laced his free fingers into yours, settling into a criss-cross apple-sauce position; knee bumping into the ankle that never healed right after he sprained it gardening last summer.

“Just listen to my voice, okay? Remember what we were doing last winter? Remember when every customer had left two evenings before to make it home in time for Christmas? We were sitting here, reading a book together. You told me the print company made a mistake after you saw a thread pop out of the inner hinge’s book bind. I was massaging your crown, then… I miss your long hair sometimes. The radio was playing, too–an auditory rerun of that musical you like so much. “A Christmas Carol” for "Shower of Stars", was it…”

You were fully equipped to spend the rest of the night coaxing Miles’ out of his panic, soothing tones drowning out the tantamount alarm running circles in his mind–but then, he lifted his head from the clothed caps of his knees and brought your intertwined fingers up to his warm cheek. “That man.. the-the- tape, he was talking about a ta-tape with- with…”

Your hand squeezed his in time with the patterned buzz of his pulse, pressed along your own wrist; thump-squeeze, thump-thump-squeeze… “It’s just you and me, Miles. Take your time.”

A shaky breath. Then another; better, easier. “The tape he’s talking about. It’s, it-t’s real. B-but nobody was ever-- supposed’t know it exists-- how did he know about it, how?”

“Miles… a tape? He knows about what you sent to management?”

“No, no, I never sent it! I never did, I kept it… I kept it because he was kind, and-- and…” And Miles is letting go of your palm, instead wrapping his lanky arms around the circumference of your waist, collapsing in your lap. He’s murmuring still, mere vibrations lost to the human capacity of Hertz, as your mind spun: once upon a time, Miles confessed to you a certain 60s starlet coupled up in Nevada 5 with one of the most influential and married politicians of that decade, before their deaths in– 

That was the tape?

Your heart hammered in your ears. Miles’ sobs simmered down into stammering breaths; his ever-softening palms gripping the fabric of your shirt between his fingers in some sort of self-soothing measure. Has your heart swapped with your brain? Is that why you’re so suddenly remembering how cruel it'd been for Miles: how he’d been at the El Royale so much longer than you, been beaten down so much smaller, was much closer to the edge? That Miles was crumpling atop you now with the rumblings of great, inescapable despair because the weight of these corrupt secrets was toppling him over?

It was then that you pet him, the man your heart swelled far past capacity for, fingernails tracing over the splattering of freckles along his neck–and then, that your survival instincts overtook.

“Miles, Miles, it’s okay. Don’t say sorry, s’not a problem. We can… well, we can… leave. Take the tape with us; burn it, destroy it, whatever you want. But we leave.” Deciding at last that enough was enough because you could either leave now or suffocate in silence forevermore. Curl into yourselves, like far neglected flora, until one of you dies and the other quickly follows.

In the hours before dawn, you’d suddenly pieced together a jilted, desperate plan of escape. You’d head an innocuous journey from the El Royale to Reno, wandering eccentrically so as not to leave a tangible trail. In that tawdry tourist town, you’d gather yourselves and map another path out again: to a smaller, quieter place, like Waterford, or Dunsmuir, where you could build yourselves a life anew. It would be hard, and frightening, and cold, and unkind—but above all it would be worth it.

Above all, this chapter would draw a close, and you could have the rest of the pages in your life to be selfish. The thought made your stomach flutter and clench with the foggiest of dreams, fluffy fox-tailed feelings beginning to run through the dim corridors of your heart: ideas of being free, of coming into your own, of maintaining a gentle realm together without the enduring pressure of the hotel. Of being able to sleep in and graze over the bony ridges of Miles' spine like you were allowed to—like you were supposed to, and would never be struck down for it.

That glassy night in late December of ‘68 was your final one in the hotel. You barely remember it: just the important stuff, the why and the how and the coaxing of two lonely souls who occupied the El Royale like ghosts from out of the shadows. You can’t remember the few days after very well either, not with the fear still so deeply imprinted on your souls– and certainly not with the anxious hush that fell over you: a silly vow of silence, to keep yourselves from revealing too much to potentially dangerous strangers. Words were chalk in the mouth then; you barely got them out before you were coughing, gasping, heaving for soothed breath-- then quieting, swallowing, holding back your voice in the crevice of your cords.

You did, however, remember the generous days that came after the fleeing and the hiding… and, understandably so: why allow your memory to remain preoccupied with the same dread you’d digested for years when you could keep space for the rest of your life to arrive? 

You sat atop that beat mattress in Miles’ drab room with him in your arms, halfway through dreaming up the rest of your life away from the hotel… and soon, sooner than you could’ve ever thought, you blinked and opened your eyes to find yourself living that merciful existence. Like the colour television channels Miles’ would always call you over to watch: you got a sparse glimpse once a year, the kind of magic you always swore you’d catch up to, but were always so busy with the bar (and the gardening and the kitchen and the–) to see. The hotel had the all-consuming quality to draw you away from any fulfilling aspects of life: friends, a better career, happiness, and like some sick inside joke, colour television.

Now, you were living the sweet life NTSC colour system shows portrayed—and were able to watch colour television whenever your heart damn well pleased. 

No longer did you let the days twist and swell around you without recognition, no– you allowed yourself the selfish possibility of listening to the day's whistle by, drinking in every peaking pitch: the dull flutter of Miles’ steps along your oak floor, your kitchen laminate, your soft bathroom rugs. The wispy rustle of crinkled grocery lists, checking through them in your kitchen on an early Sunday—shopping right when the supermarket opened, because the both of you cringed at the sight of busy aisles and overworked lanes. (The raspy, sniffled laughter of the elderly lady who ran the store, remarking, “Still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” as she checked you out. The squeak in Miles’ throat when you played along, pressing a peck to his cheek in mock confirmation.)

The stream of water from the creaky yard hose, sometimes pressurized to the point of injuring Miles’ poor petunias, and other times so frail you had to lug out his otter-shaped turret sprinkler to keep them healthy instead. The howling wind against your house walls on autumn nights, bouncing along the window sills as though ghosts roamed your halls. (Having to build a fort in the living room with Miles, after a “ghost” had spooked him on his nightly tread for a glass of water. He refused to brave the hallway to your bedroom again, and you refused to leave him there.)

The gentle snip-snap of scissors along Miles’ delicate head, telling him, “I’m not going as short as last time, even if you ask me to, ‘cause you’ll get cold and snag my earmuffs again.”  The sleepy purr of Miles’ in the morning, wrapping a lithe arm around your waist and greedily tugging you back to bed; grown spoiled with the days that go by so sweetly, used to having you all to himself. 

Drinking in these little moments, appreciating the mundanity of it all. How you simper, when doing laundry with Miles, sorting whites from colours as you regale him on the time you mixed in a blue sock by accident; is that why my button-up turned blue? When gardening side by side in the spring, Miles cooing to perennial flora as he packs down healthy fertilizer nearby; grazing a gentle finger over an unfurling petal and promising, you’ll grow up nice and strong when m’done with you. When sitting on the counter and watching Miles bustle about, trying to perfect his Tunnel of Fudge in time for the holidays and handing you the battered whisk; honey, you know I don’t care that there’s raw egg. 

Going through the motions of this post-hotel life, practically epilogic, with the relationship’s lines of platonic and romantic ever wavering. Ever thinning. Warbled by the merciful existences you reap: why focus on the status of your relationship when you could focus on the love itself, focus on your now-uninhibited freedom to love? 

But a rubber band snaps eventually. The lack of labels stretched wide and narrow around your intimate forms; never relieved, never named—never agreed upon, therefore just as well never reciprocated. Years after the hotel faded into a mere memory, just a faint speckle among the colourful mosaic of your existence, you wake with a pit drowning in your gut. Love burns in the bottom of your belly: no longer that comfortable love that rested so sweetly in the smiling swell of your cheeks, but more so a love that swallowed you whole—sudden, voracious, terrifying. You loved Miles, and you had for years… but just now did you realize you were in love with him. 

The distinction makes your heart hammer against its cage, starving for any kind of answer. The two of you never acknowledged it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there—it was always there, always lingering, providing the very allowance to be so intimate, be so loving. You’ve slept in one another’s bed for more than half a decade, for Christ's sake: tenderness is all you’ve ever known of each other. A deathly nerve deep within your gut strikes, begging for either reciprocation or rejection, not this limbo you’ve been living in. Imploring a tangible answer, an exacting label you can build the rest of your life upon.

Because the thought of staying trapped like this forever? Never fully friends and never fully lovers? That mortified you. It could all fall between the gaps of your fingers, even after decades, because none of it had ever been said aloud. 

The realization of being in love, and not just loving was kept under tightly wound wraps as best as you could. But Miles notices the little things over time: how you draw away easier, hugs growing brisk and polite rather than long and hearty. The tension in your shoulders, and how you no longer accept his tender offers to massage familiar knots out—even when you both know he can map out your problem areas just like that. Brushing off touchier advances, resolve greatly disturbed by Miles’ ever-constant need to hold hands, cling to your hip, hang onto you at all. He’s funny about that kind of thing: somewhere along the way, between the farm he grew up on, Vietnam, and the El Royale, to now, he picked up the miraculous ability to tune into moods at the drop of a hat. 

It gets worse as the week goes on, however. Not that you’d been very inconspicuous about your gloom—you sat up the fourth day quietly strained, trudging to the bathroom like a wet t-shirt that’d been wrung out and hung to dry in all the wrong ways. Misshapen, wrinkled, too burdened for the clothesline to hold up; the briefest of winter winds trickles past the window Miles forgot to close last night, and makes you shiver as you step in. But he doesn’t get the chance to intervene, not when you were heading off to work (there were so many things Miles lost the chance to say, and later he’ll tell you he hates himself for it–), and the two of you only see each other again when you’re back home. 

His first instinct when he sees you, mumbling your arrival in the frostbitten doorway, is to take your coat and set it on the wooden hanger; shuffle your fur-lined boots onto the shoe rack beside his own tassel loafers; dust the flurries off your clothes. Clean and take care of you, because that’s what he knows best. You half expect him to extend his arm out and point down either side of the hall, “Warmth and sunshine to the west, or hope and opportunity to the east,” on the tip of his tongue.

“Hi,” mumbles Miles, lip quivering as some semblance of a nervous smile inches across his face. “Um, welcome home.” 

That man is far too sweet for his own good. His greeting is the product of an offhand comment all those years ago, “It’s always the sweetest thing when the husband comes home and his wife welcomes him back.” Winter nights in the hotel when there were so few customers, management would skimp on paying the bills, and you’d huddle chest to chest with Miles to conserve heat. Breath visible, palms splayed beneath one another’s shirts to extinguish the chill racking through you. A random channel on his old RCA Victor Sportable playing a Brigitte Bardot special, if just to distract yourself from the very real, very harrowing possibility that you could fall asleep and never wake up.

“Miles,” out comes a dull whisper, scratchy and unreal in your own throat. You’ve tried all week to make a habit out of biting back too-sweet words, letting your blatant adoration die in your lungs. Speaking to him should be an activity gone stale, lest you forget yourself and allow you two to fall back headfirst into that exhausting will-they-won’t-they purgatory. 

But then you notice his clothes–an old cream cable knit and dress trousers, his Sunday best for weekly visits and the obligatory holiday ones–and his hair, neatly coiffed along the smooth crown of his head. You raise a brow–it’s incredibly unlike the pajamas and chestnut bedhead he usually sports; mussed and ruffled with the telltale stylistic edge of blankets and cotton pillowcases. Had he gone out, or is he going out now? 

That thought makes your heart thump and clench in its cavity: of Miles being swept off his feet by someone other than yourself and having to accept it with a choked nod, because you’re dancing around asking him “What are we?”, in paralyzing fear that you are the only one truly head over heels. You resign yourself to asking, “Going somewhere?” whilst gesturing to his unusually formal state of dress.

His rounded cheeks flush. Cobalts widen in tune with the sandy brows along his forehead rising. Your gaze hasn’t made it there yet, but you can bet his lips have slid ajar into a tiny “O” shape-- and there it is. His delicate expression of surprise is the same as it has been for years (and you fear how easily you predict it. You know him too well, and it’s never the one who knows another too well whose heart remains unbroken. But then again: between Miles’ delicate heart and your own… you’d rather you devastated.)

“Yes, well-- I’m going out with someone.”

“You’re going on a—“ How interesting. “…O-kay.”

Your offset okay has the tips of Miles’ lips twinging upward into a tiny, knowing smile. Smug, almost, if you pretended it wasn’t how Miles simply looked when content. It makes you frown instead. “Oh,” you mumbled, wincing as you brushed past him, hearing just how monotone; crestfallen; stupid you sounded. “Have fun, then.”

Your own cheeks burn, your harried footsteps clattering against hallway hickory wood: he was taking someone out? Miles’ had been venturing out on his own more often — your heart preened prideful praise at this, as he’d downright avoided public outings like the plague since his discharge all those years ago — so you knew it wasn’t at all unlikely he’d caught someone’s wandering eye. Miles was rather handsome, too (even downright pretty, which he rarely let you say aloud, since it made steam practically fume out of his ears) with the gentle brush of his blond lashes, framing the brilliant sheen of blue eyes, and that captivating curve of his nose, sloping high and elegant. 

But for however proud you were, the hurt still made your throat swell in its tender column. Suddenly, you realize it’s never going to be you who accompanies Miles in that way: because you are slow and cowardly. You are the decay that would make Miles’ heartwood go druxy– and for his sake, it cannot be you that accompanies him. Like understanding a language but never being taught to speak it, you can spot love easily even when it’s unspoken and barely there, but you cannot replicate it aloud. I love you is an unintelligible language twisted wryly on your tongue; you miss accents and mess up grammar, and before you know it those words as old as myth have gone sour. 

You’ll hurt him worse than rejection hurts you. But rejection, any kind of it, is still a quiet, burning thing that overtakes you like the wash of high tide. Digging its claws into the rapid flesh of your palpitating heart, you can’t help but desperately seek isolation. The balls of your feet practically jump over the threshold where the hall and your shared room meet… but he’s quick to follow.

Miles’ sock-swaddled thumping is slow at first, before speeding up and careening to a stop at the door of the bedroom. His fingers (originally rough with domestic work but grown soft in the simple life you’ve built around each other) cling shyly to the side jamb: “Are…” and his words warble at a pitchy high, like they’re curling around a pitiful lump balling up in his throat, “are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” your reassurance is fast, uttered quicker than you can think or blink or even turn. But because your back still faces him, he asks again, are you mad at me? Murmurs, I’m sorry, a moment later, polyester-padded steps inching over the sill. Miles continues closer, appearing in the background of your mirror while you shed your outside clothes off; practically undergoing chrysalis into your pyjamas.

His words are childish, almost, and you have half a mind to shoo him out of the room for privacy–but you know Miles. Though his words are uttered gingerly, the nervous apology of a scolded child, he isn’t any less desperate, any less earnest; he’s genuine, and that genuinity has no bounds. 

The bed creaks behind you, and your mind buries the consuming temptation to look. Desire calls out your name, supplying imaginary images of cranberry Christmas sheets straining beneath Miles’ pretty, slow crawl. And the apology is part way through stumbling out of Miles’ mouth yet again when you finally turn to meet him: slim torso folded along the long edge of the bed, knees planted on the hardwood. Looking up at you with an impossible expression that pleads, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Are you mad at me? Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m– 

His sweet head buries itself into the clothed cushion, and you can hear him sniffle; holding back a worried sob, are you mad at me? filling the ridges of his tongue. It’s so hard to seek solitude, to want to soothe yourself at all, when Miles is falling apart in front of you; fingers curling possessively into the sheets like he usually would your clothes. 

The tear that escapes the corner of Miles' eye dribbles into your bed. It makes your obstinacy waver. And then, you’re descending onto the bed too, scooping his weeping form into your arms, gently soothing him with shapes drawn into his cheek. Coaxing the tears away with a low hum cooed into the shell of his ear, shh, shh. M’not mad, just surprised. Just tired. 

Cries that finally dwindle into stuttered sniffles and tiny pecks along your inner wrist. The drag of his bottom lip on the ulna bone makes a ribbon of warmth run through you, and you cringe—you should be normal about this kind of thing because he’s perpetually starved for touch. This intimacy is nothing special, and you just happen to always be there. But it starts to feel less than normal: kisses growing hungry and adventurous, desperate to litter your skin with his presence… eventually reaching up to the top of your shoulder, just so gaining the confidence to sink his canines into your skin…

“Miles!” You yelp, squeezing at the nape of his neck and peeling his rebellious teeth from your side like you would a puppy. You bring him face to face, grip sliding to the mandible; his eyes half-lidded, lips wet with a doggish, slobbery sheen of saliva, brows knitted tensely in the middle. You meant to comfort him, rid the alarm from muscles that held memory so tightly. Instead, an entirely different neediness is roused out of him: he’s crawled halfway up your body, rigid knees subconsciously brushing between your thighs, pressing you to the mattress with the thick weight of his utterly relaxed lower body. 

He begins to slowly blink, as if coming out of a feverish daze, going ever-scarlet in realization. “Sorry, I– didn’t mean to…ah, just missed you so much, that’s all—” squirming to hide and bury his face into the pillows again, whining when you stop him with another squeeze of his cherubic cheeks.  

“What,” You’re breathless, and you reckon your pulse is beating as fast as Miles' is beneath your fingertips: rapid, floundering, like a marathon has been run four times over. “What was that, sweetheart?”

The nickname makes Miles shiver atop you; his head swivelling low to rest upon you, his everything pinning you down. Your huff of gentle (confused, frustrated, coy) air breezes along his brow bone, and he looks up to peer puppyish up at you. 

“Wanted to make you feel better,” he supplies, head tilting to rest the side of his face upon your skin too. “You-- you've been t-tense—and don’t lie, I can tell. So, so I was tryin’ to ask you on a date in the doorway… but then y-you stormed off on me! I thought you— I thought, maybe you don’t want thatkinda relief, so… so…”

“Oh, Miles.” you melt, hand cradling his face gently, thumb brushing against his lower lip, crooking the bed of your palm closer when he turns in to provide a chaste kiss. “I… didn’t realize you were trying to ask me on a date,” and your gaze darts away shyly, voice dropping to a ginger murmur, “in all honesty, I thought you were going out on one.”

“Me?” he asks, head tilting again in pure confusion. Cobalt blue eyes glistening with a disbelieving curiosity–like he couldn’t entertain the prospect logically in his mind long enough for it to make sense. “Who would I be going on a date with but you?”

Who would he be going on a date with but you? 

The silence of the room rings swirls in the junction of your ear. You think you hear a pin drop, but it might very well be your heart; trudging up the shaky interior of your ribcage, softly parsing through the meaning of his words… and finding it to be completely genuine. No sarcasm, and nothing of rhetoric: a true, confused question, uttered from those gentle lips. Who would I be going on a date with but you?as if the very notion was impossible. Like you just told him you’d reached up and plucked the sun for his garden. Like you just said, I miss the hotel.

For some odd, unknown reason, that is what makes your heart roar to life again. Makes your stomach churn with the familiar achings of hope. Those simple words, that glaring confusion, twist your entireviewpoint. How blatantly he says it: that there's nobody on this planet Miles’ would rather be with but you. This may not be very clear right now, but the path to it is, and one thing remains certain: you’ll be loving each other, no matter which way.

A small laugh tumbles out of your mouth, transforming your solemn features into something of silly belief. How foolish were you to think otherwise? That this gentle man, who offered his tiny room to you all those years ago, would suddenly let you slip out from his fingers at the prospect of someone else? Just as there's never been anyone else for you, there's never been anyone else at all for him but you.

How slow your realization was, too: you had been shying from Miles for days, worrying deep in your gut that he’d eventually disappear at the drop of the hat. Whereas, he had been entertaining big dreams of spending the rest of his life curled into your corner; cheering you on for all the world to see. Completely understanding that nobody better could be found; could be loved, could be known than you. 

Your laugh seems to make Miles’ smile twitch up too, and you can’t help but snicker a little louder when you catch his murmur: what are we laughing about now? Because that’s the kind of man Miles is, and always has been: a gentle lover, but fiercely loyal, tender to the very bone; happy to ask the silly, stupid questions when you don’t want to. 

“Nothing,” you shush him, letting your cold, fresh-from-work feet dip beneath the edge of Miles’ soft trousers, toe trailing along his bare Achilles and making him wince. 

“Y’cold,” he whines but doesn’t push you away. Miles doesn’t think he could ever push you away; even through a bout of worrying, self-imposed distance that made panic rise in his heart this week, because Miles’ knows you better than that. You know one another far better than that—and one thing you taught him, bits and pieces of philosophical advice littered into your early conversations, rings true now. Never stop trying. You never stopped trying to fulfill yourself at that trepid, consuming hotel– and you came out the other side with the love of your life tucked gently into your side. So Miles learned never to stop trying for anything at all– and certainly not for you. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. But you’re not for very long, especially when he sidles up real close to you, ducking his head right into your Plender gap and breathing you in.

You don’t know where the years went, but love peeled the layers back from Miles so quickly: paring away his skittish demeanour from back then, when he’d been afraid to leave any mess at all, afraid to give into his mild intrigue of you, to even stir the air with the gentlest inhale of his breath. Continuing to unravel him, until he was the greedy man caging you in now, unabashedly needy and unafraid to stake claim on what’s his. Wanting you by his side has never changed, and never will. 

Slowly, the two of you shift, roll, twitch and tug until the sheets are furrowed, comforter wrapped oddly around your legs-- but also until you’re comfortably in one another's arms, foreheads grazing every time one of you breathes. It gives you the most explicit look of his face, into those cobalt blues, through the brush of lashes you so admiringly yawp about when he puts lotion on his face — to the point Miles has to shut the bathroom door on you in the bedroom, just to continue his bedtime routine without melting out into a stammering pile of goop — and of the faint dustings of freckles you noted all that time ago.

Barely noticing the window Miles’ has the terribly endearing habit of keeping open—even on this quiet winter night—because in the summer it coaxed you to sleep and you thanked him for it the next morning. Eyes resting as you focused on the comforting murmur of Miles’ familiar breathing pattern, wrapped in silence so thick it was almost palpable—making you two feel like the only real things in the entire world.

You may have thought your love was nondescript and barely there — imperceptible if not for the top notes of intimacy and adoration lingering on the pulse points of your skin like perfumed oil — but it’s always been noticeable. Always been rich and heady, forever dabbled on the dip of your neck where he lies his head; a fervent scent of pure love blooming, caught on the hem of yourself like you sprayed a pump too much. And nothing, not even Miles’ cries or your own misunderstanding, would ever change that. 

[lewmagoo]

lewmagoo’s blurb day

i wanted to fill the dash with some blurbs about our favorite lew boys, especially since tomorrow is going to be a stressful and anxiety riddled day for all of us. we could all use an little distraction during this time.

you may choose from any of the prompt lists below! limit to 2 prompts per person. be sure to specify which list you chose from, and if the list has multiple categories, specify which category you're choosing from!

characters to choose from:

bob floyd

rhett abbott

miles miller

ben mears

harrison knott

calvin evans

au pairings: if you want, you can choose from one of my aus:

werewolf rhett

million dollar man rhett

werewolf bob

admiral bob

prompt lists: don't forget to specify which list you're choosing from!

smut

smut pt. 2

whump

hurt/comfort

hurt/comfort pt. 2

fluff & angst

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

In Another Life

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick, Bad Times at the El Royale, Robert "Bob" Floyd, Miles Miller, f!reader, Soulmate AU

Summary: It's so hard to say goodbye to the one you love. But even at the end, you remind Miles that you'll see him again. Even if it isn't in this life….

Word Count: 1058

TW: Soulmate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Reader Death/Rebirth, Happy Ending

Notes: Thank you to @slightly-psycho-multifan for sending the title for the made-up title game! I ended up running with it and I hope you like it!

You were fading fast. They had told you there was a better chance of survival due to your young age but in the end, it didn’t matter. Between the multiple rounds of radiation and the war being raged within your body, you just didn’t have the strength to fight for much longer and you knew it. That’s why you were happy that you had been able to convince your husband to check you out of the hospital and bring you home to the hotel. The El Royale wasn’t much, but it was home. It was where you and Miles first met. And it was where you wanted to spend your final moments.

As another coughing fit hit you, Miles was suddenly at your side with a glass of water. Carefully, he helped you drink it then sat down in the chair next to your bed. Once you had caught your breath, you gave him a weak smile and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

He nodded, then looked away but not before you saw the tears glistening in his eyes. You tried to reach out to take his hand, but he pulled it away. With a soft sob, he cried, “This is all my fault!”

“What?” you asked incredulously. “Miles Miller! How in the world did you come to that conclusion?”

“God’s punishing the woman I love for my sins. For all the horrible things I did during the war.” His shoulders began to shake as his sobs intensified. “It should be me laying in that bed, not you.”

“Miles, look at me.” This time, you didn’t take no for an answer. You grabbed his hand and held on as tightly as your frail body would allow. He stopped fighting you and slowly turned to face you. “This is not God trying to punish anyone. It’s just my time. I know it’s a lot shorter than either of us expected but we still had so many wonderful years together! Years I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

“But I can’t lose you, bumblebee!”

“You’re not. We’re just saying goodbye for now.” You reached up with the hand not holding his and wiped a tear off his face. “Do you remember what you told me the night we met? When you saw me in the lobby for the first time?”

Miles nodded, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “I said you looked awful familiar. Like someone from a dream I once had.”

“And what did I say?”

“You agreed and said it probably meant we were soulmates or something. That we must have met in another life before.”

You smiled at the memory. You had only meant to stop at the El Royale as you were passing through on the way to find yourself in California. However, you found everything you could ever want and more in Miles, so you never left. Now it seemed as if you never would. 

Trying to clear the lump in your throat, you said, “So if we met before in another life, I know we’ll meet again sometime in the future. Just please take your time coming for me, okay? I don’t mind waiting.”

Miles buried his face in the crook of your neck and you could feel his tears dampening your skin as you ran your hand over his curls trying to soothe him. Though it was muffled by your neck, you heard him cry, “I love you, my bumblebee. In this and every life.”

“I love you too, Miles. And I promise, I’ll see you in our next adventure.”

You were running late for the first briefing of this new Top Gun assignment. The irony that you– a pilot –were late because there was an emergency and they had to find someone else to fly your commercial plane from Nevada to California was not lost on you. Neither was the fact you would have gotten here sooner if you had just rented a car like your sister suggested. But you were here now, though you were disappointed you missed the gathering at the Hard Deck the night before. 

Just as you were about to fling open the doors to the hangar, you heard someone behind you shout, “Look who the cat dragged in!”

You whirled around with a wide grin and threw your arms around Phoenix. “Hey! You didn’t tell me you were going to be here!”

“Neither did you!” she said, hugging you back. “I thought you might be but when I didn’t see you last night, I figured they made a mistake in their selection process.”

“Nope, just a delayed flight.” You pulled back and for the first time noticed Phoenix wasn’t alone. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is my new WSO, Bob. And before you ask, yes, that is his callsign.”

But you almost miss the last part that she said as the world around you seemed to fade slightly. You stared at the man, your head tilting slightly. There was something so familiar about him but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was his sparkling blue eyes that radiated kindness. Or the timid way he held himself despite the strength you could see within him. Or the soft pout that pulled at his lips as he stared back at you with the same curious expression. The glasses and hair were throwing you off slightly, but you definitely knew this guy from somewhere. 

You stuck out your hand. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar.”

“I-I don’t think so. I don’t think I could ever forget someone like you.” His face grew red as he took your hand and gave it a surprisingly firm shake, his thumb grazing across the back of your hand. “But I don’t know. I-I feel….”

He trailed off but you knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t something you could put into words. It was just a feeling deep in your chest unlike anything you had ever felt before. Like an ache that you hadn’t ever even realized was there suddenly fading away. You felt….. whole.

However, you weren’t going to tell this stranger that, so instead you said, “Yeah, it’s weird. But who knows? Maybe we knew each other in another life or something.” Still shaking his hand, you smiled. “Regardless, it’s nice to meet you, Bob. I’m Bumblebee.”

Taglist:@nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996, @luckyladycreator2, @valoraxxx-blog @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @jamesbuckyburns, @a-sweet-little-fangirl, @happyblogstuff, @randomlifeunit, @boringusername3, @lclove2012-blog, @3tabbiesandalab

[macfrog]

homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (three)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist | < two

⟢a/n: if you want me to add you to the taglist for this fic, add yourself to this form: taglist

ᯓ⟢

When you get back to your on-campus apartment, you went straight into your room to take down the photos you had up of you and Zach, pulling a random old shipping box out from your recycled area to shove things into. 

The drive back to campus was pretty smooth. You blasted Gracie Abrams and Maisie Peters on repeat, and your mind went into autopilot. 

So, Zoey Miller was his girlfriend. That was pretty rich, considering you didn’t even realize when you stopped being his girlfriend. Didn’t even realize a guy as soft as Zach MacLaren had a mean bone in his body to be able to do something like this to you. You went to his house that morning half ready to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe something came up, maybe he lost his phone, maybe last minute his parents decided for it to be a family-only trip and took his phone from him in the name of “reconnecting with nature” and so he was never given the chance to inform you.

But then his mother said those words, she said that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend.

You had pulled most of his sweaters that you’d had from your closet, throwing them into the box, by the time there was obnoxiously loud knocking at your front door. You had no plans, no one who was supposed to be coming over, so you paused for a moment to see if maybe your roommate, Bree, was home or not. When you didn’t hear any movement from her side of the apartment and the knocking persisted, you let out a frustrated sigh, walking over to the peephole.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of him. What, he felt bad that he got caught and drove himself all the way back to school to finally have that talk with you in person. Between the few moments it took for you to open the door, your mind raced with all the different cliche breakup lines he could give you.

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t feeling the spark between us anymore.”

“Let me explain…”

“I didn’t mean for this to be how you found out.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” Yeah, as if his mother confirming that Zoey Miller was Zach’s girlfriend wasn’t exactly what it looked like.

And more and more, until you finally wrapped your hand around the doorknob, unlocking the top latch, and swinging it open to look at him. He towered over you, guilt etched into his face and a small cut on his lip where you could only imagine he had bit over and over as he contemplated how to let you down softly on his ride over.

You peered out into the hallway, half expecting Zoey Miller to be outside, looking at you with those same eyes of remorse, but you only saw Zach’s luggage by your door and redness under his blue eyes.

“What?” you asked, your voice coming out in a hushed, annoyed whisper, holding the door open just enough so that he can see you.

“Let me explain,” he pleaded, his voice raspy. So, we were going with the scripted breakup line number 2. 

He paused for a second, but when he saw that you weren’t going to step back to let him inside of your apartment, he locked eyes with you. One thing about Zach MacLaren? He was very good at making intense eye contact. He licked his lips and sighed, as if searching for what else to say with his excuse.

As you waited for his lips to continue moving, you thought of what he could say next.

“...it just sort of happened.”

“...I didn’t mean to fall for her.”

“...can we stay friends?”

But instead, what came out of his mouth was, “I got hit by a car.”

Your annoyed facial expressions dropped into a confused one, squinting at him in reaction to his words. Your chin moved closer to your neck as your head moved backwards in confusion. Your lips curled upwards, not in a smile, but in a bewildered grimace.

“I’m sorry, you got what by a what?” you asked, baffled.

He was staring back at you, so so so serious. He pulled a folded up paper out of his pocket, holding it out in your direction.

“My after visit summary from the emergency room on Friday,” he mumbled.

He got hit by a car on Friday? you thought to yourself, wondering how he was going to use his, “I got hit by a car” as reasoning for taking another girl as his girlfriend to a family ski trip that he had invited you on, first.

“Patient Zachary MacLaren is a 21 year old male who was brought in after a collision of a moving car with his bicycle occurred. At onset, he did lose consciousness for a few minutes, before regaining consciousness before the paramedics arrived. No sprains or broken limbs or joints have been sustained in the incident. Patient has some swelling to the left side of his skull. Tests and examinations are concurrent with a diagnosis of a concussion and anterograde amnesia.”

Anterograde amnesia, you learned that in one of her psychology courses last semester. Short term memory loss.

“Are you telling me you have amnesia?” you asked him, holding the paper up after you’re done reading it.

“Yes—No, had. I had amnesia,” he stuttered out while nodding his head.

“So you don’t have amnesia right now?” you asked to clarify.

He shook his head and rounded his lips in a pucker and put his hands behind his back, swaying a little. “No amnesia right now.”

You blink a few times, still lost on what and how this was connecting to him bringing a different girlfriend on his family ski trip.

“And did this amnesia make you lose your goddamn mind and bring some random girl with you to a ski trip?” you asked, trying to find the connection here.

Though, you do feel really bad he got hit by a freaking car, and then he got amnesia, that sucks. You wished you had been there to help him with that.

“No, no, see, what had happened,” he started to explain, putting his hands out to grab onto your upper arms and crouch a little down to your level so he could stare you in the eyes again. “I thought she was you.”

“Excuse me?” 

He licked his lips, turning his head to the side as if to say, “I know.” He sighed and continued with his story, “After I got hit with the car, she was there.”

“Zoey was there with you when you got hit by this car? Why was Zoey with you?” you questioned.

“She works at the bookstore.”

“The bookstore,” you repeat after him with a nod, trying to keep track of all the different ways this story was branching out. “The one with the book on Battletoads.”

“Well, no,” he shook his head. “I had to get her to order me a book on Battletoads for Idiots because they didn’t have any in stock.” Then, he shook his head again when he realized you two were getting off track. He let go over her, using his hands to motion around and talk. “Point is, I left my credit card.” He points to his side to emphasize leaving his credit card. “She came outside to give it to me, I turned around to look at her,” and he mimicked how he looked at her, peering over his shoulder. “And a car didn’t see me, I didn’t see the car,” he pointed to himself and then down, before making a hitting motion with his palm, “and bam! I go flying onto the pavement.”

You’re just nodding along with his entire story, waiting for him to finally give you that missing puzzle piece that could make it all make sense.

“And then when I woke up, she was there crouching in front of me. My brain was all mushy,” he made circular motions around his head. “And I knew her name was Zoey, and I somehow could remember that I called you Zoey a few times… and I… uh…” he looked more sheepish as he got to this part of the story. “In my moment of anterograde amnesia—that means short term memory loss by the way—”

“I know,” you said, and if this was any other time, you may have laughed at the way he over pronounced “anterograde amnesia” and looked so proud of himself for knowing the term, a small smile on his face.

“—I may have thought she was.. you,” he trailed off as he said this part, looking guilty. “I just… I don’t know how,” he put his hands up and them down in exasperation, practically breathing out his words. “I don’t know how I thought she was you, baby, I don’t. But then you came to my parents’ house, and I saw you drive away, and it all… I knew she wasn’t you.”

You just nod as you process the information. This sounded like some cheaply made romance plot, that one look at you and his amnesia would wear off. There was a lot of information processing that was happening at this point.

You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of footsteps, seeing a group of girls walking through the hallway, some of your various neighbors. They looked over at you and Zach, and you knew how this looked. The serious look on your face, the luggage, the pleading one on his. They probably thought they were watching a breakup between a tutor girl and the college’s soccer star. 

You opened the door wider, not wanting anyone to somehow overhear the conversation. You stepped aside for him. “Come in.”

He smiled, hopeful, and rolled his luggage and walked himself into your apartment.

You two went straight for the kitchen, him just following you as you said nothing back to his explanation. You went straight to the coffee machine, and as you brewed yourself some espresso, Zach went to your fridge, pulling out the creamer he knew was yours and not your roommates, you know, since he didn’t have amnesia anymore.

You stood there in silence for a little while, leaning against the kitchen counter as you sipped your latte, having made one for him after yours.

“So… you thought she was me…” you finally talk, and he’s standing across from you with a guilty nod. “Do we really look alike?”

“No! No! You’re like… a superstar, and she’s… not you,” he said with a nervous laugh, unable to insult Zoey Miller just to bring you up.

And that was fine with you. You didn’t need or want him insulting her. Just wanted to know if you two looked similar enough that he could mix you guys up in an amnesia concussion haze.

“So it was just because her first name is also my middle name?” you questioned.

“I know, it sounds stupid, I don’t… I don’t really know how to explain it.”

You nodded your lips forming a line.

“So… she just… pretended to be me?” you questioned, thinking about how insane that sounded. “For what? Revenge for hitting her in the end with that soccer ball?”

He laughed at your questions, the way you sounded so irritated at not being able to understand Zoey Miller.

You continued with your little rant, “I mean, I heard that girl is anti-romantic, so what? Did she have some secret crush on you or something? Had to strike while I wasn’t around, and you didn’t know any better?”

“She had a crush on Miles, actually,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Kissed him in the pool while I was sleeping and everything.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out an unbelievable laugh.

“And Miles just… let her? Thinking she was you girlfriend? And wait, what about Emily?” you asked, putting the cup down on the counter. Loving Zach was knowing about all of the people he loved, too, which meant knowing his cousin Miles was dating a nice girl named Emily. “Sorry, but your cousin’s an asshole! Cheating on her with the girl he thought was cheating on you while she was pretending to be me!”

Your voice kept raising as you got riled up on his behalf, and he couldn’t help but let a small smile stay on his face because of it.

The more information you got, the more insane this whole story sounded. But he smiled at your reaction, the way your facial features were showing less and less that you were mad at him. He really hoped you weren’t mad at him.

“Apparently, they’re poly.”

“Doesn’t mean you are,” you retort back, walking to where he was to stand next to him.

You let out a deep exhale, leaning your head against his arm as you two stood against the kitchen island. 

“It felt wrong, the entire time,” he said softly, squatting down a little bit so he could lean his head on top of yours as well. “Like I knew deep down she didn’t really like me. Like she didn’t even know me, and that I didn’t really know her. She said she was a computer science major and that made no sense to me, since we met because you were my English tutor. She had all these hobbies I don’t remember you ever liking. Wouldn’t let me hold her hand, spent most of her time with Miles instead of me since they could go out on the slopes and I couldn’t because, ya know, mushy brains,” he sighed. “And then, she found out about Emily and got mad at him. Then, she finally spent the day with me.”

Despite being upset that some other girl went on the MacLaren ski trip instead of you, you couldn’t help but feel bad that Zach spent the entire weekend with an inkling feeling that his girlfriend—or who he thought was his girlfriend—didn’t even like him.

He keeps talking, just expressing how the weekend felt and how things had gone.

“And it was sad coming back, you know?” he sighed. “I mean, I spent all of yesterday thinking I was having so much fun re-getting to know her, feeling like we were finally having a connection, feeling really good about it… just for it all to be a lie.”

You frowned and took your head off of his arm, making him move straight as well.

“You felt like you and Zoey had a connection?” you asked softly.

His face contorted in concern at his misstep.

“Wha—No. No, baby, no,” he moved to turn in front of you, his arms going to hold yours. “It wasn’t real. It’s not real.”

“But a part of you really liked getting to spend time with her,” you point out softly, looking away. “So much so that it was disappointing when you came home and it was… me that’s your girlfriend, and not her.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Zach said softly, shaking his head, trying to lead down closer to you to get you to look at him. “I’m not disappointed that I came home and there was you.”

“But you were disappointed that your weekend with Zoey was built on a fake premise,” you said back. “And not entirely because she lied to you, but because you felt a connection to her.”

“No!”

“Zach.”

“Okay, fine, yes. I admit that I was… feeling something towards her on this trip, but baby, I thought she was my girlfriend.”

“So, you’d date her?” you hated yourself for somehow twisting it the way you were, but a part of you was just hurt that this happened, hurt to know he spent the weekend falling for someone else, regardless of why and how. “In a different world where I don’t exist to you, you’d fall for her. Because you did. This weekend.”

A permanent frown etched into his face at your words.

“But you do exist in this world,” he whispered, pleading. 

“Did you kiss her?”

It’s not fair, you know it’s not fair to be jealous or upset. Zoey practically catfished and scammed and lied and pretended to be someone she wasn’t. But she didn’t pretend to be you in the sense of your personality. Zach said it himself, she sounded so unlike you, with a different major, different personality, different hobbies. And despite that, he liked her. 

“I thought she was you,” he reiterated, saying “yes” to your question without the word itself.

“You thought she was your girlfriend, not that she was me,” you denied, shaking your head and moving from your spot trapped between Zach and the kitchen island. 

The pleading in his eyes could haunt you.

“You didn’t think she was me personally. You just thought you were with her. And you liked being with her, for her personality and her hobbies and just her,” you said softly.

Every part of you was screaming at you to take your words back, to stop yourself from talking. You knew it was irrational to be upset at him for something he had no control over. He had amnesia for crying out loud. But there was no rationalizing this situation. 

There was no rulebook telling you how to react and respond to finding out some girl pretended to be your amnesia patient of a boyfriend’s girlfriend. There was no guide on how to take in and process him openly admitting that while she was so drastically different from you, he was starting to really like her.

“I’m sorry this happened, Zach,” you said softly, your bottom lip wobbling. “It’s not fair, and it really really sucks.”

He just stared at you, tears forming in his eyes as if he knew what you were about to say. His chin wobbled, and it pushed you over the edge, too. A string of tears fell from your own eyes.

“But I’m really hurt right now, and I don’t mean to be upset with you because I know… I know it’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” you admit, wiping your tears on the back of your wrists. 

He steps forward to try and comfort you. You step back.

“But I need time to…” you suck in a breathe and lick your lips as you try to figure out what it was that you needed from him. “I need time to process this all… process that you were starting to fall for someone else.”

“Baby…” he begged you not to do this with one single word.

“Please,” you pleaded back. “Just… please.”

And how could he deny you, the one he loved so much, the one thing you were asking of him right now?

“Okay,” he whispered and nodded, a singular tear falling down his face as he forced himself to listen to you. 

And that look on his face really felt like it could haunt you.

ᯓ⟢

four >

a/n: so i realized i have messed up the movie’s timeline, remembering that it started on valentine’s day, not december LOL, but soccer season for college is august-november for actual competitions and spring time for non-competition training and games… and I’m also from California so while I knew some schools have like “ski week” breaks in february (we always just called it president’s week break), it absolutely skipped my mind that that is a thing LOL. in this story it is a few weeks before holiday break lol.

taglist: @ursogorgeous13 @khiatonsx

[pedgito]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

↝ series masterlist | masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | a moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret

author's note | so. its been three months and a much needed break from this place, but i started this back in august with a fully fleshed out idea and then my motivation fell flat. i had a good chunk of this done and i love it too much to not post, even if just for myself. this will be two parts, this one and one coming in the near future. its so self-indulgent and not everyone's cup of tea. but an extra special thank you to the special and lovely people i talked about this with and that took a look at for me, i love you endlessly.

content warning | 18+ smut, dubious consent (relating to cannibalism), cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, demeaning language, joel is a hardass, high tension and angst, joel has weird kink relating to...you guessed it, this story is heavily joel leaning but tommy is a decent part of it, smut (oral), night swims, food/feeding tw, joel is a bit of creep here. please heed the warnings and pass if it's not your thing.

word count —14k

Long, desolate roads led you here. No telling how long you had until you would find the city skyline again, car running on fumes for the last ten miles, the sign at the end of the road pulling your attention up, eyes peering through the windshield as your car veered to the right and to a full stop.

Miller’s Farm, next right

Helped wanted, no experience needed

Hourly pay and lodging included

You had fifty bucks left in cash and half of that would go toward gas if you could find a gas station, your arms crossed over the steering wheel and blocked the blow to your forehead as you rested it against your forearms in frustration.The car’s AC was shotty at best, requiring you to hit it every half hour to keep it alive and even then it was a weak sputtering and a barely there chill that did nothing to quell the layer of sweat on your skin.

It takes several long, frustrating minutes before you decide that you don’t have any other option.

You were stranded, this was it.

Maybe hospitality extended this far out into the country, that even this far from the city there were still a few good, decent people around. With a deep, heavy sigh you exit the car and shove your key into the door, locking it and pocketing the keys into the pack slung over your shoulder.

It’s been weeks on the road, leaving pieces and pieces of you behind as you traveled. The lesser the weight, the lesser the burden. Were you running? You weren’t sure. But, staying in one place for too long made you antsy. Town to town, taking odd jobs where they were offered, living off the kindness of others in hopes of making it somewhere seaside.

Start a new life, forget about your past.

Austin wasn’t supposed to be your final stop, or even a detour, but the steps you took down the side of the road and toward the farm in the distance would be another place of temporary sanctuary. Hopefully.

Eventually the asphalt turns to dirt, kicking up gravel under your feet as you walk and covering your skin in a thin layer of fresh grime and sweat under the high noon sun. The barn, once a far-off dot, was now large and vibrant, that distinct red popping out amongst the rest of the dilapidated property, void of most color outside of dull brown. There was a house to the left, cluttered with a melody of things. Tools, furniture, plants, and things you couldn’t even recognize. 

You squint, hand over your brow like a makeshift visor as you look around and hope to see someone, anyone—this couldn’t be the wrong place?

A truck under the hastily built carport and a trailer attached to the hitch—someone was home. You look around carefully, peering over your shoulder and finding nothing. There was no wind, no noise, and your breath caught in your throat. 

Maybe this was the time to turn back and attempt your chances elsewhere.

The front door opening with a creak has your head whipping back over your shoulder to set sights on the person in front of you—a man, tanned skin and tall. He was stocky but lean, black hair tucked behind his ears and trimmed just above his shoulders. He looked clean, which was more than you could say for yourself. All clean-cut man, jeans and a casual shirt, boots tucked under his jeans as his hand curled around the front door of the house and half of his figure leaned out.

“Can I help you, darlin’?” The twang flows out of his mouth naturally, taking a few steps out of the house before he’s closing the door behind him and following the small path of the front yard masked with clutter until he’s near you, a few feet away. “You lost?”

“I—I saw the sign?” You implore, jutting your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the road, “My car ran out of gas, I’m out of money and it’s hot. I was just hoping for some work to help get me back on my feet and out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

The man nods, readying to open his mouth before you continue.

“I don’t mind the work, I’m not picky. I don’t have a resume or anything, but I promise—”

“Woah, slow down,” You can hear the amusement, a smirk pulling at his face and you chew at your bottom lip nervously, fingers twisting around the straps of your backpack, “We’re not lookin’ for some hoity toity types with degrees—you comfortable gettin’ dirty?”

You glance down at your clothes, a few days without a shower and driving down sideroads with your windows down has made you look worse for wear, “Absolutely. I just need the money and a bed, couch even—you won’t even know I’m here if that’s an issue for you. I can keep busy.”

You glazed over the we in his response, looking around curiously again.

He extends his hand unexpectedly, “I’m Tommy,” He introduces and you take his hand softly, feeling him squeeze firmly at your grip and the smirk in his face soften into a smile, “listen—we don’t do the whole hirin’ process. I gotta run it by my brother Joel and there’s a few cautionary steps we gotta take due to the work, but we can give it a test run? See how you feel?”

You felt inclined to ask what the work was, but you decided not to be picky.

And like a dinner bell had been rung, the other man appears out of the barn.

Joel, a stark difference to his brother in stature and cleanliness but the resemblance was uncanny in the way they carried themselves. A similar stride that felt intimidating, broad shoulders stretched out over taught muscle and a matching resting scowl on his face.

Something told you his expression was more permanent, though. His brow pulls together, eyes squinting as he looks you over. He was wiping at his dirtied hands with a rag, a sheen of maroon drying to brown that you could only assume was blood. 

It was a farm. Animals. That meant slaughter. 

The thought of it didn’t make you vomit initially, so you considered that a good thing.

It takes one look and he’s giving a disparaging shake of his head, turning his head toward his brother to offer his opinion, “Ain’t worth the trouble.”

You instantly grimace, offering a less than subtle look of distaste at that man.

Stubbornness is what he notices immediately, but then your eyes are flicking back toward his brother who looks more confused now than when you had first approached the farm.

“You said you were outta gas, right? Just needin’ some extra money?” He confirms and you answer with a simple nod of your head. He looks over at Joel, arms crossing over his chest, “Said she doesn’t mind gettin’ dirty—willing to help out wherever. I’m sure we can find her some work, right?”

Joel looks you over slowly, a predatory gaze that makes you feel infinitely smaller. He was staring through you, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of your soul. His eyes were darker, nearly black and ringed with deep set under eyes from an obvious lack of sleep—whereas Tommy, he was chipper and well-rested, eyes a warm amber and much more inviting.

“You slaughter cattle before?” Joel asks, “Cleaned up shit? Worked on a farm? Anything like that?”

You shake your head but quickly respond before he has a chance to speak, “I don’t care what the work is—I’ll do it. If I need to be taught, I’m willing to learn. I’m a quick learner too.”

Devotion is what he senses at a slower rate, the slow blink of your eyes as they flick between the two brothers—he could give Tommy an ultimatum and turn you away, but something in his gut twists. 

She’s useful, she’s good. Good supply if it came down to that. Given you passed the tests. 

But, there was something lingering in your gaze, yet to be discovered. Joel was curious.

“Send her to the doc, give her the guest room,” Joel tells Tommy after a moment of thought, sounding slightly irritated but it forces out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “You’ll start work when we know you’re cleared.”

You nod dutifully and Tommy returns a relaxed smile, “It’s a liability thing,” He promises, “and it’s heavy work, better to know if your body can handle it alright before we put you through the ringer.”

“Whatever I need to do,” You return the grin, tracking Joel’s departing figure as he re-entered the barn and disappears, “is he always that angry?”

“Usually,” Tommy replies, rusting around in his back pocket for a set of keys, “I’ll give you a ride to the clinic and we can tow your car here tonight—to keep away anyone tryin’ to scalp it for parts. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” You agree, wiping at the sweat on your brow with the back of your hand, “but—do you think I could take a quick shower first? It’s just walking in the heat and it’s been a few days...”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” Tommy stumbles over his words, but nods for you to follow him inside.

With trepidation, you take your first steps and follow. 

And what you’re expecting is not what is revealed to you. It made sense that the disorganization would spill into the house, but it was nearly spotless. Pristine countertops and polished wooden furniture, a wall of file cabinets and a tucked away nook with a computer set up. It was like entering another dimension, your eyes tracking along the full expanse of the house before they land on Tommy, who’s looking on with that same amusement as earlier.

“It’s a lot of work but I try to keep it clean here,” Tommy admits, “The outside is…all Joel, mostly.”

You shake your head with indifference, holding your hands up in defense.

You weren’t judging, it wasn’t your place.

“The shower is down that hall,” Tommy points toward the central hall, rooms lining each side, “first door on the right—did you—do you have clothes?”

“Only one clean pair left,” You confess, “but I’ll make do.”

“We’ve got clothes, if you need them. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

There’s a responsiveness to Tommy that intrigues you—approachable, kind, a hard disjunction from his counterpart that was like a breath of fresh air. You don’t allow yourself to linger either, making your way to the bathroom with quick footsteps and remaining blind to the rest of the house, hearing a sharp scuffle of a chair that you can only assume is Tommy as he sits and waits.

It was the easiest predicament you've dealt with in the last few months. But you weren’t, not even for a moment, going to question it.

-

It’s a small building near the edge of the town, only a half hour drive from the farm and sat in some silence, you find out a slow trickling of information that Tommy shares, his elbow propped against the open window and the other gripping tight around the steering wheel, his hair a wind-blown mess.

“It’s been in our family for years,” he tells you, traveling down the quiet road and the low hum of the radio mingling with his voice, “s’why it's a mess—can’t be bothered to part with some of that junk.”

“I’m not judging.”

Tommy offers a look of skepticism, laced with a smile.

“It is a lot of stuff,” you grin in response, a subtle quirk at the corner of your mouth.

“Joel is a little sentimental,” Tommy adds, “he’s always been like that—harder for him to let shit go.”

You respond with a gentle nod as Tommy pulls into the parking lot of the clinic, exiting the truck with a swiftness before he’s at the passenger side and opening your own door, “Oh—that is really not necessary—”

“My momma would be rollin’ in her grave otherwise,” Tommy gripes playfully as his fingers curl around the open door, “so, just let me, alright?”

You don’t argue, chivalry be damned.

There isn’t much to be confused about as you step inside the clinic with Tommy in tow. He takes a seat near the door and the doctor, an old man with a limp and someone who refers to Tommy as son—he earns a casual nod in return and then you’re led beyond the door to the hall of other rooms.

It was a very typical line of questions, a general physical, and a blood draw that he promised would be pushed through quickly for the benefit of allowing you to work as soon as possible.

You try desperately to ignore the particular aura about the old man, thin-wired glasses perched on his sharp nose, age spots littering his face and bald head—but the most glaring is the missing pinky fingers on both hands. It was so clean cut and well-healed that you assume it could be something he was born with, but the moment he spots you noticing, he seems to switch gears.

“You’re all good here,” he tells you, “If anything comes up I’ll give the Miller’s a call—you’re lodging there, right?”

Your left eyebrow raises slightly, nodding hesitantly in response.

“Gotten a few like you before,” he comments oddly, “I’m not passing any judgment, it’s just a question.”

“Yeah—yeah I am. Staying there.” 

Increasingly creeped out as the seconds pass you breathe a sigh of relief as he allows you to leave, meeting Tommy at the front door with a less than comfortable expression. His eyes press a silent question but you shrug it off, hearing him bid a polite goodbye over your shoulder as you walk toward the truck.

Eventually, settled into the truck as Tommy turned over the ignition, he responds with comfort, “He ain’t the most approachable guy,” he admits, “but he’s been helpin’ us for years.”

That was one way of putting it.

“Hopefully I pass with flying colors then.”

Tommy shrugs, backing out of the parking lot with his arm thrown over the passenger seat, feeling the slight touch of his fingertips against the back of your neck through the headrest, “We can figure somethin’ out anyways, seeing as you’re more than eager,” Tommy grins, teeth peeking through, “I like that.

–

Tommy gives you a proper tour when you arrive back, nothing extensive but he does walk you around the property. He shows you the animal pens; pigs, goats, a few cows wandering around the pasture. And the barn, but he doesn’t enter. You note the lock hanging from the doors, clunky and rusted but securing the doors closed.

The inside of the house is less of a mystery, following Tommy as he lead you into the kitchen and showed off the expensive counter space and deep set sink—if they didn’t put a lot of effort into cooking then you didn’t understand the reasoning for the size, but as the thought floods your mind, Tommy plucks it out and answers it.

“Joel is a better cook than me,” he admits, “another bonus, home-cooked meals, a lot of our meats are ethically-sourced—” The look you shoot his way is quizzical.

“Grass-fed and they’re free to roam and forage for the most part, we’re not stuffin’ them full of grain feed to fatten ‘em up. We try to keep things humane. Joel deals with most of the dirty work and I stick to numbers and talkin’,” he explains, “he ain't’ much for socializing.”

Joel enters at the mention of himself, grunting as he steps beyond the threshold. His coveralls hung around his waist, tied at the hips and the dirty undershirt stretched tight over his broad chest. He peeled off his boots at the door and Tommy leaned against the counter lazily, one foot crossed over the other as he folded his arms and looked over at you, eyes slowly dragging to his brother. 

“She cleared?” He asks briskly, “Or we sendin’ her on her merry way?”

“Joel,” Tommy chastises and Joel smirks, taking a quick glance over at you, “doc said he’d call in the morning and let us know, we can spare a meal and a bed for a night.”

Almost as if you two weren’t even there, he strips off his dirtied shirt and works at the tie around his hips with the hand free of the balled up cloth, “Hope you like mess, girl.”

“I’m not picky,” You shrug, resting your hands loosely against your hips as he walks toward the same hallway you had traveled down earlier, “A little mud and grime won’t kill me.”

Joel chuckles softly at that, fully disparaging, “Blood make you squeamish?”

You shake your head, noting the caked bits of dried blood tucked in the crook of his arms and the creases of his neck, a faint pink tint from his chin down, “As long as it isn’t mine.” 

Tommy seems to tense at your wording, his arms flexing tight as he eyed his brother under a downturned gaze, staying quiet under the domineering energy his brother exuded.

“She might just survive ‘round here,” he directs at his brother, a smarmy remark although more boastful than he had been since the first time he spoke, but the distaste for you still lingered, oozed right out of the disingenuous smirk crossing his face.

He ain’t much for socializing.

It would only take a few weeks, you think. A few weeks and a couple cash payments and you could move onto the next place on your never-ending roadmap. You feel yourself breathing out a sigh of relief as Joel disappears, not realizing how long you had been holding it in.

“S’much as I’d like to have nice home-cooked meal, I think it’d be better if I grab some dinner from the dinner down the road,” Tommy offers, keys clutched in his grip as he rocks on his heels, “I’m gonna pick up your car on the way back, like I promised.”

And then he smiles, again. But, there’s a moment when it finally reaches his eyes and you can’t help but return the gesture, “I…think I’ll hide out in the guest room until you come back,” you admit, pointing toward the hallway, “no offense to your brother, but—”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tommy assures, “don’t let ‘em intimidate you, either.”

Fight fire with fire. 

It wasn’t your forte, but you were hellbent on survival and you would adapt if you had to.

-

You’ve spent the last half hour sorting through a puzzle on your haphazardly made bed, chin tucked into your palm, eyes tracking over the pieces until you could find a suitable match and slotting it into place before repeating the process. The deft shift and click of a door being shut pulls your attention upright, assuming it was Tommy, you clamber out of bed.

What you aren’t expecting is the solid chest that slams into your side, senses overwhelmed with the strong smell of aftershave and clean body wash—it wasn’t a particular scent, just…clean.

You look over, find Joel with a perturbed look on his face, a dinner plate hovering above your head and his expression turning more and more grim as time passes. “Sorry,” you mumble, “thought you were Tommy.”

“I look like Tommy to you?”

You tilt your head, expression pinching together in annoyance. 

Intimidation, just like Tommy had mentioned.

“Yeah,” you respond coarsely, “but at least he’s not acting like someone shit in his food—do you treat everyone like this who comes through here? Is that why you can’t keep people around here?”

His arms drop then, strutting past you with heavy footsteps as he makes his way to the sink, dropping the dirty dishes and pressing his hands into the edge of the center island that sat opposite the line of cabinets and countertops.

“You runnin’?” Joel asks curiously, ignoring your initial question. “Cops gonna come lookin’ for you?”

You balk, offended by his asinine line of questioning. 

“That’s none of your business,” you respond to the first question before spitting out a venomous, “No—what? Scared of a couple cops? Are you hiding something, Joel?”

That seems to strike a nerve decently enough that he rises, creeping around the edge of the island until he’s striding toward you, a hair's breadth away as you swallow hard.

You couldn’t help it—he was large, intense, intimidating without trying. He didn’t have to speak, the image of him did the work itself. Even as he looked more approachable, clean clothes and a freshly shaven face down to a thin layer of stubble, almost normal in appearance. But, there’s rage behind his eyes. It simmers slowly, a creeping boil that would come back to bite you if you allowed it.

“No,” he responds truthfully—at least, it seemed that way. His voice never wavered or faltered, he was strong and believable with his words, “but two things you ‘oughta know—one, don’t go snooping around where your nose doesn’t belong. Two, keep to yourself in this town.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You don’t wanna find out,” he responds without hesitation, both of you snapping out of the intensity of the conversation as the front door slides open, a very focused Tommy stepping through the door with hands full of styrofoam containers full of greasy burgers and fries.

“Nice,” Tommy notes humorously, “you two didn’t kill each other.”

Yet.

“Got us burgers for dinner,” he explains, holding up the bags, “that alright?”

Joel clears his throat, hand wiping over his tired expression, “Already ate,” he responds short, clipped. Tommy doesn’t question it, but his eyes immediately catch on you, wondering what he had interrupted as he sees your body relax when Joel steps away. But, he shakes it off, offering a lazy grumble of a noise in response to his brother as he drops the food on the nearby dining table.

The dichotomy in the pairing is strange and you can’t comprehend how they’ve managed to co-exist as roommates, let alone siblings. But, they were also strangers. You had nothing but assumptions racking your brain, so you pushed it away.

Eat, sleep, and face the next day with a different attitude. A fresh start.

–

The morning was met with a rustling of two other occupants as they moved about beyond the barrier of your room, voices muffled but constant as they carried on amidst your dreary haze, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. It had been weeks since you’ve slept in a decent bed, not the backseat of your car or a mattress that felt like sleeping on a wall of bricks. You didn’t have a reason to complain and given the circumstances—a roof over your head, a space to yourself.

You’d be stupid to argue otherwise.

There’s a quick whistle behind the closed door to your room, followed by a gentle knock.

“Come in,” you say groggily, muffling out the end with a yawn as you stretch your tight limbs and watch as Tommy peaks his head through the open door, already showered and primed up for the day, his gaze lingers on you for a while and watches quietly. It should make you feel uncomfortable, but it does quite the opposite as you offer a shy smile, “—is this the part where you tell me I have to leave? 

Your hands slap the comforter as he widens the door, letting it thud silently against the wall as he leans against the doorframe, hip cocked into his right hand.

“No, you’re all clear,” he tells you, nodding over his shoulder, “we’ve got a few things for you to do this morning but I wanted to keep it light and let you get adjusted.”

You nod lazily and push yourself out of bed, rubbing at the goosebump chill that spreads over your arms as you feel the kick of cooled air spread through the room, “Enjoy it,” Tommy remarks, “ain’t gonna feel that good outside.”

Tommy departs with his trademark grin, albeit more subdued by his tired eyes as he knocks his fist against the doorframe. But, as you’re heading for the bathroom across the hall, Joel finds you again. 

He’s dressed for what you can only assume is a long day of work, thick pants paired with an even thicker shirt, skin covered from his neck to his feet and far too stuffy for the sticky humidity outside—his job couldn’t be easy and you weren’t faulting him for it, but the scowl on his face is getting under your skin and allowing its claws to find purchase within it.

He takes a sharp bite out of an apple you don’t realize he’s holding until it is pressed against his lips, teeth digging into the skin, juices squirting out with the force of it.

“There’s a full dresser of clothes for you in the corner,” He haphazardly points to the mahogany dresser tucked away in the corner, “different sizes and shit, you’ll have to find something. Since you don’t have nothin’.”

You eye him skeptical but don’t argue, walking toward the dresser and pulling at the top drawer. It was a mix of new socks and underwear, all pressed and fresh in their packages. The next drawer, a mixture of different shirts varying in shades, sizes, designs. Your head turns on a swivel, watching as Joel takes another bite out of the apple, speaking around the food in his mouth.

“People come and go,” he explains vaguely, “always leavin’ stuff behind, so—”

Again, he waves vaguely in your direction. 

“Got it,” you answer curtly, turning your attention away from him.

You shake away the looming cloud of discomfort that Joel leaves in his departure and sift through the clothes—at least they were being hospitable. That was more than enough to allow you to push the uneasiness aside for the time being.

-

Tommy heaves the bucket of dirtied blades and utensils, cutting boards, and a collection of other tools that you weren’t sure you’ve ever seen in your life, all coated with dried, oxidized blood of varying animals, you assume. You didn’t think to ask, didn’t want to know. 

Not yet, anyways.

Tommy rested his elbow against the edge of the bucket, having led you to the back of the house—it was similar to a sunroom, an entire wall of windows that gave you a beautiful view to the fields behind the house. Miles and miles of land, undistributed by the hum of city traffic and noise. The other wall, a dead-on view of the barn that Joel barricaded himself in. Tommy looks over briefly as Joel makes his trek to the locked doors, a metal jug of water in hand, a meat cleaver in the other.

“Well, he’s a ball of sunshine,” you joke before picking through the bucket of items carefully, keeping your fingers clear of the sharp blades, “is this it?”

“Most of it,” Tommy admits, “for now.”

You nod dutifully and watch as he explains things out in a few steps, rules to follow, a method of attack.

“So, just rinse at first with some soap, disinfect with the alcohol, then repeat and lay it out to dry. Pretty simple, but they need to be clean,” he stresses, his teeth peeking out beyond his lips as he stresses the syllable on his tongue, “and always use gloves.” 

He grabs the rubber pair and offers it over before he’s speaking again, this time his words coming a little more hesitantly, “Also—I grabbed your car last night. I was gonna tell you over dinner, but I figured you needed a decent night of sleep.”

“As long as you found it in one piece,” You joke, fitting your hands into the gloves, and the silence has your heart dropping into your gut, “you did, right?”

“Yeah,” his voice wavers with hesitation, eyes squinting slightly in a tell that he wasn’t offering the full truth and you tilt your head, mouth turning down in frustration, “but—it was pretty mangled.” 

“You’re kidding me—”

“Tires were slashed,” Tommy holds his hands up, palm out as he attempts to calm you, “there’s some rowdy kids ‘round here always causing trouble. We’ll figure it out for you, alright?”

Your jaw tenses, teeth clenched behind a tight smile and you nod jerkily. A hard swallow and harsh breath later you’re looking at him with softer, kinder eyes. 

“Thank you, Tommy,” you tell him, “I feel like I’m already causing too much trouble for the both of you, doesn’t help that Joel would rather see me as roadkill than—”

Tommy rubs a finger under your chin to pull your gaze to his, a fleeting touch that has you freezing in place but looking up aptly, eagerly. He scrunches his nose slightly and shakes his head, “Darlin’, we’ve dealt with plenty of trouble. You don’t even come close.”

You laugh slightly, a grin pulling at the corner of your mouth.

Tommy claps his hands together gently before shoving them into his front pockets, looking over his shoulder briefly before his eyes are back on you, “I’m going to start on some paperwork,” he explains, “come find me when you’re done?” 

You nod dutifully, turning to your task as Tommy leaves.

It isn’t hard by any means. It’s like washing dishes if you ignore the prudent smell and extra scrubbing to get the tools completely spotless before you’re running them through the steps that Tommy had listed off, attempting to ignore how weary your arms felt by the end of it.

Your eyes kept flickering toward the barn throughout, wondering if Joel would surface—two hours passed and there wasn’t any sight of him. It was like he lived in there, a nocturnal animal that needed the seclusion and no direct sunlight. It couldn’t be that enjoyable to be held up inside the barn all day.

When you’re finished you carry the bucket into the kitchen and place it on a nearby chair, tracking the back of Tommy’s head. He’s tucked away in the corner at the desk he’d shown you the other day, typing away and sorting through a small stack of papers.

Curiosity kills, so you wander over. 

Peeking over his shoulder, nothing really makes sense.

It’s mostly numbers and an odd mixture of letters, a system that he must have come up with to track the intake of supplies and animals, some of them sorted by what looks like initials. 

Tommy has a pen between his teeth and a calculator at his fingertips, typing away some numbers that add up to an amount that has your eyes bulging out, quickly realizing that this is none of your business.

He acknowledges your presence then, pulling the pen out of his mouth and looking over his shoulder with a curious expression, “Finished already?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, “I—sorry…if I was supposed to go slow.”

“Oh no, you’re alright,” Tommy turns in his chair, computer screen fading to black behind him, “I still have some stuff to finish up—why don’t you go check and see if Joel needs anything?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Tommy smirks but not in a way to tease or patronize, he understands the presence his brother gives off, all intimidating and mostly unwelcoming.

“Just give a knock on the door,” Tommy instructs, “don’t go inside, he’s really testy about that. If he needs something he’ll answer.”

You compare it to something akin of facing the wrath of some beastly devil, gearing to attack. 

Tommy offers an encouraging nod that you accept on less than enthusiastic legs, turning and heading out the front door with the surety that Joel would either ignore you or stir up some storm like he had the night prior.

He wasn’t nice or cordial, not that he needed to be—but it wasn’t a wonder why they seemed to go through help around the farm, running people off with his hard stares and less than appropriate comments. If making you uncomfortable was his plan, he was succeeding.

-

It’s quiet outside, morning slowly dissolving into afternoon. It’s still hot, feeling the rush of hot air hit your face as you make your way toward the barn, noticing the unlatched lock but remembering Tommy’s words.

Don’t go inside.

You knock, once with no answer. Again, notably drowned out by the rev of a chainsaw and then silence, a loud bang and rustling of dirt as footsteps come closer, instinctively you begin to step back, scampering away slightly as the door swings open just enough the Joel can fit his body between them, blocking you from peering inside over his large frame.

“You need somethin?” Joel asks, his tone tight and his eyebrow arched slightly in question, his finger wrapped tight around the rusted handle of the barn door.

“Tommy said to check if you needed help,” Joel seems to spot your curious eyes as you attempt to peek around his shoulder, his arm raising to curl around the side of the opposite, unopened door and pulling the open space tighter, his eyes peering down at you, “I finished—inside.”

“Already?” His voice is clipped but subtle with surprise, “You're the first one in weeks that ain’t emptied their stomach over that shit.”

It seemed extreme, but you knew that some people couldn’t handle things like blood or guts or even the thought of slaughtering animals. But, to you, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, it was gross, but it wasn’t going to kill you.

“I’ve got a strong stomach,” you argue, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as your gaze refocuses on him, “besides, I told you blood doesn’t make me squeamish. Did you think I was lying?” 

“Don’t know you,” He shrugs simply, “don’t trust you. Is that what you wanna hear?”

You sigh softly, trying to keep the fraying edges of your temper under control, “Is there anything I can do?”

Joel pauses for a moment, seconds dwindling into a territory that brought you silent discomfort as he looked you over thoughtfully before peering over his shoulder.

“Actually, I got some scraps for the pigs. Think you can handle that?”

You hear the disregard in his tone and take the opportunity while he isn’t staring you down to roll your eyes, just in time as he turns his head to look at you.

“Do you?”

Joel laughs at that. A genuine laugh, though quiet and short, you hear it. It was proof that he had a legitimate emotion outside of the one built around pure disgruntlement.

He disappears for a moment, barn door slamming shut in your face and before you even have time to breathe, he’s back. It's a heavy metal bin full of minced meat and a faint coppery smell that has you turning your head and huffing under the weight as Joel trades the bin off.

He points around the corner, toward the corralled pigs snorting near the entrance to their pin, sending the impending meal you were holding.

“Just throw it in there,” He gestures vaguely at the trough inside the pin, “they’ll eat it right up. Oh, clean up the pin while you’re at it, the tools are in the shed out back.”

You nod slowly, digesting the information and feeling the liquid from the bin seep into the front of your shirt, the sensation making you curl inward, gasping at the coldness of it.

“Shit,” Joel curses, “shoulda gave you the apron, that’s always a messy task.”

He sounds honest, but you stare daggers back in return.

“Next time,” He offers with a half smile that makes you sick, “don’t take too long—if you want dinner.”

“If you’re cooking, I’ll pass.”

Again, Joel chuckles. Twice in the span of five minutes.

God, maybe you were winning him over. 

“I’m a good cook,” he says confidently, though the snideness in his tone lingers but barely, “you’ll regret sayin’ that.”

You snort softly as you shake your head, turning on your heels and toward the pigs, hearing the soft thud of the barn door.

It takes you a half hour to finish the task, grimacing slightly as the pigs frenzy toward their food, leaving you mostly undisturbed as you clean up the pen, catching Joel with his overalls tied around his waist, sweat dripping down his neck and his hair matted to dirty skin. 

He seemed normal like this, natural. Dirtied and grimy, a permanent grimace on his face as he traded places with his brother, who was headed toward their truck.

You catch his eye, a waved offer in return for your smile.

Another moment alone with Joel sounded dreadful and maybe sticking out in the remainder of the hot summer day didn’t sound too horrible now.

But, the poignant smell of the pig pen was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, so you choose dread.

-

You and Joel trade off showers silently, working around each other in a less than comfortable silence, mostly trying your best to avoid him entirely, but you can only bear the avoidance for so long.

Freshly showered and in a clean set of tattered lounge clothes, you round the corner into the kitchen and catch Joel’s back, a white shirt stretched over tight muscle as his back tenses when he reaches for the burner, adjusting the heat on the stove.

His keen hearing clues him in, turning briefly over his shoulder to spot you. His expression is softer, but still mostly guarded. With Tommy not around, he was a wildcard.

“Where’s Tommy?” 

Joel stirs away at the pot full of food on the stove, answering with a casual tone, “Finishin’ up some business in town—you sure you ain’t hungry?”

As if he knows, your stomach growls.

You had managed a decent breakfast and light snacking throughout the day, but the rich aroma of spices makes the food hard to ignore.

You approach curiously, noting the emptied but bloodied casing for the meat he was cooking, cutting board with a few stray vegetable ends and Joel’s gaze flickers to you once, then twice.

“You want a taste?” Joel asks, lifting a spoonful from the pot, his hand hovering under the utensil, spotting your weariness immediately. 

As a show of trust, or just plain good faith, he takes a sip of the broth before shoving the spoonful into his mouth, a clear indication that it was safe to eat.

Not that you thought he would attempt to taint the food, but it did ease your worries and you were hungry despite your feelings toward him, so you nod.

Joel smirks slightly and dips a wooden spoon into the pot again, bringing the food to your lips and watching as you blow, the steam bellowing up in front of your face and you sip gingerly, invaded with a burst of flavorful notes.

It was an instant indication that maybe you had judged Joel too hard on his cooking skills, impressed by how savory the food was, stronger than you’re used to, but it was still pleasant. 

Joel’s eyes are stuck on you, gauging your reaction and his lips twitching as your eyes light up, a gentle nod of approval in response. He plucks a piece of meat from the spoon and raises his eyebrows in question.

You find yourself nodding instinctively and Joel drops the spoon into the pot, guiding the chunk of meat to your lips and you open your mouth willingly, feel the soft press of the food against your tongue and the tenderness of it, like butter as your teeth grind into the meat, feeling the swipe of Joel’s finger as he cleans up dripping line of sauce that slides down your chin.

And it tastes…fine. You wouldn’t dare give Joel the immediate satisfaction that you thought it was good, because it was. It was a perfect, home-cooked meal. Your stomach was craving it, mouth watering even more as you swallowed that first bite.

Joel brings his sauce covered finger to his own lips, pressing the digit inside of his mouth and sucking. He wasn’t wasteful, clearly—savoring every last drop.

“So,” Joel grins wider than he ever has, still sated but it was new, welcoming even, “change your mind?” 

You shrug indifferently, but Joel senses your intrigue.

“I’ll give it a try.”

That’s all Joel needs to hear.

-

Somewhere between your first bite and your last, minimal conversation as you sit and devour the bowl of stew without a single qualm, you fall asleep.

It was a mix of exhaustion and a full belly, slumped against the table and your eyes falling shut despite yourself. Joel cleans quietly, dishes clashing softly as he washes the dirtied ones and wipes them clean, stowing away the leftover stew as peeks over his shoulder.

You’re still sound asleep, plush lips pulling together in a tight line as you sigh, breathing out through your nose. 

Joel rubs his hands over the front of his jeans, ignoring the half-hard jut of his cock against the denim, knowing the moment your lips slipped around that spoon he was a goner. 

He’s never gone that far, he’s never tried. He and Tommy have always kept to themselves and while Tommy didn’t stick to a strict diet of Joel’s preferred meat, he did dabble on occasion.

Joel preferred it, and like his brother, was raised on it.

But, like many of the people that have come and gone, always through the process of ending up as stock for the Miller farm, Joel has never forcibly tried to push their beliefs on anyone.

Unfortunately, Joel had never met someone as intriguing as you. Not nearly as squeamish as the others, even fully grown men shying away from the task of cleaning pig shit out of a pen—you were strong, but stubborn. Joel admired it, but he liked the challenge of breaking it out of you too.

He’d wake you eventually, but for now he watches. Arms pressed against the central counter, keeping him hidden in the darkness as the soft glow of the overhead lamp above the dining table illuminated you.

Joel’s come to recognize things—good bone structure, volume of meat and muscle, all the things that make certain humans the perfect piece of product.

And you were just that. 

A pretty penny.

—

Sometime in the middle of your bleary haze you’d made it to bed, whether with assistance or not you find yourself waking with a turn of your stomach and rolling out of bed in hurried attempt, feeling the force of bile as it made its way up your throat, fumbling loudly with the doorknob until you managed to pry it open.

You make it to the bathroom across the hall just in time to spill the contents of that evening's dinner into the toilet, attempting desperately to keep your wits, arms clenched around your stomach as you heaved relentlessly.

The cold hands come a moment later, icing the back of your neck as they push the hair from your face and offer a soft reassurance.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Tommy’s voice cooed, his cold palm pressing against your forehead as your head lifted to look at him, tears streaming down your face now, “you with me?”

You nod weakly, hearing Joel’s heavy footsteps before you spot him, his stocky frame filling out the doorway.

“Musta been dinner,” Joel supplies to his younger brother, “she’s probably ain’t used to the stuff ‘round here. Less processed, harsher on the stomach when you ain’t had it before.”

Tommy’s gaze lowers, focusing on his brother harshly. It was a look of words unspoken, threatening intention and one that had you holding your breath, wondering if you’d done something wrong. His hand slips down your back, rubbing at the base of your spine. 

In any other circumstance you might find yourself shying away, but you lean into it. He glances over, touching your skin once more. Left cheek, right cheek. You were clammy, mouth suddenly dry and begging for anything to quench the thirst or rid yourself of the sour taste in your mouth.

“Get her some water,” Tommy instructs his brother harshly, “and somethin’ cold, she’s sweating through her clothes.”

Joel doesn’t argue, half-expecting him to put up a fight. He retreats, knowing his wrong-doing but not finding the guilt inside him to care. You’d assimilate eventually, they all do. Him, Tommy, nearly all the townsfolk have learned to adjust to this lifestyle. Unspoken and secret amongst the outliers, it was the way of life around here.

He returns with a glass of water and cold rag, passing them off to his brother, “Don’t run off,” Tommy bites, “we need to talk.”

Joel grinds his teeth at the order, watching as you close your eyes to the glorious press of the cold, wet rag as Tommy squeezed it against your face, your neck, before bringing the glass of water to your lips. A few seconds and one generous gulp later you find yourself cracking a joke amongst the tension, pulling a soft laugh out of the younger brother.

“If you wanted an excuse to feel me up, you could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, pardon me, sweetheart,” Tommy remarks playfully, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Joel sniffles awkwardly, tongue pressing into his cheek as Tommy passes off the items and rises to his feet, nodding toward the hall and motioning for his brother to follow. 

“You need somethin’ you shout, alright?” 

You nod obediently, flushing the toilet weakly before resting your head in your hands, attempting slow breaths to calm your racing heart, waiting for the second wave of sickness to hit you but hoping it never came.

There's a muffled argument on the other side of the wall, the tell-tale sign of Joel's gruff voice, tone clipped and decisive—it was the same way he had spoken to you during your first argument.

-

“What’s our one fucking rule, Joel?” 

Tommy’s voice bites, hushed enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear him, nor Joel as they slowly moved toward the front of the house.

“You're gonna tell me not to do it?” Joel retorts, “I already did. There ain’t nothing to argue.”

There was one thing they both knew for sure.

You weren’t like the others.

“She’s gonna find out,” Tommy assures him, “She’ll find out and then you’ll be the one that’s gotta do the dirty work, not me.”

“Afraid of me choppin’ up your girlfriend into tiny little pieces for Robert and Stan down the road?” Joel asks, a vicious and cutthroat way to take a shot as his brother, who he knew better than anyone.

He’s grown attached too quickly. Joel had suspected, assumed by the immediate likeness to you, but the moment of care shared in the bathroom moments prior had confirmed that if Tommy wanted you, he could have you. The smile you offered in return for his kind efforts was enough for Joel to know.

So, yeah— feeding unknowing people human meat was the number one rule. But, growing attached was the unspoken one that the Miller brothers had always followed, without fail.

 Until now.

“She’s smart—could use that, ya know?” Joel suggests, which is a surprise to Tommy.

His brother, who only ever thought about himself—he was suggesting you stay, that you could help.

“When are you gonna tell her?” Tommy asks, eyebrows raised in question as his hands settle on his hips, pajama pants hanging low. “Tomorrow?”

“I ain’t,” Joel responds without hesitation, “Like I said—she’s smart, she’ll figure it out.”

“Joel, if you don’t tell her I will—”

“No, you won’t,” Joel bites at his brother, stepping closer in an attempt to intimidate, “you tell her and she’ll run for the damn hills—let her figure it out and she’ll confront you. Then we’ll see how good you are at coverin’ our asses.”

It was Tommy’s job, the forefront of their business. He made the sales, talked to distributors in town. He was the face—a pretty face, more approachable. Joel was always sharper around the edges, harder to read.

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Joel had dug the hole for both of them and there was no way out.

–

You wake with an ache in your muscles and the instant need for a shower, covered in a layer of sweat that makes you want to strip your clothes instantly. You remember Tommy helping you to bed the night prior, the faint memories of you hunched over the toilet as you discarded your stomach contents and Joel watching over, observing, but the rest was a blur.

Not trying to waste anymore time, you quickly shower and dress, meeting the two boys in the kitchen as they readied themselves for the day, picking over breakfast. You settle for a couple of slices of bread, toasting them to a near crisp and snagging a ripe fruit from the basket on the counter, watching curiously as Joel makes a cup of coffee. It was the most normal course of action you’ve seen him take—he even took it with sugar, but obviously no cream.

Tommy already tore through breakfast and was sipping on his own cup of coffee, looking up at you occasionally over the newspaper he was reading, knowing that you were attempting to eat light after the night prior.

“Feelin’ better?” Tommy asks.

Your nod is noncommittal but Tommy doesn’t press.

Without prompting, Joel speaks, “It takes some gettin’ used to,” He explains, “it ain’t like the shit you get in the city.”

It would explain why he was unaffected, that maybe your stomach was just too weak.

“Same business today,” Tommy cuts in, ignoring the long stare you and Joel were holding, chewing slowly at the now soggy toast in your mouth, “we might have some stuff comin’ in tonight though and we’ll all have to offer a hand in unloading it, can you handle yourself?”

You approach him casually, stripping the peel off your banana as you take a bite.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you assure him, eyes pulling up briefly to regard Joel who was already departing for the front door without a word, “—you sure he isn’t trying to poison me?”

Tommy snorts softly, watching as you chewed thoughtfully on the banana and your gaze followed Joel through the windows, tracking his movements until he hit the barn. You feel Tommy’s hand graze your bicep, pulling your attention back toward him.

“He’s not,” If it was a lie, you couldn’t tell, “it all takes some adjusting, he isn’t lying.”

His hand still hadn’t moved and you looked down, his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin of your arm, “You know, I did say all you had to do was ask.” Tommy’s eyes crinkle with laughter, not expecting you to remember your words from last night, “Or, that’s inappropriate because…you’re technically my boss—”

“There isn’t rules out here, honey,” His voice is warm, inviting—but he’s still trying to keep himself at a distance, not too fast or too hard all at once. He’d set out the bait and wait for you to bite it, “we’re just here to help out and mind our business.”

“Okay,” Your response is soft, a gentle lilt to your voice that makes Tommy smile, “and...thank you for last night. I know it isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to in the middle of the night.”

His hand drops slowly, fingers trailing until they find your wrist and offering a gentle squeeze before his fingers depart you entirely, “I lived on this farm my entire life. There isn’t much that I haven’t seen or dealt with before. I think I can handle a little throw up.”

Tommy offers up the remainder of his coffee, still warm as you bring it to your lips and savor the rich taste—it was much more your style, full of cream and sugar to the point where it might rot your teeth out.

And the day proceeds without problem, moving through the motions of the tasks Tommy had assigned you yesterday, along with feeding some of the other animals littered around the farm. Horses, cows, goats—it was a wonder how they kept up with it by themselves. They were capable, but it seemed like too much for just two people. Regardless, it was impressive.

By evening, Tommy was pulling in with a truck full of secured and banded boxes on the trailer and Joel resurfaces from the barn by then, reeking something awful. You turn your nose away and scatter to Tommy’s side, earning a chuckle from the younger brother.

“You get used to it,” Tommy tells you, “like everything else.”

You eye Joel wearily, who seems less than amused. He offers a low grunt of acknowledgement as he stacks the boxes two high and heaves them up and into his arms, ignoring any attempt at small talk with either of you.

You couldn’t be bothered to care, knowing that Joel’s behavior was nothing if not peculiar.

“What’s in the boxes?” You ask when both of the men are reaching for boxes, sliding a smaller one into your own grip. They share a look, uncertainty. Who speaks first? Lie? Truth?

Joel huffs quietly—fine, half-truth.

“It’s stuff for cleanin’ up the barn. All the mess and shit. Interesting enough for you?”

Your nose crinkles at his tone, turning on your heels and heading toward the barn with the men in tow, “You’re snippy today,” you remark at Joel and Tommy hollers out a laugh from behind you, full-bellied and genuine, “when are you gonna give me a tour of it?”

“The what? The barn?” Joel asks for clarification before immediately shutting you down, “Never.”

Tommy shakes his head as he places the box down amongst the others, watching as you two bicker with shared looks and a soft giggle coming from you when you realize just how frustrated Joel had become, “I’m gonna head inside—try not to kill each other, alright?”

When Tommy is finally inside, you place the final box down. Joel was rearranging them silently, occupied with the task as you step backwards slowly, turning your head over your shoulder as you reach for the barn door. 

The curiosity was likely to kill you—just a peek, that was it.

The creak pulls Joel’s attention up and he’s on you within seconds, door slamming by your head as his hand pressing against the flat of your chest, fingers itching to squeeze around your throat. You gasp, a guttural noise forced out of you as he pressed you into the hard surface of wood, feeling the splinters dig into your skin.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” He asks. No response. It sets his eyes ablaze, “Answer me, goddammit.”

“Mind—” You gasp again, sharp as his hand presses into your throat now, forcing you to answer, “mind my business.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of that right now,” Joel points out, “seems like you’re enjoying pressing that nose into places it doesn’t belong.”

It was a barn, for christ sake. What the hell was he hiding?

“Hey,” you croak, weakly, “don’t kill me, remember? Your brother won’t be too happy about it.”

“That’s only because he wants to fuck you, girl.” He assures you, “You ain’t the first and you won’t be the last.”

Your gaze softens, fingers clawing at his forearm. The disappointment in your eyes was obvious, but a sting to Joel’s ego. Tommy was always the more favored one of the pair, there wasn’t much he could do about it. But, it didn’t soften the blow.

His hold lessens slightly.

“Did you think you were the only little lady that’s come through here that my brother hasn’t tried to sink his teeth into?” Joel grins in amusement, tapping his fingers gently against the side of your cheek. It was patronizing and foolish, but he couldn’t resist teasing you for the dejected look on your face. “I like my privacy, alright? Don’t appreciate it when people invade it.”

You nod quietly, lips opening to offer a weak apology.

“Don’t say sorry,” he tells you, “not when you don’t mean it.”

Instantly, your mouth snaps shut. Joel smirks, satisfied that he was right about that.

You weren’t sorry. You didn’t care. But, you were scared. Eyes still wide as saucers and boring into his own, all blacked out with rage but quickly fading back into their usual warm brown.

“You hungry?” He quickly adverts the topic, pulling at the fabric of your shirt to adjust it back into place like nothing happened, “I’m fixin’ to cook up dinner.”

Two could play at that game.

“Is it gonna make me sick again?” 

Joel shrugs, “Might. Might not. You willin’ to take that risk?”

–

You luck out, for the most part. Aside from the dinner being nothing short of delicious, it makes you slightly queasy but it was easily qualmed by a glass of champagne, a nightcap to the work day as Joel has already wandered off to bed after cleaning up, leaving you and Tommy to perch on the stairs out front, a cigarette stuffed between his middle and pointer finger as he flicks off the ash, sipping from his own can of beer. 

“I forgot to ask about pay, you know,” You laugh softly, “just…slipped my mind.”

“Weekly,” Tommy answers simply, “every Friday. So, tomorrow?”

You do the mental work in your head, feeling like the days have blurred together. Realistically, it had only been a few but you hadn’t expected how overwhelming those days would be, finally feeling the exhaustion settling in your bones as you rested beside Tommy on the front steps of the Miller home.

“You feelin’ okay?” Tommy asks curiously, beer tipped to his lips as he takes a sip and awaits your response.

“A little queasy?” You’re unsure what to consider it, that unsettling feeling in your gut. You weren’t even sure if it was the food making you feel that way, almost certain that even a single look from Joel would give you the same feeling.

“You’re thinkin’ about it too much,” Tommy points out, “it’ll make it worse.”

You gulp down the rest of the cheap champagne and press the flat stand of glass into the stair besides your bare feet before leaning back on your elbows. Tommy mirrored you, crunching the aluminum can in his hand and tossed it aside.

“Okay, so—distract me,” you responded pointedly, a kind smile sent his way.

Tommy takes a deep puff before you’re plucking the nearly finished cigarette from his fingers and bringing it to your own lips, feeling the nicotine burn your throat. Tommy doesn’t seem fazed at all, used to it. 

Maybe Joel wasn’t lying about all those women. 

This was a normal routine for Tommy. You were another passerby willing to take the bait.

“You wanna go for a swim?”

Your brow raises curiously, amused.

Tommy looks on, awaiting your response. 

“Oh, you’re serious?” You ask, stuttering at the unexpected proposition, “Uh, yeah—sure. I mean…where?”

“It’s a walk, but there’s a lake behind those trees,” Tommy points off to the west, a long and dense line of trees surrounding the edge of the Miller farm, “feelin’ up to it?”

Your mouth waters unpleasantly as you continue to sit with your thoughts, yearning for distraction. You nod.

Tommy grins wide and takes your hand into his own.

-

He wasn’t lying. Under the moonlight, it was a huge lake with eerily undisturbed water. Pitch black and despite the hot and sticky heat, the water was cool to the touch as you dipped your feet into the shallow edge. Tommy is already wrestling with his belt, shucking his jeans down hastily and it forces you to move, stripping your own clothes off in time with him.

Down to your underwear you edge toward the deeper waters, hissing as more of your skin becomes engulfed in the ice cold plunge, feeling Tommy hover around you as he dipped under the water for a moment of time before emerging in front of you, pushing his damp hair from his face.

The cold water has you frozen, paralyzed.

“Come on,” he jests, “dunk yourself, it’ll help.”

You shake your head hesitantly, managing the inch by inch efforts as you move forward slowly.

“I’ll do it with you.” Tommy suggests, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he wades the water—you feel yourself rising on your tiptoes to give yourself a few lingering moments before you have to force yourself under.

Tommy doesn’t force you, only waits for your reassuring nod after a long moment of indecisiveness before he’s doing a slow countdown and you’re both slipping under the water.

Moments later, you emerge with a gasp but it is full of elation. Tommy had pulled you out deeper, forcing you to swim until neither of you could touch and you clung to him instinctively, feeling the words that fall from his lips brush the back of your neck, “Distracted enough?”

It had, truthfully. You nod in response, feeling deft fingers at your hips as they turn you, your legs kicking in a melodic synchronicity. His touch lingers for a moment before he’s pushing away, using his arms to gain momentum and swim away, looking over his shoulder with a silent challenge.

Chase him. 

You giggle to yourself before following, moving gracefully through the calm waters. It continues like that for a while, minutes passing away effortlessly. The monotone buzz of insects hovering over the lake water and the insistent chirp of the crickets hiding in the grass kept your mind busy. It was peaceful out here, like the rest of the farm.

“So, you grew up here?” 

“All my life,” Tommy answers easily, “it isn’t exactly tourist worthy sights out here, but it has perks. Where are you from?”

“Here, there—” you answer noncommittally and shrug, earning a dismissive laugh from Tommy, “everywhere, honestly. I don’t stick around places for very long.”

“Which reminds me,” Tommy interjects, “your car should be fixed up soon—but, if you wanted to stick around—”

“I don’t think Joel would appreciate that,” you respond, feeling the heat of his gaze on you despite the farmhouse being miles away, “besides—I’m just another mouth to feed.”

“Most people who pass through here don’t last more than a day,” Tommy admits, “it may not seem like it, but he’s warmin’ up to you.”

You reminisce on the heat of his palm against your throat.

If looks could kill….

Joel would have maimed you at that moment.

“He’s a dick, but he ain’t immune to pretty girls,” Tommy teases and it makes your gut twist, “we don’t get many women through here anyways—I think he’s just forgotten how to talk to ‘em.”

You think back on Joel’s words again and decide to poke the bear. 

Swimming toward the shore you turn your head over your shoulder and speak, “You know, he said this is a bit of a routine of yours,” you begin, “seducing helpless women who come asking for help.”

Tommy rolls his eyes lightheartedly, chuckling at the absurdity of your words.

“Joel told you that?” Tommy inquires, swimming toward you. You turn on your hands, slowly scooting your way upshore with your palms until your ass is pressed against a bed of rocks buried in the dirty, shallow water lapping at your shins. “Honey, it’s been nearly a year since any type of lady came across our farm—and the last one? It was some old lady needin’ a jump on her car.” 

Tommy is edging closer now, on his hands and knees as he works his way forward.

“People see the farm and they drive in the other direction,” Tommy admits, “but, not you.”

You lean back slightly as he hovers over you. Your heart pounds in your chest, a salacious grin spreading across his face. 

“Helpless, remember?”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, “Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you.”

You bite first, silencing him with a heated press of your lips against his own, your hand curling around the back of his neck and your blunt fingernails pinching at his skin. His hiss turns into a warm chuckle. He spreads his palm out over the inside of your thigh and beckons your legs apart until he can fit between them comfortably before it curls around the side and pulls you back in, your knees barricading his hips. 

He coaxes you back, taking the balled up shirt on the shore and sandwiching it between the dirt and your head as he pulls back with a low sigh, eyes half-lidded and switching between your lips and your steady gaze, catching the way your tongue licks at your bottom lip.

“Need a little more distraction?” Tommy asks softly, the fingers on his free hand toying with the waistband of your panties, awaiting the nod of confirmation. It comes without thinking and he’s peeling the fabric off gently, watching as it stuck and rolled against your skin, sopping wet from the lake water as they fall to the ground with a soft squelch.

His fingers curl around the back of your neck, pushing forward in a way that beckons your chin up, meeting his lips in another hot and messy exchange of tongue and sweet, soft sighs breathed into each other’s mouths, feeling the tingly pulse at your core as his fingers drag through the center of your pussy. There was no mistaking the slick that had gathered there amongst your heated exchange, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he leaves you, sinking further and further down your body, eyes locked on your own.

“Open up for me,” he commands gently, his hands curling around your thighs as he settles on his stomach, “fuck—that, just like that. Goddamn girl, she’s glistenin’ for me.”

He chuckles at your meek response, looking away with a subtle smile that made you want to crawl away from him, but he held you firm.

“Nothin’ to be shy about,” he reassures you.

You exhale slowly, a calming breath that quickly melts away as he licks a broad line up your cunt with his tongue, through your folds and slurping up with sweet, sticky slick. You gasp, hands curling into fist helplessly, moaning out into the silent night. There was the softest wisp of a breeze that blew over your skin, prickling your skin. But, it’s beat out by the heat of Tommy’s touch as he pulls your hand to his scalp, silenting guiding you toward his long locks and hoping you get the idea. You curl your fingers into his hair and tug, pulling his motions up toward your clit and he sucks, sucks so hard you think you start to see white before he smooths the intensity out with the gentler licks of his tongue. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re coming with a loud moan, nearly uprooting yourself from the ground as he holds you still, the insistent wiggling of your hips from the overstimulation of his tongue enough to make you beg, plead even.

“Tommy, please—stop, s’too much. Too much.” You breath out in a hurry and eventually, a few greedy seconds later, he relents.

He rises with a sated smile sometimes later, watching as you desperately try to catch your breath. Whatever uneasiness you were feeling in your stomach earlier was long, but it didn’t snuff out the mental feeling of it. Fear, worry—like you were being watched.

-

The weeks beyond that pass with ease, falling into a steady routine.

Your car still sat untouched, but you couldn’t find it in you to be a pest about it—things were going well, a steady paycheck and roof over your head. You could bother them about it eventually, but not now. Not while things were good.

By October, the air is cooler and the work is easier to handle. Sometimes you help Tommy on the administrative end, filing away paperwork with information that doesn’t make much sense to you, as much as you try to piece it together. But, you do know they’re bringing in money. And lots of it. Absurd amount, actually. You don’t press Tommy on it either, worried that it would pop the pristine bubble around you both.

He was smitten, kind—sometimes he would sneak into your room at night instead of the latter for you, tiptoeing around Joel in the chances he might have something, anything to say. He’d lied to you about Tommy for his own benefit—but why? You tried not to dwell on it.

But, eventually you find yourself around Joel more often than not. Or, attending to him. 

He still barricades himself in the barn most days, only popping his head out as he calls for things—but there’s one particular evening where things, usually calm, fly off the rails. 

Mentally, at least.

And it isn’t the most auspicious way to let you in on their secret, but Joel can’t seem to rid himself of you. You’re always there, lingering, and even if you weren’t certain of things, suspicion had been raised long ago.

You weren’t even sure what you were trying to confirm, or if Joel’s unsettling nature was just a ploy to scare you into behaving, but you could feel it. Something was up.

He’s tasked you with feeding the pigs a number of times—it’s always gross and messy and not a favorable task by any means, fortunately you’re used to it. But, a large, stray rock buried in the dirt robs you of normality and the bin of bloodied scraps spills out as you land on your hands and knees, the skin scraping off your shins against the rough ground and a loud hiss slips beyond clenched teeth as you scramble to get back on your feet, looking around in desperation and hoping that neither of the brothers had witnessed your misstep.

Your nose scrunches up in disgust as you hold back a gag, scooping the discarded scraps back into the bin, the meat like mush beneath your fingertips and you reach for a bigger chunk, immediately startled by the more solid texture of it. 

Joel usually grinded up the meat, making it easier for the pigs to consume. But this, it was a whole and solid chunk. You push the bin away gently and swipe away the chunks of congealed blood and fat and rub your thumb over the texture of it. Thick, solid. The color was dull and pale but there was no mistaking it. It was skin, but more notably amongst that was the tattoo. It clearly wasn’t the full piece, a couple letters surrounded by an intricate design where it was precisely sliced.

You’ve heard of people using pig skin for tattooing, wondering if Joel was taking up a side hobby amongst the already interesting career path he had taken, but something doesn’t sit well. 

Five pigs, that was how many you’d seen since you arrived. You push the bin weakly toward the pin on your hands and knees until you can find the strength to dump it into the trough, allowing the metal to clatter to the ground carelessly as the pigs flood to their food. One, two, three…and two stragglers trotting over leisurely. Five pigs, not a single one missing.

The creak from the barn has you peering quickly over your shoulder, eyes landing on Joel as he leaned around the door, a perturbed look on his face. You thought it was worry for a split second and as he came closer—curious and cautious over the loud noises he had heard when his saw cut dead—it was. 

He spots the blood on the ground first, a mess you had made. His eyes follow the trail of blood to the pin before they travel over you, covered in the rest of what didn’t make it inside the trough and then your legs—you don’t feel the sting until he kneels, his fingers running over your knees, tiny bits of dirt and gravel buried in the wound as his fingers continue down your shin. His eyes scan the expanse of the property before they’re locked back on you.

“Get inside,” It was a cold demand, detached and emotionless but you can’t move, frozen with a fear that didn’t hit you until Joel’s fingers touched your skin, “go on—you can walk, can’t you?”

Vehemently, you swallow down the lump in your throat. Human skin, not pig skin. You weren’t feeding the pigs scraps of other animals—it was humans. Weeks of clueless wandering, the itching feeling of uneasiness was confirmed for you in seconds. The bile in your stomach was threatening to escape as you walked on wobbly legs to the house, falling down into a chair tucked under the dining table, flexing shaky fingers into fists over and over, slowly in an effort to calm yourself alongside your practiced breaths.

Tommy wasn’t here. He would’ve come running otherwise—you vaguely remember the truck missing as you made your way inside, wondering how distracted you had to be to not realize he left. You hear Joel clearing his throat as he approaches the door, swinging it open harshly as it nearly pops off its hinges.

You make the effort to move, but Joel is quick to snap at you.

“Stay put,” He commands, eyes washing over your stoic expression.

You must’ve been a sight, wide-eyed and disturbed, following Joel’s every move. You were covered in a mix of your own blood and someone else’s—maybe not even one, it could be multiple. Joel seems to sense your stomach turning and lunges toward the trash bin in the kitchen and quickly shoves it in front of you, barely catching the vomit that spills from your throat as you retch your breakfast up forcefully.

Joel moves quietly amongst your sickened state, grabbing a few supplies that he slides onto the table beside you and waits, kneeled down at near eye level as you peer up, wiping the string of spit from your mouth and he looks enthralled, wondering what had caused such a chaotic string of events to unfold.

“You’re upset,” He notes, ripping open a package of cotton balls and pouring a handful onto the table, popping open the cap of isopropyl alcohol, dosing the cotton before he was pressing it into your leg without warning, earning a sharp whine of pain from you.

Was he expecting a different reaction?

“Fuck!” You shout, shoving the trash can aside as your fingers dig tightly into Joel’s shoulder, earning a fiery look from the man—but if he wasn’t willing to give you sympathy, you weren’t going to return the favor, “—you are too, are we pointing out the obvious?”

His fingers drag along the back of your calf, position your heel against his hips as allows no relief, haphazardly pouring a small amount of alcohol against the wound and you grip the wood of the chair so hard you swear you hear it crack.

“Jesus, ease up,” you snap at him, “I fell, I fucked up. I’m sorry, is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What’re you apologizin’ for?”

There’s a distinct rip of tape as you watch Joel smooth the gauze over your shin, securing the bandage over the wound before he works carefully at your knee, cleaning the cut before leaving it alone and moving to the opposite leg.

“Are you not mad at me?”

Joel chuckles dismissively, eyes flicking up toward you briefly, “Not everything is about you, girl.”

Fed up and simmering with your pain, you don’t think and the words slip from your lips before you can stop them, “Is it about Tommy then?”

Joel’s hands still, stopping the slow dragging lotion down your wound as he tilts his head up at you curiously, “You think I’m jealous of that little thing you got going on with my brother?” Joel shakes his head in amusement, his teeth peeking out beyond his grin, “I don’t get jealous. If I want somethin’, I’ll take it.”

The words pierce your chest, knowing there was deeper meaning beyond those words but you look away carelessly, feeling his less than gentle press into your skin as he continues. 

“Business is slow, I don’t like it.” Joel admits, hearing the hesitancy in his voice as he admits it, but it seems harmless. In his mind, you have no clue of the nefarious nature behind their work.

Except, you do. Or at least you think you do. 

“Is there any way to fix that?”

Joel shrugs, “Tommy’s workin’ the people around town, doing all the talking. We’ll see if it works.”

You have two choices.

Admit what you found or bide your time, poke around and see what you can find—you know that won’t go over well with Joel, or Tommy, even. So, you call his bluff.

Because something—be it Joel or that sinking feeling in your chest, tells you that whichever path you take would lead down the same road. You weren’t leaving here without a fight.

“Does the body reject it the first few times?”

You ignore the way your voice shakes, the recognition sitting with you, knowing that they had fed you the meat without your consent. Tommy, too. He’d sat there at the dinner table and tore into the meals all the same, less intrigued as his counterpart, but he was still an accomplice. 

Joel’s expression changes, like switch flips. Bandaging up the opposite leg he rises, answering with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Silence amongst the clattering of items as Joel piled them into his arms and stored them away, another question slips past your lips.

“Was it on purpose?”

Joel’s brow raises, but he doesn’t answer. 

“The tattoo,” You explain, “did you want me to find it? Or did you fuck up?”

At those words, he lunges. His hands grip the table behind you, pinning you against the chair as you lean back and look up, feeling the deep rumble in his chest.

“I don’t fuck up,” Joel retorts and your eyes stray from his hardened gaze, “No—look at me. Now.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip harshly, but you listen.

“You knew,” Joel challenges, “long before that, I’m sure. You could’ve ran if you wanted, granted you’ve got that busted car out front, but you could’ve ran. Hell, you could have while you were outside just now—but you listened to me.”

You know what angle he’s pushing, backing you into a corner and you feel it, that tingling feeling of guilt in your gut. He was right, you could have.

“What are you hidin’ in there?” He presses, eyes narrowing as his pointer finger taps gently at the center of your forehead, “I’m telling you we’re murderers, cannibals, and you haven’t screamed or shed a tear. You aren’t scared of me, are you?”

You shake your head and Joel speaks again, “Scared of dying though, right? What’s stoppin’ me from killing you? Tommy ain’t here.”

The finger on your forehead follows down the center of your face until Joel can reach your chin, tilting it upwards.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

There was no nod, but the subtle twitch in your cheek as you bite down hard on the inside of it was enough of an answer for Joel. Don’t give him those words, don’t give him the satisfaction.

“You killed before?”

Another question that goes unanswered, but your actions give you away.

You twist away, desperate to flee his touch. Joel isn’t done with you yet, one hand pressed against his knee as he leans down to your level and the other grabbing for your face, forcing you to look at him.

Admittedly, they weren’t all bad men. Some of them had tried to attack you on the road and ended up at the wrong end of a blade, but others—the few with bad timing and things you needed…it was collateral, in your eyes. Seven of them that you can remember, all unsuspecting men with an eye for the meek and defenseless. 

You snarl slightly, fighting against his hold but Joel is stronger, much stronger. 

“Knew you’d be useful,” Joel admits, “s’why I let you stick around. You got that…look about you.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of disgust and confusion and you catch the way Joel spaces out for a moment, admiring your expression and you twist, shoving him hard with both hands in an attempt to send him stumbling back. It only forces him off-balance and your attempt to flee is stopped by his large, bear-like grip on your forearm as he throws you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Nuh uh,” Joel mocks, “can’t letcha go that easy, sugar.”

Joel's grip on your wrist is deadlocked, crossing your arms over your chest tight, pressing himself against you. Under this light, this closeness, you notice the small scars, years of healing left it fading into the skin and Joel notices you admiring for a brief moment—incredibly brief as your teeth clamp down around the side of his hand. Hard. It breaks through the skin and forces blood to spill from his hand and pool into your mouth before he pulls the wounded hand back and balls it into a fist, freezing as you spit his blood back into his face, an instant chuckle ripping from his throat.

“There you are, ya little killer,” He goaded, his eyes ticking up at the sound of a car door slamming outside and a wide grin spreading across his face, “well, isn’t that some fine timing.”

The door swings open a second later and Joel has already pushed away from you, nursing his flesh wound with a dry, clean kitchen towel, leaving Tommy to examine you both with a less than auspicious gaze, blood ringing your mouth and a smug expression on his brother's face.

You approach Tommy hesitantly, reaching for the door with a worried gaze but his hand comes up too, slamming against the flimsy frame and preventing you from roaming further.

“Can’t let you out, honey,” he apologizes, his voice more sincere than you’ve ever heard it to be before his head turns up toward his brother, waving around a white envelope addressed out to the both of them, “we gotta figure somethin’ out.”

He tosses the letter on the dining table and slides his hand down your forearm, a softer grip than his counterpart but it didn’t leave room for argument, jostling you around until he could get the front door locked, dead-bolted, and secured.

“This is home now, baby.” Tommy soothes.

Because really, where else did you have to go?

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 4. the others

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Winter begins to wrap its arms around Jackson, filling the town with snow and a nasty flu. Joel takes you to meet Ben and Lisa, and you finally discover more about your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, amnesia, sad!joel, pining, sexual tension, slow burn, jealousy

WC: 9K

Series Masterlist

You looked happy.

Ever since you began working at the infirmary, you seemed happier. Like you were grateful to have a purpose. A way to contribute. To give back to the community that supported you.

You smiled more and you didn't shy away from him as much as you used to and it gave Joel hope. Every time you saw him and greeted him with a smile or said goodbye with a squeeze of his shoulder, it made his heart flutter. It's been weeks. Months, technically. But he was making some progress.

It was the first snowfall of the season and it put you in an even better mood than usual. Your face was pressed up against the window as he tended to the fire behind you, and you watched as the big, fluffy flakes of snow fell from the sky, coating Jackson in a perfect blanket of pure white.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from," you told him over your shoulder. He knew that already, but he humored you.

"That so?"

"Mhmm. When I was a kid, though, we got hit with this freak storm. No one knew what to do. No one owned shovels or snow blowers or any of that, so we were all stuck inside our houses until the storm ended and everything melted," you said, turning away from the window so you could curl up on the couch, then pausing for a moment before tilting your head to the side. "Did I tell you this already?"

Yes, he thought, but he shook his head, eager for you to continue. He just loved hearing you talk, no matter what you said. Besides, if you were expected to rebuild your relationship, sharing your past would naturally be part of that, so he encouraged you to tell stories, even if he's heard them before.

"So, what happened?" he asked, putting the poker back in the stand and getting up with a groan, his knees cracking a bit before he settled in on the other end of the couch.

"Well, the power went out," you said, and he could hear the excitement in your voice, delighted to be telling him something you thought he didn't already know, and it made his heart swell. "So we didn't have any heat or any way to cook our food. We set up camping tents in the middle of our living room and slept in there with, like, five blankets each. And we lived off pop-tarts and granola bars and peanut butter sandwiches for two days til the power came back on."

"Two days?" Joel repeated, and you nodded.

"Yeah, but it was fun. As a kid, you know? I'm sure my parents were freaking out but me and Matty were excited. We played board games and ate by candlelight and told ghost stories," you said wistfully, your eyes looking miles away. "We talked about that for years," you finished softly, and Joel smiled.

"I didn't get much snow where I'm from, either," he told you, and your eyes met his again.

"Texas, right?" and he nodded. "Did you live there your whole life?"

Something deep inside him sparked with a mix of nerves and excitement. It felt like you were meeting all over again, and while it was under less than ideal circumstances, he couldn't help but feel those butterflies you feel when you first meet someone new.

"Yep, my whole life. Tommy, too, except for when he was in the army."

"Were you in the army?" you asked, but he quickly shook his head.

"Nah. Wasn't my scene. Besides, I had Sarah."

"Oh, right," you said, feeling stupid for asking. You dropped your attention to your hands, which were twisted in your lap, as you thought about your next question.

"How old was she?" you asked quietly, still looking down and avoiding his gaze, but you heard him take a deep breath.

"She was twelve when she died," he told you, his words hanging heavy in the air and he could see the conflict in your face as you tried to figure out a way to learn more about him without reopening old wounds. "It's okay, I don't mind talkin' 'bout her."

"Did we used to talk about her?" you asked him curiously, finally looking up to meet his gaze.

He shrugged. "Sometimes. But not at first. Still hurt too much back then, y'know?"

"Yeah," you breathed, your mind now drifting to thoughts of your own family. Were you together when they died? Did you see it? If so, was it some sort of sick twist of luck that you now couldn't remember?

"What was your favorite thing to do together?" you asked, watching as his eyes found a fixed point on the wall while he considered your question.

"My favorite thing was hiking. Hers was goin' to the movies or the mall, most likely," he said with a soft chuckle. "I didn't mind, though. I was just happy she still wanted to be seen with her old man at that age. Makes me wonder if she felt bad for me or somethin'."

You furrowed your brow, confused. "Why would she feel bad for you?"

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't date much. Had a few poker buddies but I mostly spent my time with Tommy. Just worked so hard back then that I was too tired to do much else."

"And you were a contractor?" you asked, trying to remember the small pieces of information you picked up over the last two months. He nodded.

"Yeah, me and Tommy had our own business. That was a lifetime ago. Can't imagine doin' that kind of work now, not with my back," he said with a smile.

Joel's eyes flicked to the window over your shoulder, watching as the snow continued to come down, the window panes growing foggy in the corners. "Looks like we ain't goin' anywhere for a while," he said, changing the subject. You followed his gaze and nodded.

"What about Ellie? Is she okay back there?"

"Yeah, she'll be alright. She could make it up to the house if she got too cold," he assured you.

So, you were essentially snowed in. All alone.

You could feel his eyes on you as you watched the fire and you wondered if he was thinking about an alternate reality. One where you didn't have an accident. Where you remembered everything. One where you loved him the way he so obviously loved you, and what you might be doing differently in that very moment. You had a feeling your hunch was correct because he stretched his arm across the back of the couch and subtly inched a little closer towards you, the worn cushions dipping from his weight and causing your leg to bob.

Your body stiffened and your heart suddenly felt like it was being crushed in your throat. He was so patient, you had to give him credit. It couldn't be easy for him, and although you could finally admit to yourself that you found him attractive, you still didn't think you trusted him enough to take things any further. Not yet. Not when you still had so many questions. Your eyes drifted up to meet his and as you expected, he was watching you closely. Carefully. Trying to read you the same way you were trying to read him. The problem was, every time he looked at you that way, with his eyes all soft and filled with adoration, you could only think about what he was hiding. What did he lie about? And why was he so hesitant for you to meet Ben and Lisa?

Joel leaned in a fraction and his fingers tightened their hold on the back of the couch. He wanted to kiss you. He's wanted to kiss you ever since that day in the field right before that clicker ruined the moment. And with the soft glow from the fire and the snow falling silently outside, it felt like the perfect moment. He was terrified of making things worse after he finally felt like he made some progress, but it was killing him. He missed having you so fucking much, sometimes it felt like it actually caused him physical pain. Like his chest would explode one day.

He swallowed nervously and inched a little closer and you panicked. Just as he was about to say something, you cut him off.

"Do you wanna play a board game?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you gave him a nervous smile.

"Sure," he replied, watching as you jumped off the couch to look through the games stacked on the bookcase. He groaned inwardly and rubbed his chin when you bent over and he had to force himself to look away before his body reacted, praying you didn't pick Twister.

It took two days but the snow finally stopped. Ellie did eventually make her way to the house by the second day, simply because she was bored, so you helped Joel make a vegetable soup while Ellie set up the Monopoly board in the living room. You didn't have all the pieces, but you had enough, and what you didn't have you supplemented with buttons.

You didn't realize it; too caught up in cooking and the joy it used to bring you, but you and Joel worked together seamlessly in the kitchen. He chopped up zucchini while you diced onion and watched the pot on the stove that was cooking up noodles, slipping past each other to get to the sink and the cupboards and it all just felt so fucking normal that it made his chest ache. He wanted to draw your attention to it. He wanted to take you by the shoulders and say See? See how good we are together? But he didn't. He bit his tongue and bided his time until you came to that conclusion on your own, just like the first time.

But the first time was different. At least back then, you showed him affection. You kissed him and held him and shared your body with him and although you didn't want much more, not at first, eventually you did. And those moments in his bed were enough to hold him over until you opened your eyes and saw what was right in front of you.

He was selfish. He knew it was wrong to want you like that right now, but he wanted all of you, not just physically. He yearned to know what was going on behind your eyes, what you were thinking and feeling. What you thought of him. But if you would maybe just let yourself fall asleep in his arms on the couch while you read in front of the fire, or let him kiss you, just once, then maybe you would see it again. Feel it again.

"What the hell does a purple button mean?" you asked with a giggle, holding up the smooth, round plastic between your fingers.

"It's a hotel, duh!" Ellie said, grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Wait, why am I goin' to jail?"

"You rolled doubles three times in a row!" you told him, and you and Ellie bent over laughing at the confused expression on his face.

He made a disgruntled noise and moved his token to the corner of the board as he watched you and Ellie giggling and wiping tears from your eyes and fuck, it was nice. In another world, he would have made some joke about you being the one in handcuffs and maybe later he would have followed through with it and tied your wrists to the headboard, burying his face between your thighs until you couldn't take it anymore.

But instead, he just watched two of the people he loved most in the world have fun, the orange glow from the fire flickering over your smiling faces while the snow finally came to a stop outside.

Ellie had trekked back to the garage once the game was over. It was late, you looked tired, but he still suggested putting a movie on. He wasn't ready to let you go. He hated going to bed all alone. You seemed to consider his offer for a moment before you shook your head and yawned, and although he knew that would likely be your answer, he still felt his heart sink.

He walked you to your bedroom and as he was about to say goodnight, hoping to minimize the hurt by making it quick, you did something that surprised him. You pulled him into a hug, standing on your tiptoes, your chin resting on his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck, body pressed firmly against his and just as quickly as it happened, you pulled away. Joel was so stunned he wasn't sure he hugged you back, even though he stood cemented to the floor well after you went to bed, replaying the hug over and over, all he could remember was how he felt. And he went to bed that night with renewed hope blooming in his chest. Maybe you were finally coming around.

So the next morning when you asked him out of the blue if you could visit Ben and Lisa once the streets cleared of snow, he had a hard time finding a reason to say no. He should have known you wouldn't let it go, but he did hold out hope that maybe you moved on from the idea since it had been a few weeks when you last mentioned them.

He agreed, of course, not wanting to ruin the delicate foundation of your relationship. Besides, he already decided he would go with you and make sure they didn't tell you anything you weren't ready to hear.

The snow had melted enough where the road was visible again, but the snowbanks still piled high around the buildings and houses and you felt strangely nervous as you followed Joel down the street. He had finally agreed to take you to meet Ben and Lisa, and while you were grateful he didn't have the reaction he had the first time you mentioned them, you still wondered what caused that outburst.

You tried to convince yourself that maybe he was just tired and cranky that day, having just gotten back from patrol for the fourth day in a row. But something still felt... off.

"Wow, when Ellie said they lived on the outskirts, she wasn't kidding," you said, realizing you were reaching an edge of Jackson you had yet to explore.

"Yeah, they tend to keep to themselves," he replied without further explanation. He didn't seem agitated, but he definitely wasn't happy about going to see them. He seemed more quiet and subdued than usual.

Finally, you arrived at a quaint looking cottage tucked back from the road a ways. Like Ellie had said, it was small, but it looked cozy. You could see the smoke pluming from the chimney and you couldn't wait to warm up again.

There was no porch. Just a small roof over the front door and a folding chair that looked like it had seen better days. He knocked firmly on the door and after a moment, you heard light shuffling on the other side.

The door cracked open and you were greeted by a short woman around your age with dull, brown hair and bright green eyes. She saw Joel first and, like most people in town, she hesitated. But then she noticed you next to him and her expression changed. A wide smile stretched across her face and she said your name softly, then held her arms out for a hug.

"It's so good to see you," she said in your ear, giving you a tight squeeze before turning around and ushering you both inside. "Come in, come in, it's freezing out there. Ben! You'll never guess who's here!"

You both stepped inside and as you were slipping off your outerwear, you glanced around the small space. It was tight, but it was filled with warmth. The living room had two small, mismatched loveseats on either side of the stone fireplace. Two large bookshelves that were filled with so many books that the shelves were sagging stood on either side of the fire, and curiously you didn't notice a television anywhere in the room.

You heard a man's deep voice behind you say your name and you jumped in surprise. Turning around, you were pulled into another hug by who you could only assume was Ben. He was tall - taller than Joel - and you wondered how on earth such a small house could fit such a large man. He stepped away, his dark eyes glittering with his hands still on your shoulders, taking in your appearance as if you haven't seen them in years.

Maybe you haven't.

You were so focused on absorbing every little detail about the house and its residents that you didn't notice Joel's body stiffen next to you, his eyes glued to Ben's hands. And while Lisa seemed to have the same reaction to Joel that everyone else in town did, Ben, on the other hand, did not seem phased by his presence. In fact, he appeared pleased to see him. Once he dropped his hands from your shoulders, he stretched out a lanky arm and shook Joel's hand, giving him a kind smile which Joel had a hard time returning.

"What a wonderful surprise. Come, let's sit. Do you want coffee or tea?" Ben asked, his eyes drifting between you and Joel. You both shook your heads and Ben smiled warmly at you once again. Even though the living room was just a few feet away from the front door, Ben still rested his hand on your shoulder and guided you to one of the loveseats as if you might lose your way, only dropping his hold on you when he sat down across from you on the other one.

Joel eased himself down on the couch beside you, the space so small that he had no choice but to rest his leg against yours, and Lisa went to join Ben, the crackling fire between both loveseats warming you up right away.

"We heard you had an accident. How are you feeling?" Lisa asked, her voice so small and gentle compared to Ben's booming baritone.

"Better, thanks. But it's kind of why I'm here," you said, glancing over at Joel nervously, but he was staring silently at Ben, who still seemed unaffected.

Lisa tilted her head to the side and wrapped a hand around Ben's forearm, leaning into him a bit as she got more comfortable on the couch. You noticed for the first time a basket on the floor next to her feet filled with different colored yarn and half knitted projects tucked inside. "Oh?" she asked, then it seemed to dawn on her. "Oh! Is it... is it true? Do you really have memory loss?"

When you nodded, you noticed the flicker of pity across both their faces as they exchanged a somber look.

"I can only remember my life before the outbreak. My mom, dad and brother. I don't even remember what happened or how they died or how I managed to survive," you began, feeling yourself growing a little emotional. Joel must have sensed it in your tone because he squeezed your knee reassuringly, and when you glanced over at him, he had finally torn his eyes away from Ben to look at you with concern.

"It's been hard," Joel said, finally speaking up, addressing Ben and Lisa. "Lots of confusion, lots of missin' pieces. But she kept a journal. Turns out, she wrote 'bout you two, so that's why we're here," he finished, narrowing his eyes a bit at them.

"You wrote about us? How sweet," Ben said cheerily, running a hand through his dark blonde curls.

"Yes, but-"

"It wasn't anythin' that detailed," Joel said quickly, and you frowned at him. He sat back into the sofa and glanced over at you. "Right?"

"Yeah," you said slowly, dragging your eyes away from Joel and back to your hosts. "Just that we went fishing and it felt like old times," you continued, and they both smiled at the memory. The only sound in the room was the fire next to you, the wood popping loudly under the flames as you weighed your next question. "So I was hoping you might help tell me about myself before we arrived in Jackson. Is that... okay?"

Lisa shifted in her seat, a small smile still twitching at her lips as she gazed up at Ben, waiting for him to reply. He hesitated a moment and you thought you saw his eyes flicker to Joel before responding.

"Of course," Ben said, slapping the tops of his thighs, jostling loose Lisa's grip on his arm. He quickly picked her hand back up and brought her knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss, but your eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar symbol tattooed on the inside of her wrist, only made visible when Ben picked up her arm and her sleeve hung down.

"Can you tell me about when we first met?" you asked, figuring you should start at the beginning.

"Oh, what was it? Six or eight months after the outbreak, yeah?" Ben wondered aloud, looking to Lisa to confirm. She nodded and scratched her neck.

"Sounds about right."

You allowed yourself to feel a glimmer of excitement. There were two people right in front of you that could help fill in the blanks for the first five years after the outbreak, and you couldn't wait to hear more.

"We met in the Atlanta QZ," he began, but you quickly stopped him.

"QZ?"

"Quarantine Zone. All the major cities had 'em. Was meant to keep people safe from infected but the military ran most of 'em into the ground," Joel explained. "Treated people like cattle. Strict curfews. Barely enough rations to survive."

"It was awful," Lisa added solemnly.

"Was I alone?" you asked them, and Ben nodded. "Did I tell you anything about my family? How they died?"

Their eyes shifted to Joel for a moment before looking at one another.

"I thought you had said the infected got your mom on the first day. But your dad and brother..." Ben trailed off, looking down at his hands sadly. "They got caught out after curfew. It happened before we got there. They... were punished."

You frowned a little, looking to Joel to help shed some light on what Ben meant, but he was staring down at his feet.

"Punished?" you squeaked as your heart began to pound faster in your chest.

"Punishment for bein' out after curfew was death," Joel spoke up softly next to you.

You looked at all three of them, your eyes wide in disbelief. "Death? The military were killing people?"

"It was horrible. It's why we escaped," Lisa replied with tears in her eyes.

"Okay, then what?" you pressed, trying not to dwell too long on the thought of your father and brother being murdered by the very people who were supposed to protect them.

"After we escaped?" Ben clarified, and you nodded. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "We survived. Did what we had to do."

There it was again. Did what we had to do. The same thing Joel said when you brought up Lisa and Ben the first time.

You waited for him to elaborate but when it became apparent Ben had finished talking, you pushed him further. "Like what? What does that mean?"

"We laid low. Found some secluded spots in the wilderness and stuck it out for as long as we could," Lisa said, her eyes casually drifting between the two men. You looked at Joel, who was holding a steady glare at Ben and Lisa, but otherwise he was perfectly silent.

"For five years we just laid low? In the woods? The three of us?" you asked, and they could tell you knew they weren't telling you the whole truth. "What aren't you telling me? Did we do something bad? Did something happen?"

Joel shifted in his seat next to you but you kept your eyes pinned on Lisa and Ben, trying to read the expressions on their faces.

Ben was the first to fold. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours and gave you a half smile and shrug. "Yeah. I mean, everyone did bad things one time or another. It's impossible not to-"

"Like what?" you demanded. You could feel your anger building up now. "I'm not a child. Just tell me."

Ben sighed and looked at Joel once again, and this time you had enough.

"Why do you keep looking at him?"

Ben's eyes snapped back to you and he forced out a small chuckle, trying in vain to diffuse the tension in the room.

"You're our guests, so I'm looking at you both."

You weren't going to argue with him when it was clear he was looking at Joel for direction on what to say. It all made sense now. No wonder Joel didn't fight you on coming to visit them. He had planned all along to control the conversation and keep you in the dark and something inside you snapped.

Standing up from the couch suddenly, you looked down at Ben and Lisa, anger brimming in your eyes.

"Thanks," you spat, heading towards the front door. "Sorry to bother you both."

"It's no bother," Lisa said, her voice wavering as she followed you to the door. "Really. Stop by any time, it was nice to see you."

You scoffed and resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you shoved your boots and coat back on, doing your best to finish before Joel so you could get a head start back home.

Flinging open the door without another word, you took a deep breath and stormed down the street, the chilly winter air filling your lungs, trying to cool your anger from the inside out. But then you heard Joel's heavy footsteps crunching in the snow, hurrying to catch up to you, and your rage peaked again.

"You alright?" he asked when he found his place back by your side.

"No, I'm not alright," you seethed, staring straight ahead with your arms wrapped around your middle. "What was that back there?"

"What'dya mean?"

You skidded to a stop and glared at him, his cheeks pink from the cold and his chest rising and falling a little quicker than usual.

"You know what I mean. I'm not stupid, Joel. What don't you want me to know?"

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out how to respond.

"I'm not-"

"Don't bullshit me!" you yelled, and when you remembered you were in the middle of the street, you lowered your voice. "They were clearly scared of you. You didn't want them to tell me something. It was so obvious, Joel! I hit my head but I'm not fucking blind."

"I didn't ask them to say or not say anythin'," he said truthfully.

You stared at one another, both watching as your exhale mixed together, little clouds swirling in between you before rising above your heads and disappearing, each waiting for the other to break first.

"Maybe I should move out," you finally said, voice filled with sadness. His face fell instantly.

"Why?"

"You know why. I don't think I can trust you. How can I, when I can't even get a simple answer out of you?" What did he lie about?

If you had stabbed him in the chest, it would have hurt less. His gaze fell to the ground and he felt his throat begin to constrict. He had to do something. He couldn't lose you. So he told you a half truth.

"You and Ben used to be a thing," he said, and your jaw dropped in surprise.

"What?"

He clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. "Before you came to Jackson. You and him were a couple."

You looked away from him, taking a minute to wrap your mind around what he just told you. You supposed it would make sense. It would explain why Joel was so weird about bringing you to see them. Maybe you misread the tension in the room. Maybe the tension was about something else entirely.

"That's why you were acting so strange? That's why you were staring him down?" you asked. His answer was still difficult to believe. It explained Joel's behavior, but it didn't explain what bad things you had done and why nobody seemed willing to tell you what they were.

He shrugged and rubbed his hands together. "Can we talk about this at home? I'm freezin'," he said.

The walk afforded you more time to think now that you had this new piece of the puzzle. Ben did seem like your type: he was handsome and kind, but if you and Ben were together in the past, where did that leave Lisa? They were clearly an item now. Wouldn't that have made for a strange relationship between the three of you? Perhaps that's why you didn't see them often.

Joel let you stew in silence for the walk home, fucking praying what he told you would be enough to keep you from following through with your threat. Why did it feel like every time he made some progress with you, something happened that fucked everything up?

Maybe he should have just let them tell you the whole truth.

No, that would have been bad. You didn't trust him enough yet. You said it yourself. And if you were willing to move out over something like this, you certainly would never speak to him again if you knew the whole story.

He needed to earn your trust first but it was so fucking hard when you wouldn't let him in. When you found out the truth the first time, you were already months into a relationship with him. You were already sleeping together, and while it didn't evolve into anything more until later, it still helped build your trust in him when he finally told you the truth.

He didn't have that with you now, and for the first time he began to doubt his ability to make you fall in love with him again.

You huddled in front of the fire after the long walk home, the two of you remaining silent the entire way. Joel was in the kitchen, most likely avoiding you and your questions while you warmed up. You weren't even going to bother bringing up the topic again, but Joel surprised you by doing it himself.

"I'm sorry. 'Bout earlier," he said from the entryway. You turned from the fire to look at him. He looked worried. His eyes were wide and his brow was knit while his hands fidgeted at his sides.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, and he sighed.

"Dunno. Guess I was hopin' you'd let it go or change your mind," he said, ticking his jaw to the side.

"What would it have even mattered? I don't remember him, I don't remember what we had together. I certainly don't have feelings for him," you told him, sitting down on the couch and tucking your legs underneath you.

He looked around the room nervously as you waited for an answer that wasn't coming.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "If this is going to work, you need to be honest with me-"

"I was scared, alright?" he said abruptly. You watched him hang his head between his shoulders and take a deep breath before collapsing into the arm chair next to the couch. "I was scared you'd maybe remember him or..." he trailed off, finding it difficult to put into words what he was thinking. And although it wasn't the whole truth, it still was the truth. He was afraid this version of you would want someone like Ben and not like him.

He was afraid of losing you.

You seemed to understand because you didn't ask him to finish his thought. Instead, since he was opening up, you asked him something else that was bothering you.

"What did I do?"

He looked at you curiously, not following at first until you continued.

"Ben said I did bad things. We all did bad things to survive. What did he mean?"

Joel swallowed and thought about his answer for a moment. You sighed, growing impatient.

"You can't keep the truth from me forever. I'll find out one day, just tell -"

"You killed people," he told you, and you completely lost your train of thought. You searched his face as all of the air rushed out of your lungs, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

"I killed people?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, and he nodded slowly. You felt the tears begin to well up in your eyes but you blinked them away. What kind of monster did you become?

"Innocent people?"

"Depends on who you ask," he said right away, almost as if he expected that question.

"What does that mean?"

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he stared into the fire. "I told you. Everyone did what they had to do in order to survive. I know it's hard for you to understand what it was like, but there were a lot of bad people out there. A lot of bad fuckin' people. The military was outta control. There were revolutions and raiders and slavers." He paused and sniffed a bit, continuing to stare into the flames while you hung on his every word. "When I say you killed people... it ain't black and white. I killed people, too. Alotta people. When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em. D'you understand?" he asked, finally dragging his eyes up to look at you.

You blinked, thinking about what he said, his words rolling around your head like pinballs.

"I think so," you said quietly.

He nodded, still pinning you with his stare. "We all made decisions. We made choices based on what we knew at the time and we did our best."

You nodded, your voice wavering a bit when you asked "Am I a bad person, Joel?"

His eyebrows pinched together and he leaned forward in his chair, wanting to reach out to you, comfort you and pull you into his arms, but he refrained. "No, baby. You ain't a bad person," he told you softly.

And you weren't sure why, but you believed him.

The streets were quiet as you slowly made your way to the infirmary. You didn't start your shift until late in the morning and you didn't feel like joining Ellie at the dining hall for breakfast, so you stayed home, only getting out of bed when you heard Joel leave for patrol. He had already warned you the night before that he would be back later than usual due to the storm. Trails would likely be difficult to pass and nobody could predict if there would be damage at any of the outposts, but it was highly likely.

You didn't move out like you had threatened to. You didn't even know what you were thinking when you said that. Where would you have gone? The garage with Ellie? You didn't know anybody else. Not really. But even if you had, you saw the look in Joel's face when you said those words and even though you were so fucking angry with him, you still felt terrible for causing him pain.

On one hand, it seemed like he was just looking out for you, but on the other, his actions often came off as selfish. You had every right to know your past and what you did, and you were growing sick of Joel treating you like a child. Like you were too fragile to understand.

But at least you got it out of him. Even though you had to take extreme measures, you finally got him to tell you something truthful, and that was a positive step forward.

Lost in your thoughts, you weren't even paying attention when a man's voice called your name from across the street. You looked up after the third try and were surprised to find Ben waving to you from the tailor. You raised your hand in greeting and made your way over to the building.

"Hey," you said a little sheepishly, "about the other day, I'm sorry for how I acted-"

He shook his head and gave you a reassuring smile. "No need to apologize. All of this has to be so confusing for you. We understand."

You dropped your gaze to the frozen ground and dug your boot into the snow. "Thank you, I appreciate that. It's very frustrating, actually. I'm just trying to learn about myself and what's happened in the past ten years and I guess I took out my anger on you guys."

He waved you off and leaned against the doorframe of the tailor. "Don't worry about it. We were just happy to see you again."

And even though Ben was absolving you of your guilt, you somehow felt even worse. He was being so nice and you hardly felt like you deserved it. "Joel explained it to me, by the way. After we left your house he told me about us," you said, waving your finger back and forth between you.

"Ah," Ben said with a knowing smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I wondered as much. It was a very long time ago but Joel can be..." Ben trailed off and scratched his chin, "he can be a little protective, I suppose. He never really understood the nature our relationship."

You tilted your head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It was just casual. He always thought there was something more," Ben said, meeting your eye. "But I promise you, there wasn't. At the time, we were just lonely and scared and looking for comfort. Neither of us was looking for anything more than that."

You nodded thoughtfully. "He did say we were a couple," you said, and Ben chuckled softly.

"I wouldn't even call it that. Truly. There were no hurt feelings. We just never had a connection past... y'know," he said with a shrug. You felt yourself flush a bit at the words he left unspoken and looked away. "But I'm glad he told you."

"Yeah, me too. I know his heart is in the right place, I just wish he would have told me about us and all the shit we did before I came to see you. Probably would have made the visit a little more pleasant," you said with a laugh, but Ben's face fell.

"He told you about what we did?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious. You sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, he told me I've killed people. It's been really hard to wrap my head around, but I'm trying to come to terms with it. He explained the world we live in now is not like the one I remember."

Ben raised his eyebrows in surprise and unfolded his arms. "Wow. I'm kind of shocked he told you about us and the Fireflies. That must have been really hard for you both."

You frowned and searched his face. "Fireflies?"

His body stiffened and his face paled when he realized his mistake. "Yeah. He told you about the Fireflies, right?"

You shook your head. "What are the Fireflies?"

"Shit," he muttered, pushing himself off the wall abruptly and clearing his throat. "I should get back to work. Just please forget I said anything, okay?"

"Ben, wait," you tried, but he disappeared back inside the tailor, leaving you standing in front of the door while more questions piled up.

There seemed to be a bad flu being spread around town because the infirmary was busier than usual. You were grateful for the distraction, especially after your conversation with Ben. You had spent the better part of the afternoon rushing from exam room to exam room, cleaning up after each patient as quickly as you could so Nick could continue treating the revolving door of people coughing and sneezing in the waiting room. Nick had recommended you wear a bandana around your mouth and nose to hopefully keep you healthy, but you had a feeling it would just be a matter of time before you caught the same bug as everyone else. Still, you kept the bandana tied around your neck as you worked diligently. What you didn't expect, however, was the bit of anonymity the mask afforded you.

You were cleaning up exam room six when you heard a woman's familiar voice in the room across the hall. Nick had left the door cracked open after he ushered her inside, and she apparently had another woman in there waiting with her as you started to pick up on hushed pieces of their conversation.

You didn't intend to eavesdrop, but curiosity got the best of you when you tried to place her voice, and when you realized it was Angie, your hands froze and your body stilled, doing your best to not make any noise so you could listen.

"... going down there almost every night... matter of time... him."

"But what about... freak out."

You frowned, inching closer to the door as you tried to fill in the gaps in their conversation.

Then you heard Angie say your name clear as day and your eyebrows shot up. You pressed your back against the wall and held your breath.

"She doesn't even like him. That relationship is a ticking time bomb."

You silently gasped when you realized they were most certainly talking about you and Joel.

It wasn't even true. You liked Joel. You were attracted to Joel. You were even starting to trust Joel a little more, although you definitely had plans to ask him about the Fireflies. But you were still getting to know him and it was taking time. Was this girl talking about trying to steal Joel away from you? The idea made your stomach turn and anger flare deep in your chest.

You shocked yourself with your reaction. Steal Joel away? Since when did you begin to feel some sense of ownership over him? Were you jealous?

You heard Nick's voice leaving an exam room a few doors down and you quickly made yourself look busy. He sighed tiredly in the hallway as he flipped through some papers before pushing open the door to Angie's room. You were changing the bedding on the mattress when you heard Nick call your name and you quickly dropped the sheets to cross the hall.

When your eyes locked with Angie's, giving her a hardened stare, you swore you saw a flicker of fear before she forced a fake smile and coughed into her fist while her friend, one you recognized from the bathroom at the Tipsy Bison, nervously shifted her weight and looked away. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction when it became clear to the two girls that you had heard everything they said, and you were grateful you had your mask on so they couldn't see the corners of your mouth twitch.

"Would you mind grabbing a bag of cough drops and a jar of menthol from the supply cabinet?" Nick asked, completely oblivious to the shift in the air.

"Sure thing," you told him, turning on your heel to leave and allowing yourself to finally smile.

Joel might scare the rest of the town, but you sure as hell scared the shit out of Angie.

Your shift at the infirmary went longer than expected. By the time you arrived home, you were exhausted and the sun was almost setting. So far you weren't feeling sick, but from what you had overheard all day, the symptoms came on quick, so you had already decided to call it an early night and get some rest. When you swung open the front door and found Joel hunched over the kitchen table, your plans went flying out the window.

He looked like he was on death's door. You had never seen him look so run down and pale. He didn't even open his eyes to look at you, he just kept them shut while he rubbed his temples and tried to stifle a cough, his backpack abandoned at his feet.

"Joel?" you called, toeing off your boots and hurrying over to him. You crouched down on the floor and pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. "You're burning up."

He groaned and cracked open one eye. "Feel like shit. Dunno what happened."

"There's a bad virus spreading around, the infirmary was slammed today," you said, pushing yourself up onto your aching feet to get him a glass of water. "Drink this and I'll heat you up some soup," you told him before heading towards the stove.

"You don't gotta-"

"Drink," you said firmly, cutting him off. He winced before picking up the glass and forcing down the cool liquid. Once you got the gas going on the stove, you grabbed an empty bowl and shoved your boots back on. "I'll be right back," you told him. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, about to ask where you were going but you already disappeared through the front door, returning seconds later with the bowl filled with snow.

"Lean back," you instructed, placing the bowl on the table. He did as he was told and closed his eyes, the lights from the kitchen ceiling making his head ache but when you pressed a handful of packed snow against his forehead, he groaned with relief.

"Oh shit, that feels good," he whispered as you tried to ignore the twinge between your legs at his low tone. He released a shaky breath and you watched as the snow began to melt, little trails of water dripping from his hair and down his scruffy cheeks. When it was nearly melted, you took your hand away and dumped the remnants in the sink, grabbing a towel and drying your hands on the way back. You pinched his stubbly chin delicately in your fingers and tipped his head towards you while slowly and gently wiping away the water from his face. When you finished, your eyes found his already boring into you and you felt a tingle shoot down your spine.

"Better?"

His gaze softened as he continued to stare up at you, searching your face quietly, making your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. You swallowed nervously and forced yourself to look away, and it was then he finally realized you had asked him a question.

"Yes," he murmured, "thank you."

You dragged your eyes back to his and gave him a small smile. "More?"

He didn't trust himself to speak. He just slowly nodded and watched with heavy lidded eyes as you scooped up another handful of snow. With your free hand, you slid your fingers behind his neck and through his hair, cupping the back of his head in your small hand before pressing the snow gently against his forehead once again. And even though he wanted to keep looking at you, he couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut at the cooling sensation, earning you another deep groan from his throat and causing your breath to stutter.

He heard it and opened his eyes.

You stared at each other, lips parted as the air began to thicken with tension. His eyes flickered over your face, noticing the way your pupils appeared bigger as you gazed down at him. He took a risk and slowly brought his hand up to rest on your side, watching you carefully for any sign that he should stop. He pressed his fingertips lightly into your hip, the fabric of your shirt bunching up slightly from the pressure.

You dropped your eyes to his hand and blinked rapidly, then opened your mouth to speak when you heard sizzling at the stove. You whipped your head around just as his soup began to boil over the pot.

"Shit!" you yelped, dropping the half melted snow onto the towel and racing over to the range. You twisted the knob off and put the pot on one of the unused burners and the liquid immediately simmered back down. "Sorry," you said, refusing to look at him as you started to gather a bowl and spoon, embarrassment burning your cheeks.

"Don't be," he replied, still leaning back in his chair in the same position you left him. He watched you fumble nervously in the kitchen and he had to suppress a smile.

Maybe he still had a chance, after all.

Joel's temperature was a little high but nothing too concerning, so you pushed the fluids and he ate all of his soup and it helped put your mind at ease. You really didn't want to have to ask for ibuprofen unless it was absolutely necessary, especially considering how the same virus was hitting almost every house at the same time. You made sure to check on Ellie from her doorway, not wanting to risk her catching anything since she appeared to be fine, before helping Joel up to bed.

Once you followed him into the room and he turned on the light next to his bed, you realized you hadn't actually ever entered his bedroom before. Sure, you've walked past it when the door was open and glanced inside, but you never really looked. As he gathered some fresh pajamas and began to unbutton his flannel, you turned your back to him to give him some privacy and examined his bookshelf. Your eyes drifted over the titles on the spines of a handful of books, most of which you hadn't heard of before noticing a framed photograph sharing a shelf with his books. It was faded and a little torn, but you could still make out their faces. It was Joel - a far younger version of Joel - with his arm around a beautiful little girl with dark hair and eyes and a stunning smile. You felt your throat tighten when you realized who it was, and if you had any doubt, Joel's voice piped up behind you.

"That's Sarah."

You heard him shuffling his bedding around so you figured he was dressed.

"She's beautiful, Joel," you said, walking over to his side of the bed and popping the thermometer under his tongue one more time. "It's wonderful that you were able to find a picture of her. I wish I had some pictures of my family," you said sadly, watching the hands of the clock on top of his bookshelf tick, counting down the seconds until you could check the thermometer. "I would have loved for you to at least see them. I think you would have gotten along with my brother really well. Maybe too well," you added with a soft laugh, not realizing he was silently hanging on your every word as you continued to stare at the clock. "He was always looking out for me. Always protecting me, trying to shield me and it drove me nuts when I was younger, but as time went on, I understood it a bit more."

You pulled the thermometer out and checked the number. "Still the same," you told him, resting it on his nightstand.

"How much time?" he asked, and you gave him a confused look. "How much time did it take 'til you started to understand?" he clarified, and you realized what he was really asking.

"I don't know," you replied honestly, sitting on the edge of his bed with a sigh. "But I'm starting to... understand," you said, giving him a sideways glance. You really wanted to ask him about the Fireflies but seeing how sick he was, you decided to bring it up another time. His hand slipped out from underneath the covers and gently squeezed your knee.

"That's good," he said softly before furrowing his brow and turning his head to cough loudly into his pillow. You winced at how bad it sounded and rubbed his upper back. When the coughing fit passed, you handed him his water and he took a grateful sip.

"Do you need anything else before I go to bed?"

"Could you stay here?" he found himself asking before he could even think. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you struggled to answer. "Just 'til I fall asleep?"

"Oh," you replied, looking awkwardly around his rather sparse room. "Sure, let me just go wash up," you said, standing up from his bed. You were dead on your feet from your shift at work and you knew the next day wouldn't be any better, but you felt bad saying no, so you changed your clothes and grabbed one of the books Joel had found for you before dragging the chair from the corner of his room to the side of his bed.

"You can stretch out over there," he told you, pointing weakly to the other side of the bed before coughing into his closed fist. "I won't bite."

You smiled as you settled into the chair. "I'm alright, thanks," you said, opening your book and leaning back, trying to get comfortable. After a few minutes of reading, you looked up just to find him still watching you. You laughed and said "you need to get some rest if you want to kick this thing," then he grinned and finally closed his eyes.

You may not have been in bed with him, but you were close enough to help him relax and for the first time in months, he fell fast asleep within minutes.

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[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part six

firefighter!joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: angst, hospitals, fluff, feelings!!! lots and lots of feelings!!!, smut (f!oral receiving, mentions of m!oral and handjobs, fingering, unprotected piv, consented filming), anxiety and overthinking, no use of y/n.

word count: 10.1k

synopsis: Joel’s accident has you confessing your feelings, and while you take care of him, you worry you’re becoming too attached too quick.

a/n: sorry the mood board sucks i literally couldn’t find anything that fit the vibes. hope u enjoy tho. xoxo

You don’t even know how you and Maria got to the hospital so fast. 

Everything was a complete blur; your mind was in a haze and your heart was beating so fast you thought it would nearly jump out of your chest. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. He has to be okay. 

Your vision became blurry as tears welled your eyes, and in your mind all you can think about Joel and hoping to god you guys didn’t run any red lights, speeding against time and pouring rain as you drove here.

He has to be okay. 

You felt like you were going to throw up. You didn’t know how bad it was, and you weren’t trying to be dramatic, but how could you not be worried? 

The man you love is hurt and you couldn’t do anything about it. Your mind immediately went to Sarah, wondering if she was already here—then it shifted back to all of the scenarios running in your mind a million miles a minute. 

A sob escapes your throat as Maria parks the car, giving you a tight hug before getting out of the car with you. 

“It’ll all be okay. It’s Joel we're talking about here, hm? He’s a resilient man,” she tries her best to console you, but all you can do is meekly nod before you walk into St. David’s. 

You’re shaking like a leaf as you approach the front desk. Maria clears her throat and the receptionist looks between you two, furrowing her brows. 

“You’re not hurt, are you honey?” She asks you, and you shake your head. Not physically, anyway. 

“No,” Maria tells her, “We’re here to see someone who got checked in probably not too long ago,” she says, and the receptionist nods in understanding. She twists her bright pink lips to the side, typing something into her computer. 

“Who’s the patient you’re visiting today?” She pushes her glasses up her nose, looking at Maria intently. 

“First name Joel, last name Miller.” 

The receptionist types something into her computer once again, and she nods. 

“Looks like he’s popular today. He has a lot of visitors,” she says, and you know it’s to lighten the mood, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh. You give her a small smile before she prints out two visitor stickers and hands them to you both. 

“Here you are ladies. Fourth floor, and on the left is the waiting room.” 

“Thank you ma’am,” Maria says, pulling your arm gently as you both put the stickers on and head to the elevators. 

A few stray tears roll down your cheeks on the quiet ride up to the fourth floor. Maria won’t let go of you; a silent plea to say I’m here for you without saying a single word. 

The elevator doors open and you turn to the left, seeing nearly everyone in the waiting room sporting an Austin Fire Department uniform. Your eyes search the room for Tommy and Sarah, and when you spot them, you make a beeline for them both. 

You give Sarah a tight hug, rubbing her back in consolement. You’re the adult here, so you have to be strong and put on a brave face for her until you find out Joel’s prognosis. 

Tommy hugs you next, and you can hear the stuttering in his breath as he tries to take a beat to calm down. He wraps Maria in his arms once he lets go of you, and you go back to hugging Sarah, to which she accepts in a heartbeat. 

She’s hugging you tight and won’t let go, and you look around the room and give a weak smile to all of Joel and Tommy’s coworkers as they wave at you with sad smiles. 

“What happened, Tommy?” You whisper, trying to brace yourself for the worst. 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“We were on a call and Joel needed to get to the third floor of a building, so he was climbing the ladder of the truck. I guess he slipped or lost his footing because he fell off the damn ladder, and his harness didn’t hold his body weight up right and it fucking snapped. He fell three stories to the ground,” Tommy said, tears coming out of his eyes. 

You could barely even process his words. Your blood was pulsing in your ears and your body went still. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to cry and panic, but you were in a room full of his colleagues and his daughter’s arms were wrapped around you tightly. 

You look at him with glossy eyes, letting out a shaky breath. “Have the doctors said anything yet?” 

“They’re doing scans and tests on him right now,” Tommy says. 

“Was he at least wearing his helmet?” You can’t help but gnaw on your lip, body starting to tremble again in disbelief and fear. 

“He was, but he took a really hard fall. He kept coming in and out of consciousness on the way here,” he says, and you shut your eyes to steady yourself. Maria gave you a look of sympathy before coaxing the four of you to sit down. 

It became a waiting game at that point. Everyone was talking quietly amongst themselves, and Sarah leaned in to you and rested her head on your shoulder. 

“How are you holding up?” You ask her, voice soft and concerned. 

“He’s been hurt before, but not like this. I’m really scared,” she confesses, and you sigh and wrap your arm around her shoulder. 

“Me too, sweetheart, but your dad is a strong man. He’ll get through whatever the outcome is,” you try to reassure her, but even you heard the worry in your own voice. 

After what seemed like hours, a doctor comes out, looking down at her clipboard. 

“For Joel Miller?” She says, and everyone looks up. She blinks in surprise that nearly the whole waiting room’s eyes are on her. 

“Who’s his next of kin?” She asks, and Tommy stands up. He looks down at you and Sarah, nodding his head toward the doctor. He grabs Maria’s hand and you all walk up to her, waiting for her to tell you what’s going on with him. 

“How is he?” Tommy asks, worry written all over his face. His brows were furrowed, eyes glossy, and his body language was stiff—he was on edge. 

“We need to keep him here for a few days to keep a watchful eye on him and observe, just to make sure he’ll be okay. He hit his head really hard. He’s concussed and he has a couple of broken ribs with some bad bruising in various locations, but I’d consider him a seriously lucky fella. This could’ve ended a lot worse for him, but his heavy gear and helmet took a big amount of shock absorption from the fall,” she explains, and it feels like you can breathe a little better. 

Of course, his injuries are still nothing of the sort that you wanted to hear, but knowing they aren’t worse than what they are fills you with a tiny bit of relief. 

“When can we see him?” Sarah asks, and the doctor gives her a soft smile. 

“Now, actually. He’s asleep and heavily medicated, so he probably won’t be up for awhile. Four visitors are allowed at a time,” the doctor says, and you all nod. 

“You girls go ‘head. ‘M gonna inform the guys on what she just told us,” Tommy says, and you three nod before you follow the doctor past the doors labeled restricted. She takes you down a long hallway and into a room on the right hand side. 

Your eyes land on Joel, wearing a hospital gown with an IV in his arm. He looks peaceful while he sleeps, breathing steadily on his own. You notice the bruising starting to form on his arms and you can’t help but get teary-eyed again at the sight of him like this. 

You obviously know his job comes with many, many dangers—you just never in a million years thought he’d get hurt like this. You three pull up chairs to his bedside, making sure to stay out of the hospital staff’s way in case they need to get in around Joel or his bed. 

“This man really is resilient,” Maria says, smiling at Sarah. She returns a weak one back with a small nod. 

“He is. I know he’s a hero and he’s great at what he does, but sometimes I wish he and Uncle Tommy had a profession less… dangerous,” she confesses. 

You can’t even begin to imagine the anxiety she’s faced practically her whole life, knowing her dad is doing a job that’s strenuous and physically demanding, not to mention the danger he has to face every time he’s out in the field. 

“Have you ever talked to him about it?” You ask softly, genuinely curious and not-too-shocked about her confession. It seems like this thing would be normal for kids to think about when it comes to their loved ones performing a dangerous job such as this one. 

She shakes her head. “No,” she says with a sigh, “He loves this job and it makes him happy. The last thing I want for him is to leave what makes him happy because of me.” 

Sarah has to be the most level-headed, mature fourteen-year-old, you think. You’ve never met anyone as wise as her at her age—hell, nobody was this wise when you were around her age—and yet, her bravery and wits was tell-all about how she was raised. Joel really did a great job. 

“I get your point,” you say eventually, meticulously calculating your next choice of words. “Maybe you should have that conversation with him, though—in your own time. His job makes him happy and it’s important, of course, but you make him happier and you will always come before his job.”

She offers you a small smile as she leans her head on your shoulder. You wrap your arm around her shoulders once more, giving her a loving squeeze of reassurance. 

“You know, you’re an important part of his life now, too,” she starts. “He talks about you a lot. Admires you a ton. He’s crazy about you,” she giggles, green eyes looking up at you. 

You can’t help but softly laugh. 

“I’m crazy about him, too,” you confess, and Sarah’s smile widens. 

“I’m really glad my dad finally found someone that makes him genuinely happy. You’re the perfect fit for our small lil family, so uh, thanks for being here. For him. For me. For all of us.”  

Her words make your chest tighten and bloom with warmth. You can’t help it this time—tears spring to your eyes and you kiss her hair, smiling at her with pure endearment. 

“There’s no place I’d rather be. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives.” 

“Well damn, it’s about to be a sob fest in here,” Maria says, eyes welling with tears too. 

All three of you laugh, wiping away the few tears that managed to escape. The door opens a few seconds later, and Tommy walks in. He looks exhausted, and he smiles sadly when his eyes land on his brother who was still in a deep sleep. 

He sits in the empty chair next to Maria, watching as Joel’s chest rises and falls at a steady pace. 

“Thank god he’s responsible and wore his gear correctly,” Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. “Doctor said he might be a little loopy when he wakes up from the medication.” 

“He’s always been the responsible one, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah chastised him, causing everyone to laugh. 

“Yeah yeah. I owe your old man big time, kid. Now I got this lovely lady here to keep me in check,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows as he leans in to kiss Maria’s temple.  

“Damn right, Miller. Don’t you forget it,” she pats his knee twice, an unmistakable happy grin adorning her lips. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he says, and she nudges his side before everyone’s attention shifts to Joel who groans softly. He doesn’t wake up, but his brows furrow for a few seconds before the tension leaves his face. 

“Well, ‘m goin’ down to the cafeteria before it closes for the night. Anyone care to join me?” Tommy asks, gaze flitting from Maria to Sarah to you. 

“Actually yeah, I haven’t eaten dinner tonight,” Sarah says, twisting her lips to the side. “I’ll go with you.” 

“I’ll join you two,” Maria says as they all get up from their chairs, and you furrow your brows at her before she gives you a soft smile. “Just so you can get a little alone time with him,” she whispers, and you mouth thank you. 

The door snaps shut behind them as they leave the room, and your focus hones in on Joel. You grab his hand and lace your fingers with his. You bring his hand up to brush your lips on his knuckles, leaving soft kisses there. His hand is warm. He is warm. He’s always warm; the most comfortable and loving presence you’ve ever been around. 

You admire how strong this man is. How loving, how loyal, how he’s the type to give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it most. He’s selfless in every way possible. He’s the man of your dreams, and you’re so lucky to have found him when you did. 

For once in your life, being confident and not pushing someone you care about away in self-sabotage has worked out endlessly in your favor. 

“I love you, Joel,” the words slip past your lips easily, giving his knuckles another sweet kiss, “I love you so, so much. I’m so beyond lucky to be with you. I ain’t going anywhere, cowboy, so I hope you don’t get tired of me.” 

Joel’s hand tightens around yours and you gasp, eyes darting to his face. He purses his lips before his hand goes limp again and you sigh, leaning over to kiss his forehead before you let go of his hand. 

You decide to call your family and let them know what happened, just to keep them in the loop. You start with your mom and dad, standing in the corner of the hospital room as you look out at the plethora of lights of Austin that illuminate the night. 

“Hey honey! We were just thinkin’ of you,” your mom chirps, and you laugh softly before you sigh and answer her in a hushed tone. 

“Hey mama, I’ve got some bad news,” you start, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Oh no. What is it babygirl?” Her voice is laced with worry and overprotectiveness. 

“Joel got injured pretty badly at work. He’s in the hospital right now, but he’s okay.” 

Her gasp was unmistakable on the other line. “What? How did he get injured?” 

“He slipped off of the truck ladder due to the rain, and his harness snapped,” you say, looking back at Joel.

“My god, how badly is he injured?” She’s frantic, and you hear some shuffling in the background. 

“He’s got a pretty bad concussion, a couple of broken ribs and some bruising. Doctors said he’s very lucky considering the circumstances.” 

“Oh, sweetheart. Is there anything we can do?” 

“Do you mind texting the family group chat? I feel bad, I don’t want to bug Emi or Josh on their honeymoon but I wanna keep them in the loop.” 

“Of course I can. And you know Emi, she’d want to know regardless,” your mom says, and you nod with a sigh. 

“Thank you mom. I’ll keep you guys updated, okay?”

”Alright baby girl. Let us know. Love you lots,” she says, and you smile. 

“Love you too, mama. Bye,” you hang up your phone and shove it in your back pocket, facing Joel again. He inhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, and you rush to his side and grab his hand. 

“Joel?” You try to level out the anxiousness in your voice, biting your lip and furrowing your brows as he squeezes your hand. 

He groans softly, eyes fighting to open. He eventually blinks them open the tiniest bit, furrowing his brow as he takes in his surroundings. 

“What the hell happened?” He asks, voice cracking as he shuts his eyes again and swallows harshly. 

“You were in an accident at work, my love. You took a pretty big fall,” you say, bringing his knuckles up to your mouth so you can softly kiss them. 

“Shit,” he murmurs, eyes cracking open again. 

“Everyone’s waiting for you in the waiting room. Sarah, Maria, and Tommy went to get food in the cafeteria. ‘M gonna go get a nurse to check up on you, okay?” You try to keep your voice soft and light in hopes of keeping him at ease. 

He nods slightly, wincing when he tries to take a deep breath. You kiss his knuckles one more time before letting go of his hand, walking over to the nurses station not too far from his room. 

“Excuse me?” You say, getting the attention of a nurse. He looks up at you with a smile, and you easily return one. 

“The patient in room 411 just woke up.” 

The nurse—whose name tag says Jeremy— nods at you and walks with you back to Joel’s room, and Joel squints his eyes open again. Jeremy grabs the clipboard off of the end of Joel’s bed, beaming down at him with a smile. You text Tommy that Joel’s awake and they should head back to the room soon in the meantime. 

“Hey Mr. Miller, how are you feelin’?” Jeremy checks a couple of his vitals on the monitors, jotting something down on his paperwork. 

“Like I got hit by a bus,” Joel says, wincing again as he tries to sit up more. 

“It might feel like that for a couple of weeks, unfortunately. You had a pretty bad accident at work. You have a concussion and a couple of broken ribs,” Jeremy explains to Joel, and Joel’s face deflates. 

“Shit,” he says, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. 

“We’re goin’ to keep you a couple ‘a days just to make sure your concussion isn’t too serious,” Jeremy says to Joel, clipping the clipboard back on the end of the bed. 

The look on Joel’s face tells you he wants to argue, but it’s apparent the exhaustion he’s feeling has drained the fight in him. You can hear it in your head: ‘Couple ‘a days? I’ll be good t’go home by tomorrow.’

Joel just nods and murmurs a thank you to Jeremy as he leaves the room. His eyes find yours, and you can easily clock his frustration. 

“I know you don’t wanna stay here baby, but it’s for your health,” you reason, sitting down next to him again. He reaches out for your hand and grabs it, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. 

“Y’know, I heard you talkin’ to your mom,” he says, eyes softening as you scoot closer to his bed. Your knees were touching the mattress now, and you were so close to him that you could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. 

“Oh, yeah,” you start, huffing a laugh. “She’s worried about you, but I told her you were fine. My family will probably want to come visit you sometime after they release you.” 

He smiles at that. “I’d love that. And, if I’m bein’ honest here…” 

He looks at you with a certainty you’ve never seen before. Then it clicks—how much did he hear before? Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you wait for his next words, the anticipation nearly sending you spiraling. 

“I heard what you said before your mom called you too, and sweetheart, I love you too. Kinda a weird place to say it for the first time to your face,” he chuckles, inhaling sharply at the pain. He still has a grin on his face that you’ll never get tired of seeing, and you can’t help but smile brightly at him. 

“Joel, I—wait, did you say to my face?” You ask, raising a brow at him.

“Yeah uh, I kinda said it right after our first night together at the hotel. The night of your sister’s weddin’. I think you’d already fallen asleep, though.”  

“No fucking way,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. He looks confused and frowns before you lean forward and press your lips gently to his, feeling the absolute emotion and passion behind such a simple, much needed kiss. 

“I wanted to tell you then, too—that amazing morning we spent together before we went down to breakfast with my family. I’d been thinking about it all morning, and this whole week, actually. I wanted to tell you when I got to see you next.” 

“‘M glad you feel the same way, darlin’. ‘M absolutely crazy about you,” he says, and you can’t help but gush at his confession. 

“I love you, Joel,” you say with finality, and he grins widely. 

“I love you too, baby,” he squeezes your hand and tugs you toward him for one final, searing kiss before the room door opens. You and him separate and turn to see Sarah, Tommy and Maria all entering the room. 

“Dad!” Sarah exclaims, giving him a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hey there pumpkin,” he says, wrapping his arms around her the best he can. 

“Had us all scared there for a minute, brother,” Tommy chimes in, nudging his bed with his boot. 

“I’ll be fine,” Joel grumbles, sighing. 

“Glad you’re okay, Joel,” Maria says, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thank you. And thank y’all for bein’ here,” Joel says. 

“There’s no place else we’d be than right by your side, Joel,” you smile at him endearingly, and the other three nod their head in agreement. 

“I appreciate y’all,” Joel’s gaze shifts to Tommy, “Can’t wait for Cap to put my ass through the wringer for this one.”

It elicits a laugh from Tommy, and he shakes his head before pointing his thumb at the door. 

“Nah. Poor bastard was scared as hell. Whole crew is waitin’ out there for ya,” 

“Shit, really?”

Tommy nods. “Mhm, but the doctor said only four people at a time can be in here to visit ya.” 

“We should give the others a chance to see him,” you suggest, looking at the three. 

“Took the words right out my mouth, lil lady,” Tommy chuckles, and you flash him a grin. 

You look at Joel and grab his hand, giving it one more gentle squeeze. He gives you a lopsided smile and you lean down one last time to kiss his forehead, and he murmurs those three words that make your heart unabashedly skip a beat. 

“I love you sweetheart.” 

“I love you too, cowboy,” you wink at him and he huffs a laugh, slowly letting go of your hand. He gives Sarah one last hug and a kiss on the cheek before you all head back out to the waiting room. The rest of the team looks at you four as you all walk out, and three of them get sent back to see him. 

Their captain stops to talk to Tommy for a bit before he heads back as well while you, Sarah and Maria take a seat again.

“So you finally said it, huh?” Maria nudges you, wiggling her brows. Your face heats and you look down at the frayed part of your jeans, trying to hide a shy smile. 

“Yeah,” you confess. 

“I’m so happy for you. You deserve this so much,” she says, and you smile and lean into her side hug. 

“Thank you for encouraging me to stop being afraid of what I really feel. It’s about time I just stop cowering away and just let myself…feel,” you say. 

“That’s what friends are for. You ever need a pep talk, I’m your girl.” 

You both laugh at that, settling into a comfortable silence before Sarah taps you on the arm. 

You look her way and offer her a smile, which she mirrors right back to you. 

“Would you, uh, mind staying the weekend at our house?” She asks, and there’s a shyness to her voice that you instantly clock. You offer her a reassuring smile, silently vowing to her that you’d be there for her no matter what.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d love to.” 

-

You kept your word and stayed at the Miller’s house for the weekend. Joel was set to be discharged Sunday morning which thankfully came faster than expected. By the time you and Sarah got situated and wrangled him home, he was ushered to the couch to relax his body. 

You were sitting next to him while a Cowboys game was playing on the TV, silently watching the end of the first quarter. Sarah was finishing some homework upstairs and Tommy and Maria were on their way for a Sunday night family dinner. 

Tommy insisted on grilling some steaks tonight while you and Maria made some sides. 

“Can I lay my head on your lap, baby?” Joel’s voice is soft, and he looks at you with those big, brown pleading eyes that make you melt in an instant. 

You almost want to giggle at how cute he looks. 

“Sure honey,” you scoot your body over before he slowly lays himself down, situating his head on your lap. He closes his eyes for a second before inhaling as much as he can without hurting himself, opening his eyes and fixating his gaze on you. You stare at each other like that for a moment before you bend down and give him a chaste kiss.

You try to separate yourself from him, but he puts his hand on the back of your head gently to keep you there. You can’t help but smile against his lips and kiss him again, a little bit longer this time, before you move your head up slightly. 

“Don’t exert yourself too much now, Mr. Miller,” you tease, and he scoffs against your lips. 

“If I wanna kiss my lady, ‘m gonna kiss her until my face turns blue,” he says, and you laugh at his fake stern tone. “‘Sides, it’s the only action I’m gonna be gettin’ for awhile anyway.” 

Your jaw drops as you stare down at him. “Joel Miller!” You can’t help but laugh, “You’re an insatiable man, y’know that?” You take the liberty of running your fingers through his soft locks, and he closes his eyes for a brief second in comfort. 

“What? ‘S true,” he pouts, and you roll your eyes. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, cowboy. Maybe you’ll get a little something from me soon enough.” 

“You gonna give me some sugar, sugar?” He grins proudly at his lame joke and you huff a laugh. 

“Only if you behave. Gotta wait a little while longer, though. Doctor’s orders.” 

“You’re really gonna make me wait?” 

“Mhm. Learn some patience and keep it in your pants,” you giggle, and the irony of it all is that Joel is literally the most patient man you know. His laid back personality is every indication of patience, but it’s funny to see him squirm a little at the prospect of you taking care of him without having to have him exert himself in any way. 

“It’s hard when I got a beautiful, lovin’ lady such as yourself.” 

“Joel Miller, are you flirting with me?” You try to hold back your laugh, and he squints his eyes at you. 

“And what if I was? Is it workin’?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and you can’t help but fully laugh this time. Fuck, you really love this man. 

“Maybe. Means I’m not going anywhere, cowboy. You’re stuck with me,” you say, and he tugs you down for another sweet kiss. 

“That’s fine by me. Hey, uh, speakin’ of not goin’ anywhere—” he pauses, looking like he’s trying to find the right words to say. “Would you mind stayin’ here while I heal up? Sarah n’ I would both love it if you’d stay here with us for the time bein’ if ‘s not an imposition, of course.” 

You answer him almost immediately, trying not to sound too eager. “I don’t mind at all,” you say, “I know my boss wanted us to move remotely anyways, so it works out.” Your boss telling your whole department they were going to move strictly to remote work truly couldn’t have come at a better time, you think. 

“I can also take Sarah to school and soccer practice for the time being too,” you offer, and a swirl of excitement settles deep into your bones at the thought of the domesticity of it all. You try not to think about it, but there’s something about spending consecutive days with the person you love that drives your heart into a frenzy. 

“You’d do that?” His voice is soft, hopeful. You nod, brushing your fingers through his curls once more. 

“You’re too good to me, woman,” he groans, bringing you down for one last kiss. You can’t help but smile against his lips, whispering right back to him. 

“And you’re too good to me.” 

-

It didn’t take long for all of you to fall into a routine. Mondays are hectic but manageable as you usher Sarah out of the door just in time to drive her to school. Tuesdays are for school and soccer practice, making a quick and easy dinner to appease everyone. Wednesdays are for school and tutoring, because Sarah is wickedly smart, but geometry seemed to take a toll on her. Thursdays are the same as Tuesdays, and Fridays are the days you all decide if it’ll be takeout or pizza for dinner. 

Tommy and Maria will occasionally pop in and help with dinner once in a while, which is always a nice surprise. Your family visited too, checking in on Joel to make sure he’s okay. Your mom even made a pot of ‘get well soon soup’, as she likes to call it. 

It’s now week three at the Miller household for you and you feel like you practically live here at this point. Well, in a way, you sorta do. 

It’s just until Joel heals fully, though. Then it’s back to the regular routine—something you almost forgot about; what it was like before you brought some of your stuff over to Joel and Sarah’s. 

You don’t know how it’ll feel to go back to a bed with an empty side on it, void of Joel and his comforting scent and warmth. You don’t know how it’ll feel to be back to stark quietness, no morning rushes or scrambling of eggs for three or showing off your pancake flipping skills that elicits excited laughs and rounds of applause. 

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn’t want to go back to your apartment. You haven’t constantly been in a house so full of laughter and love since you left your parents to live on your own over a decade ago. 

It’s funny, you think. You were so okay with being alone, so okay with pushing people away to ‘protect your own peace’ as you’d called it, so okay in your own little bubble—when in reality, you were sabotaging every potential relationship that had come your way. 

After Christian, those feelings of doubt and isolation crept in and slowly sank its claws in you, and for a while, you were so content with just being by yourself—so much so that you’d already accepted the fact that you’d probably be alone forever. 

And then Joel came along. This man has single handedly turned your whole world around, and you can’t get enough of him. He’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more. You don’t know what possessed you to make the first move a couple of months back at Rosemary’s, but you’re so fucking glad you did. 

You probably wouldn’t be here in this warm house with the most loving man right now if you didn’t. 

It’s another Tuesday at the Miller household, and Joel squeezes your shoulders to break you from your wandering mind. 

You look up at him from your seat and give him a tired smile, looking back down at the steaming cup of coffee he placed in front of you. 

“Penny for your thoughts, pretty lady?” He asks, kissing your cheek before sitting down next to you. 

You know you were too chicken to tell him your real thoughts, so you made something up. 

“Your birthday’s this weekend,” you state matter-of-factly. Okay, truthfully, it’s been on your mind for days, so it isn’t  something totally made up. It seemed to work though as Joel groans and tips his head back. 

“Don’t remind me,” he shakes his head with a chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Oh c’mon, let me plan a little something for you,” you pout, as if you didn’t already have a plan in mind that his family, your family and his friends knew about. 

“My sweet girl, you don’t have to do that. Not exactly thrilled at celebratin’ turnin’ a year older.” 

“But I want to, Mr. Miller,” you tease, and he groans. “Besides, you deserve to be celebrated.” 

“You know what that does to me when you call me that,” he shifts in his seat and you have to stifle a laugh at how fast this man gets turned on by you. He doesn’t comment on the second half of your statement, which you decidedly let go of. 

The feeling of power and seduction sinks her gnarly little teeth into your very being, and you can’t help but feel proud that you’re the one who makes him feel this way. Maybe slight possession wiggles her way in between power and seduction, nestling herself comfortably between the two. 

“Alright alright, I’ll stop teasing. For now,” you say, quirking a brow as you point a finger at him. He leans forward and nips his teeth gently at the tip of your finger, 

kissing it right after. He’s sporting a boyish grin when you look at him, and you roll your eyes with a smile before the chair scrapes against the floor as you get up, looking at your watch-clad wrist. 

“Time to clock in.” 

“Don’t be too long, darlin.’ I’ll miss that pretty face an awful lot.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible flirt?” You tease him, knowing damn well he isn’t. 

“What I lack in flirting I make up for in other areas,” he smirks, giving your ass a slap as you walk past him. You fake-glare at him and he tosses his head back as a deep laugh rumbles from his chest, and you admire him so. 

Fuck, you think. It’s going to be really hard going back to things as they were before. 

-

A few days later, and you‘re basking in the way the golden rays of the autumn sun hit your skin through the blinds in Joel’s room. You aren’t fully awake yet, but you can feel Joel’s strong chest pressed securely against your back. 

His grip on you is tight—protective, in a sense. It doesn’t waver when he begins to press soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, moving the strap of your nightie down as his kisses trail further up your neck. 

He brings his mouth up to your ear, nibbling on your lobe a tiny bit before moving his hands up your torso to palm at your breasts. 

You hum in response, your brain fuzzy and still trying to catch up to what was going on in reality. He tweaked your hardened buds through the satin you wore, and you instantly melted into the palms of his large, warm hands. 

“Mornin’ honey,” he whispers, dragging his lips down your jugular. You hum again, slowly blinking your eyes open. You squint as the sun directly hits your eyes for a second before you stretch, hands above your head. The movement caused the satin material to slide up your thighs, exposing your bare bottom half. 

Joel groans in response, and he flips you over onto your back before his sweet brown eyes meet yours—except his eyes were riddled with pure mischief. He wore a smirk to match, and you wrap your arms around the back of his neck before carding your fingers through his soft curls. 

“Morning handsome,” you say, voice soft and full of sleep. “Happy birthday.” 

“Thank you beautiful,” the tenderness in his voice matches yours, but he takes one glance down your body before you feel his hardening length against your thigh. You stifle a laugh and bite your lip, excitement swirling in your bones. 

You’ve touched Joel in the past few weeks—handjobs in the shower, morning head every so often—but you haven’t gone beyond that while he’s been healing up. You didn’t mind, obviously, but you can tell it’s been bothering him. 

The thing about Joel, well, he’s a giver. And when he can’t provide what he wants to give, it drives him fucking nuts. You could easily see the frustration brewing within his features when he wanted to give you more, but he couldn’t exert himself. Doctor’s orders. 

His lips trail down the satin material and he pulls it down where your breasts lay, exposing them to himself. He hums in delight and envelopes a pert bud into his mouth, closing his eyes as he licks and sucks. 

You sigh in contentment, hips involuntarily bucking up. Guess you’re a lot more needy than you thought. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you? It’s your day, after all,” You’re breathless, arching your back off the mattress. 

He releases your nipple with a small pop before his brown eyes meet yours once again. “It’s been drivin’ me crazy not bein’ able to please you the way I want—the way I know you deserve to be pleased.” 

“But Joel, that wasn’t your fault. You were healing up from a terrible accident,” you reason, and he grunts. 

“Still doesn’t mean I didn’t miss doin’ this,” he trails off, moving his lips down your torso as he slides his hands up your body to push the satin up. 

The cold air of the bedroom hits your core and you gasp, eyes falling shut as you loll your head back. 

He runs his hands back down to your thighs, digging his fingers into your hot skin before prying your legs open a bit further. He tosses your thighs over his shoulders and gives you the most devilish grin you think you’ve ever seen from him as you force yourself to look at him again. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he leans forward, kissing your aching, puffy core a few times before finally sticking his tongue out to lick a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. 

Only then does he close his eyes in what seems to be pure ecstasy, groaning to himself as he gets lost in his own words and indulges in you. 

You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet, knowing that Sarah was right down the hall and Tommy and Maria were in the guest bedroom. They did not need to hear this. 

Joel doesn’t relent and his thick muscle works you incredulously. He’s giving your clit kitten licks before sucking it into his mouth, not caring to be quiet with his ministrations. You’re gasping for air behind your hand as you feel that familiar warmth blooming in your belly already. 

You realize you hadn’t even touched yourself in weeks, being too busy with work and taking Sarah to school and her extracurricular activities while simultaneously making sure Joel was okay and healing properly. Your want and desire was shoved all the way down, filed away and forgotten about until this very morning. 

You can’t help it—your other hand goes flying to his curls as you begin to rock your hips against his mouth. God, he’s so fucking good at this. He hums against you with a chuckle and prods his tongue into you, fucking you with it. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull and you have to bite down on your lip hard in order not to scream. Fuck, you wish you were back in that hotel room right now so you can be as loud as you want. 

He continues to lick up and down your slit at a torturous pace after, making sure to tease your clit with the tiniest little flick at the tip of his tongue. 

You’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm, and you whisper behind your hand don’t stop, don't stop, god, don’t stop before your thighs lock around his head and your body starts to twitch under his hold. 

You have to shove your face into a pillow as you moan loudly into it, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t fucking stop. In fact, he slides two fingers into you and curls them in a ‘come here’ motion, and your brain goes absolutely blank. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and you’re seeing stars, body shaking so hard you feel like you’re rocking the whole damn bed. Then there’s a strange sensation—you feel like it’s perhaps a stronger orgasm, but with the feeling of needing to pee. 

You toss the pillow off of your face to warn Joel to stop, but it’s too late. You’re fucking gushing around his mouth and fingers, clear liquid coating the bottom half of his face and the sheets beneath him. The squelching sound is so loud that you think this is what’ll get you both caught. 

You’re gasping for air as you toss your head back on the mattress, body now completely limp. Joel slowly slides his fingers out of you before licking one up himself, moving up the mattress to hover over you before he takes his other hand and opens your jaw before slipping his finger into your mouth. You obediently suck, and you can feel his cock twitch in his sweats at that. 

It’s a tangy-sweet taste, and you hum around his finger before peeling your eyes open as you try and even out your breathing. 

“Always taste like a dream, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue and you moan into his mouth, reaching down to rub his cock through the fabric. 

He all but growls into your mouth, rocking his hips into your hand. You gently force him to lay down after you separate your lips from his, smiling down at him before kissing his nose, then shuffle his sweats down his thighs. 

To your delight, he isn’t wearing boxers. His delicious length is rock-hard, pre-come leaking from the slit. You thumb it and bring it up to your mouth for a little taste before you start to shuffle your body down the bed. 

Joel catches your elbow though and gives you a pleading look. “I need to feel you, baby. Please,” his voice is a desperate whisper. How could you possibly say no to that? 

You move back up again and straddle his hips, grabbing his cock before pumping the silky flesh a couple of times. You swipe his head between your folds and you both moan, all furrowed brows and bitten lips. 

You finally sink down onto him, and Joel’s hands fly to your hips. He keeps you steady there for a second, and you can literally feel him pulsing inside of you. You have to bite your knuckle to keep from groaning his name. 

“God, fuck—goddammit, you feel so fucking good,” he croaks, and you lean down to kiss him. He responds hungrily, hands roaming your body furiously before they settle on your ass. He squeezes your pillowy flesh, kneading it before slowly moving you up on his cock. You sink back down onto him after he nearly slips out of you, and you hiss at the intoxicating sensation. 

“Fucking love your cock, Joel,” you whine, “I love you.” 

“I–I, oh, fuck me, I love you too.” 

His resolve totally crumbles as he gets lost in the feeling of your warmth wrapped so tightly around him, stretching beautifully and taking him so well. Like you were fucking made for him. And you are, you think. 

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to be a tease but you can barely even concentrate yourself. 

“Mhm. So fuckin’ lucky you’re all mine. ‘M the luckiest bastard alive,” he huffs, and you lean down to lick up his neck and suck a little on his pulse point. Not too hard, though, because god knows you two’d get teased to no end by both your families. It’s hard not to get too lost into it, though. You pull yourself back with the very little self restraint you have. 

“I think you got it twisted, cowboy. I’m the lucky one,” you moan into his ear, kissing his temple afterward. “Thank you for loving me the way you do.” 

He can’t help but groan at your words. You pick up the pace of your hips, planting your knees firmly on the mattress so you can start riding him for real. You set a relentless pace as you sit up straight, tossing your head back in pure ecstasy. 

Your head lolls forward again and you look down at Joel who’s looking at you with such desperation in his eyes. 

“Can I—fuck, I can’t believe I’m askin’ this,” he grabs your hips, slowing you down a beat. “Can I take a picture of you like this? On top ‘a me? Won’t get offended if you say no,” he’s cautious with his words, and you have to stifle a laugh. The amount of times you’ve thought about asking him to record you both fucking each other is actually ridiculous, even though this is only the third time.  

“I’ll do you one better. Why don’t you take a video,” you send him a wink, and his cock twitches once more. You raise the nightie over your head, tossing it beside you on the bed. He groans at the sight of your naked body above him. 

You bite your lip and look down at him, and he doesn’t waste another second before fumbling his phone off of the night stand, ignoring the plethora of texts he’s got, probably all wishing him a happy birthday. 

His hands are a bit shaky, but he finally gets situated and hits record. You continue to ride him, putting on a little show for the camera as you move your hips in a seductive way. You smile down at Joel and give him a wink, picking up your pace. 

You’re sure the camera frame is all skin slapping against skin and your breasts bouncing wildly as you ride him, and he can’t help the moans and whimpers that slip past his lips. He reaches up and gropes your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and forefinger once more. 

You feel more of your slick arousal pool out of you at the sensation, and you know you’ve got him drenched with you. 

“Fuck, Joel, you always feel so damn good,” you whine. 

“Yeah? Who’s pretty pussy is this?” He asks, reaching down to rub your swollen clit. You cry out, biting the back of your hand to try your best to stay as quiet as possible, which you’re sure you’re doing terribly at. 

“Yours, baby. All yours,” you confess, switching to a grinding motion. You both moan in unison as you circle your hips while giving yourself that extra friction. You feel the familiar bloom in the pit of your core, and you don’t know how much longer you’re going to last. 

He needs to come first. 

“Fuck, please don’t stop. I’m close,” Joel grits, and you do exactly as he says. “Where do you want me?” His voice sounds so small, so strained. 

Your head snaps up and you look him in the eyes as you shoot him a wicked grin. 

“In me.” 

And that’s that. He comes instantly, body stilling as he pumps you full. You moan as you grind against him a few more times before you’re coming, too. 

You’re both breathless and dazed as he stops recording, tossing his phone back onto the nightstand. You slip off of him and he instantly pulls you into him, covering you both with the comforter. He lifts his hips and tucks himself back into his sweats, nuzzling his face into your neck as he breathes you in. 

“Best way to start my birthday,” he says, and you grin and nudge him gently. 

“What the birthday boy wants, he gets,” you say, tipping his chin up for a chaste kiss. 

“What he wants is to stay in bed with you all day.” 

“I wish I could give you that too, handsome, but I’ve got a party to throw and you’re the guest of honor.” 

He quirks a brow. “Guest of honor in my own home?” 

You nod with a grin. “Mhm. So c’mon,” you tap his arm, “Up n’ at ‘em.” 

“Five more minutes,” he groans, burying his face into your chest. He leaves soft kisses there, and you bring your hands up to cradle the back of his head and scratch his scalp. 

“Fine. Five more minutes.” 

-

That five minutes turned into forty five, with Tommy knocking on Joel’s door to shout “Happy birthday you old fucker! Get up!” 

And now you’re all prepping for the party, telling Joel to sit and do nothing. He can’t have that, though, so he helps Tommy prep the grill for the burgers and chicken vegetable kabobs. 

Sarah decorates the backyard while you and Maria dance around each other in the kitchen to prep some side dishes. Joel also requested that you make your chocolate chip cookies he loves so much, so you were eyeing them in the oven while you chopped up some iceberg lettuce for salad. 

The doorbell rings, and you halt your chopping. You glance at the door before setting the knife down and wiping your hands before making your way over to open it up. 

Your whole family stands there, and you immediately smile and hug them one-by-one before ushering them into the house. 

“Maria, this is my mom Alexandria, my dad Michael, sister Emily, my brother-in-law Josh, and my brothers Andrew and Cole,” you point to everyone as you go down the line. “Everyone, this is my good friend Maria,” Maria beams a bright smile at them. 

“Nice to meet y’all, I’ve heard lots of wonderful things,” she says, and Cole snorts. 

“Shadow was just probably tryin’ to be nice,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. 

“Dude, shut up,” you say, and Maria laughs. 

“Oh, he’s funny. Tommy’ll love him,” she says. 

“They already have a ‘bromance’ going with Joel,” you shudder at the words, “I’m sure they’ll get Tommy, too.” 

“Not our fault we’re all funny and good looking,” Andy ran a hand on the side of his head in a slick-back motion. 

“God, you two are idiots,” Emily chimes in, and your mom and dad laugh at the childish banter. 

“Okay, okay, enough all of you,” your mom steps in, putting the tin foil pan on the counter. 

“Go say hi to your boyfriend. He’s in the backyard,” you tease Andy and Cole, and Andy holds up a twenty-four pack of Modelo. 

“Glady,” he’s got that smug smile on his face, and you huff a laugh. “C’mon Josh,” Andy nods his head out to the backyard where Joel and Tommy stand. 

“Don’t corrupt my husband please!” Emily calls out as they step through the sliding glass door, giving Joel a wave as him and Tommy turn their heads. 

“No promises!” Cole calls back, and they all follow them out to the backyard like a pack of wolves. Your attention is torn away as the oven beeps. You pull the cookies out, resting the tray on the counter before looking back outside. 

You sigh and give Maria a nudge. “Let’s go rally the troops,” and she laughs as she follows you out to the backyard. 

“I feel like I need to do a line-up military style to introduce all of you,” you say, and Joel and Tommy chuckle. Sarah sidles up beside you, giving you a grin. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you say, looking around the backyard. “Everything looks amazing.” 

She takes a half-bow. “I try, I try,” she says, and everyone laughs. 

It takes a few minutes for you to introduce everybody to Sarah and Tommy, but once everyone is familiar with one another, they all get to mingling. Joel, Tommy, your dad and brothers crack a bottle open and gather around the grill while the women head inside, finishing up the last of the food. Sarah went up to her room to freshen up, which just left you, Maria, Emily, and your mom. 

“So, Emi, how was Costa Rica? It looked beautiful,” you ask, plating the cookies before putting Saran Wrap over them. 

“Oh my god, it was wonderful. The pictures I sent y’all didn’t even do it justice,” she swoons, putting her chin in the palm of her hand as she rests her elbow on the countertop. 

“Am I getting grandbabies anytime soon?” Your mom asks, and you and Emily share a look.

“Mom, really?” You laugh, shaking your head. 

“Hey! I ain’t getting any younger here, and it’ll probably be a couple of years before you and Joel start having any—”

You cut her off. “Mom, please. Don’t even go there.” 

She huffs and puts her hands on her hips. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, mom, Josh and I didn’t use any contraceptives on this trip,” Emily says, and your mom’s eyes go wide. 

“I’m gonna get a grand baby!” She dances in place, making the three of you laugh. 

Emily shrugs with a smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”

A few hours later, the party was in full swing as everyone you’d invited was gathered in the backyard, laughing and talking amongst themselves. You made it a point to invite people at the firehouse he was close with, thanks to the help from Tommy. 

“There’s my pretty lady,” Joel says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder before bringing you into his side. He kisses your temple gently before smiling at you. “Thank you for,” he gestures with his hand that was holding a Modelo, pointing the neck of the bottle into the crowd. “All of this. It means a lot that you’d do this for me.” 

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course, Joel. You deserve to be celebrated.” 

He leans down to give you a kiss. You wrap your arm around his waist, pulling him tighter into you. You pull away before prying eyes can catch you getting carried away because you know you get so caught up in the moment with him. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask, putting a hand on his chest. 

He nods and flashes you a soft grin. “I am, but y’know what I wish I was doin’ right now?” His voice lowers a couple of octaves, and that tone shoots straight to your core. 

“I have an idea,” you say, trying to ignore the intense throb between your legs. 

“Wishin’ I was buried between those pretty thighs of yours.” 

He squeezes your hip and your eyes flutter shut for a few seconds, having half a mind to drag him upstairs into his bedroom so he can pound you into his mattress. 

Your delicious fantasy dissipates as soon as you hear Tommy and Andy howling of laughter. 

“Looks like our brothers are hitting it off,” you observantly say. 

Joel nods. “Yeah, actually. The guys wanted to go out for beers next weekend. Told you it was the start of a beautiful bromance.” 

You shoot Joel a look. “The guys? As in you, your brother and my brothers?”

He nods, and you can’t help but huff a laugh. “Well, have fun, and be careful. Don’t let them talk you into anything stupid. Don’t need another broken rib,” you roll your eyes teasingly, bumping your hip to him.

You grab his beer bottle from his hand, taking a swig of it before handing it back to him. He has that boyish grin on his face again and it’s so contagious. 

“Definitely don’t want another one ‘a those. Shit still hurts when I turn a certain way.” 

“I didn’t hurt you earlier, did I?” Your voice is lower now, referring to the lovely morning you two spent in his bed together. 

“Not at all. Would’a said somethin’ if you did. Promise,” he says, kissing your temple. 

“Well it won’t be too long before you’re all healed up.” And you have to go back to your apartment, drowning in the once-loved loneliness. 

You dread it now, and you don’t know how to bring it up to him. 

“Hey sis. Great party you threw,” Andy comes up to you and Joel, giving you a rare grin of appreciation. 

“How drunk are you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t I compliment you without you thinking I’m under the influence?” He frowns at you, nudging your side. 

“I guess so. Thanks, Andy,” you say, and he waves you off. 

“Yeah yeah. Don’t get used to it.” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes right back at him. “Wasn’t gonna.” 

“Anyway, lemme steal my boyfriend back since you so rudely kept him to yourself for a long time,” Andy says, grinning at Joel. 

Joel can’t help but laugh and shake his head, and if it could, his forehead would have ‘dear god help me’ scrawled across it. 

The party went on for a couple more hours after that, the crowd slowly fizzling out. Everyone helped clean the backyard until it was spotless, and by the time everyone left except for you, Joel, and Sarah, it was nearly midnight. 

You’d just finished brushing your teeth and washing your face before you climbed into Joel’s comfy bed, snuggling into his side as he pulled you closer to him. You start to trace small patterns on his warm chest with your fingertips, soaking in every moment you have while being beside him. 

You don’t know how you’re gonna give this up. It honestly scares you how attached you’ve gotten to Joel. 

And, well, for god sakes, you love the man—and he loves you. Being beside him these past few weeks has truthfully filled a void in your life that’s been empty for so long. Now that it’s fulfilled and you’re the one experiencing what love is really supposed to feel like for the first time in your life, you’re struggling with the prospect of being alone again at your own place. 

You know you can come to Joel’s house at any time and vice versa, but it’s just not the same as being able to wake up in his arms every morning. It’s not the same as being able to go to sleep and the last thing you see is his beautiful face, smiling at you tiredly as his brown eyes droop closed. It’s not the same as having hectic but amazing mornings as you brew coffee for two, getting Sarah out of the house in time to take her to school. 

God, you sound so clingy. Maybe you’re just overthinking this, like, a lot. Maybe Maria or Emily can give their input on this—

“Thank you for the party today, baby. Made my day so special and I can’t thank you enough for doin’ this for me.” 

Joel’s deep, velvety voice pulls you from your thoughts. You smile at him tiredly, reaching a hand out to run through his curls before settling it on his cheek, swiping your thumb back and forth. 

“I’d do anything for you, Joel Miller,” you lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” His voice is a mere whisper as he moves his face closer to yours. 

“You’re unapologetically yourself and you let me love you the way you deserve to be loved,” you answer as if it’s the most simple and obvious thing in the world.

“My dream woman,” he grins, giving you a kiss. “I love you.” 

You’ll never get tired of hearing him say that. 

“I love you too.” 

And while he’s drifting off to sleep, you’re left with your anxious thoughts swirling your mind—ones that make you want to cower away and push push push, but you won’t allow it. 

Not this time. 

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[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (2)

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part one here

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, head f receiving, p in v unprotected, breeding kink, cum eating & fingering for like a sentence. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ you asked, and i delivered. PART TWO IS HERE YALL. i hope I didn't let you down :( 5.52k words of pure wrongness, but hey, it's joel, so it's okay (haha, not). not proofread, so if you see any errors, just close your eyes pls thank you.

The weight of that night lingered in every breath you took. The memory of Joel's touch, his hands tracing every inch of your body, had seared itself into your skin, refusing to fade. It wasn't just the physicalㅡ it was the way his voice had trembled when he whispered your name. The way he'd held you like you were something sacred something he couldn't afford to lose. But you both knew that after last night, everything had changed. There was no going back

The secret you now carried inside you was heavier, pulling you further into an abyss you couldn't climb out of. And the worst part? You wanted more. Now that, you had tasted what it felt like to have him, the craving for him was worse than ever. You were addicted. The first morning without him felt empty wrong. You should have been able to bury the night, to bury the guilt, but instead, it gnawed at you, weaving into the longing that wrapped itself around your chest like a vice. You scrolled through your phone again, reading the last text he had sent.

• miss you, baby. I can't stop thinking about you. Wish it was you here with me.

your heart twisted in your chest as you read it again, your fingers hovering over the screen, aching to respond. He was gone. He had left early that morning with your mother, whisked away on a honeymoon that was supposed to be filled with love and joy: A honeymoon that, in a cruel twist of fate, was meant to celebrate his new life with her.

But here he was, texting you and you couldn't help but answer the pull that tied you to him. You could practically hear his voice when you read his words, feel the roughness of his hand brushing against your skin in the way your body still hummed with

the memory of him, and your cunt still felt him deep inside of you. Your fingers shook as you typed your response:

• I miss you too.

You stared at the words, hating yourself for them, but unable to stop. You hit send before you could think twice. A sick sort of thrill coursed through you as you imagined him reading it, imagined him lying next to your mother, his phone lighting up with your message, pulling him back to you even from miles away.

You had woken up in his arms, tangled in the sheets, the air between you still thundering with the afterglow of the forbidden but impossibly sweet. You had watched him get dressed in silence, his eyes lingering or you with a mixture of longing and regret before he had leaned down, kissed you hard, and whispered, "This changes everything." that it had. You hadn't stopped thinking about him a second since. But the worst part was, neither had he. Another message came through, lighting up your phone, pulling you from your thoughts.

• I need you. Being here with her feels wrong, baby. don't know how I'm gonna survive his week without touching you. ❤️

your breath caught in your throat as yot read it, heat blooming low in your belly. He missed you. He wanted you. Even while he was supposed to be with her, on their honeymoon, he was thinking about you.

You hated the way it thrilled you, how the hought of him being with your mother didn't make you sick with jealousy, but instead only intensified the twisted longing that had wrapped itself around your heart. You knew it was wrong, god, it was so wrong, but now that you'd had him, you couldn't stop wanting more. You typed back, your fingers moving quickly, not giving yourself a chance to reconsider.

• need you, joel, I dunno know how to do this.

the truth of those words settled over you. you didn't know how to do this. how to navigate this mess of secrets and lies, of immense guilt. All you knew was that the need for him hadn't gone away: it had only grown stronger. As you waited for his response, you lay back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you mind replaying every moment of the night before. Your phone buzzed again.

• ill find a way for us to be together.

it was insane. It was dangerous. But he means it. And so did you. this impossibly tangled knot that you couldn't unravel, no matter how hard you tried. And part of you didn't want to. You wanted him. Still. More now than ever.

Your phone vibrated once more

•When I get back, I need to see you. Alone We'll figure this out, I promise.

You were already too far gone

Joel’s name lit up your phone screen, the buzzing pulling you from your thoughts. It was a shock, seeing him call. You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, before finally answering. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “Hi, baby.." Joel’s voice came through low and rough, like gravel under your feet. There was a pause before he spoke again, the silence thick. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear your voice.”

Your heart plummeted at his words. The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver through you, bringing back everything from the night before—the touch of his hands, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the feeling of him filling you up. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed. There was a soft sound from him, almost like a groan, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. I can’t stop. You under me like that, full of my cockㅡ it’s all I can think about. I keep replaying it. I miss you so much.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hearing him say it made it all so real, the intensity of it, the wrongness, and yet how much you both wanted it anyway. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his hands on you still fresh, your skin tingling. “It’s been so hard," you whispered. “ I hate that you’re there with her...” The words slipped your lips before you could process them. He exhaled deeply, like he was struggling to hold himself back. “I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m trying to be here, I really am, but all I can think about is you. You’re all I want. I wish I was with you right now, not here.”

What he was saying hit you hard. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, with your mother. But here he was, calling you, telling you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to touch you, hear you moan his name again. It was twisted, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—desired, important, needed. “Joel...” You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just wanted to hear him say more, to fill the aching silence between you. “I can’t stand being away from you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Being here with her… it’s all wrong. 'm thinkin' about you the whole time. I want to be with you, not hidin' this.” The admission made your heart race, your body responding to the urgency in his words. You sat up on your bed, the phone pressed tight against your ear, needing to hear more.

“I need you,” you whispered, not caring anymore about what it meant. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, Joel. I made everything worse. I don’t know what to do.” Joel’s voice came through soft but strained. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want this to end. I need you too, baby. I’ve needed you for so long, and now that I’ve had you…” He trailed off, breathing heavy on the other end of the line. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About us. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week without you.”

Your heart ached hearing him say it. You imagined him there, lying next to your mother, feeling the same torment that was tearing you apart. The thought should have made you feel worse, but all it did was make you crave him more. “When you get back...” you began, your voice unsteady. “What’s going to happen?” There was a pause, tension .” I don't know, little girl. But I need my hands on you again, feel you around me, kiss yaㅡ we'll figure it out."

Before you could respond, you heard a faint sound in the background—your mother’s voice, calling for him. Your stomach twisted, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You felt like throwing up. He was still with her, still living this life he didn’t want, while you waited, caught in the middle of it all. “I have to go,” Joel said quickly, his voice urgent. “But I’ll call you again. I miss you, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, but all you could think about was him—how much you still wanted him, even knowing how wrong it was. The pull between you was too strong, and you didn’t know how to stop. his last words were ringing in your ears—“We’ll figure this out.” But would you? Could you?

Your hand shook as you placed the phone down, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on you with crushing force. The room felt colder, emptier, like all the air had been sucked out the moment his voice disappeared from the other end of the line. You had been holding it together, balancing the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, but now, in the quiet of your room, the dam finally broke. You pressed your palms to your face, feeling the burn of tears already welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop it. The guilt, the longing, the impossibility of it all—it came crashing down like a wave, and you were powerless against it.

A sob escaped your throat, low and broken, as you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You didn’t even try to hold them back. You wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept falling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You hated this—hated how torn you felt. Hated that, despite knowing how wrong it was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It made everything feel impossible. You wanted him so badly, it ached. But the guilt—it clung to you, wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed, suffocating you with its weight.

The sobs came harder, your body trembling as you rocked yourself, trying to find some sort of release from the storm inside you. The image of Joel lying beside your mother, on their honeymoon, gnawed at you, twisting the knife deeper into your chest. How had you let it come to this? How had you fallen so far, wanting something you knew you could never truly have?

But even through the disgust, through the pain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, his touch, the way he had looked at you. It had felt real. Too real. And now it was like you were caught in a spiral, unable to pull yourself out. You cried harder, the sound of your sobs filling the quiet room, your heart breaking under the weight of it all. You pressed your face into your knees, feeling the dampness of your tears soak through the fabric of your jeans.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had wanted to make your mother happy, to stay away, to be the good daughter. But Joel—he had always been the one thing you couldn’t resist. And now that you had crossed that line, there was no going back.

The phone buzzed softly beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t need to look at it to know who it was. Even now, your heart still reached for him, wanting more of the thing that was tearing you apart. But you couldn’t. Not right now.

So, you sat there, curled up in your bed, crying alone, knowing that despite everything, despite the pain, you were already too deep. And you weren’t sure how to climb out.

the time slipped through your fingers.

The sun had barely set when you heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Your heart raced in your chest as you glanced out the window, the bright glow of the headlights cutting through the dusk. Joel’s truck. They were back. He was back. you hated that he had to go away for work so often. even though the honeymoon ended early, he had to leave again for something regarding his job, so this was the first time you saw him in weeks.

The past week had felt endless—long days filled with quiet moments where you found yourself staring at your phone, hoping for a message that never came. After that phone call, everything had felt suspended, like you were teetering on the edge of something you could never go back from. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but every time your mind wandered, it drifted back to him—the sound of his voice, the memory of his touch. The longing, the guilt, the jealousy... it was all there, swirling together in a storm you couldn’t control.

You stood by the window, watching as Joel’s truck pulled into the driveway next to your mother’s. He climbed out, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, a bag slung over his shoulder. You saw him exchange a few words with your mother, who was already standing on the porch, a wide smile on her face as she rushed over to greet him.

You blinked, shaking off the sudden wave of jealousy that washed over you. Stop it, you told yourself. She’s your mother, and he’s with her. You pulled away from the window, trying to steady your breath. But it didn’t help. The pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You couldn’t escape the feeling—the weight of what had happened, the shame that gnawed at you. You had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it easier to face.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. You froze for a second, your heart thudding against your ribs. Your mother called out, “I’ll get it!” But you knew it wasn’t her who he had come for. it was you. so you rushed in front of her, muttering a soft "i got it." When you opened the door, you saw him standing there, looking every bit like the man you had spent the last weeks fantasizing about. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes still shadowed from the exhaustion of travel, but there was something else—something hungry.

He was wearing a simple flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. He looked worn, but somehow more real than before. More him. You could feel your nipples harden at his sight. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there, caught in the gravity of what had happened, what you both knew but weren’t quite ready to speak.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the silence. "Come on in," she called out from the living room. "I was just looking at the pictures from the trip. Joel, why don’t you show her the ones we took from the beach?" Joel glanced at you, his eyes searching your face, but you forced yourself to smile, hiding the turbulence inside. You could already feel it— those pictures, the idea of him sharing his time with her, touching her, laughing and smiling while you were here, waiting, stuck between two worlds.

As you stepped into the living room, Joel followed, and your mother handed him a small photo album that just came in the mail with a beaming smile. "Look at this one, Joel. It’s from the sunset on the beach. I swear, the sky was never so perfect!" she exclaimed before heading to the kitchen to make some drinks for the three of you. Joel opened the album, flipping through the pictures. There they were—Joel and your mother, side by side, arms wrapped around each other, smiling as they stood by the ocean. You could see the joy in your mother’s face—the happiness you had always wanted for her, but it still stung. The sight of them together made your chest tighten with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. were you jealous?

Joel glanced up at you, sensing your discomfort. He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual, as if he was trying to say something that hadn’t quite formed yet. "I missed you," he said quietly, glancing back at the pictures.

You stared at the photo of Joel and your mother standing on the beach, their hands intertwined. The image of them together, so carefree and happy, only deepened the ache inside you. You clenched your jaw, feeling the jealousy flare up—jealous of the way they had spent those days together. Jealous that he had touched her, laughed with her, shared moments you had longed for. He caught the shift in your mood, the way your eyes narrowed at the pictures. You couldn’t hide it. Joel stepped closer, his tone more serious now. "Hey, don’t look at it like that. babyㅡ"

You blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears. "Like what?" You asked, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. "Like I’m..." He paused, his eyes searching yours, his hand hovering, almost as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Like I was with her, and not with you."

"But you were." You blurt it out.

Your heart hammered in your chest. The way he said it made the jealousy bubble up even more, but there was something else in his voice too—something like regret, like he was just starting to feel what had happened between the two of you. "I just..." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can’t do this, Joel. Seeing you with herㅡ it hurts."

Joel’s face softened, and he took a step closer, his hand finally finding yours. His touch was grounding, reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "It wasn’t like that. I’m with her, sure. I promised her, and I’m tryin' to be a good man for her, but it’s not the same. You’re different. You’ve got a hold on me, baby. on my soul and heart. I can’t explain it.." You stared at him, your heart a mess of confusion and desire. His words sent a wave of relief through you, but it didn’t erase the pain. You wanted him, but he was still bound to your mother, and that fact ate at you from the inside out.

"I can’t pretend," Joel said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. "it’s not something I can just ignore. And I won’t let it destroy you or me. It’s just... hard to figure out where to go from here." Your breath caught in your throat. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered. "But I don’t know how to do this—how to live in this space between what’s right and what feels so damn wrong."

Joel’s expression darkened for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I know it’s messy," he murmured. "But it’s not goin' anywhere. I’m not goin' anywhere."

There was no easy answer, no clear path to walk. But in that moment, as you stood in the same room as Joel and your mother, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you knew that whatever happened, you couldn’t walk away from him.

Not now. Not ever.

The early evening sun cast a golden glow across the kitchen as your mom stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one last look before grabbing her purse. She hummed to herself, the excitement of her night out with friends clear in her every movement. She was still glowing from the wedding, from the honeymoon. The happiness on her face felt like a knife in your chest.

"You're sure you'll be alright here?" she asked, her voice light, not really expecting a different answer from you. " I won't be too late." You nodded, trying your best to keep your smile steady. "Yeah, Mom. We'll be fine. You deserve to have fun." Your mom turned to Joel, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And you.." she teased, stepping closer to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know you're not much of a party guy. Try not to be too boring while l'm gone."

Joel chuckled lightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I'Il behave,"' he promised, though his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment. a brief, loaded glance that made your heart flutter.

Your mom laughed, oblivious to the tension in the room, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright, don't wait up for me. I'll be back later." She waved, her heels clickingsoftly against the floor as she headed out the door.

The sound of the car starting up, the engine humming, and the tires rolling down the driveway were the last reminders of her presence before the house fell into silence. The quiet between you and Joel was immediate, heavy, as if the very walls of the house knew something had shifted. You stood there, not sure what to do. "Guess it's just us now," Joel said, his voice low, rough around the edges. He knew what he was doing. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah... just us." You could feel his eyes on you, the same gaze that always seemed to see right through to the heart of you, the gaze that made you feel vulnerable exposed.

Joel pushed off from the counter, taking a few slow steps toward you. His movements were deliberate, careful. "You alright, baby?" You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to pull together some semblance of control, but it was no use. "I thought i could handle it, being here with you..." Joel's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been hard for me too," he said quietly, his voice strained. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your arm, the touch so soft it sent a shiver through you. "This whole thing," he muttered, his eyes dark, intense, "it's not what I thought it would be. Not with you here. It ain't easy for me either."

Your pulse raced as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I don't know how to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. Joel's hand moved to your waist, his grip gentle but firm. His touch was warm, grounding, but the fire between you was undeniable. "I can't stop." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've tried, but..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to your lips. You could feel the pull between you growing stronger, the tension wrapping tighter around you, making it harder to breathe. "Joel.." you gasped, not sure what you were asking for. "I know, baby.." you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. "I need you." you finally muster some courage. Joel's eyes darkened at your words, and before you knew it, his lips were on yoursㅡ soft at first, tentative, but when he felt you respond, the kiss deepened. His hand moved up your back, up into your hair, pulling you closer, his touch igniting something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried.

The kiss was everything you had been wanting, everything you had been denying yourself. It was soft but intense, slow but deliberate, and it left you breathless. But even as you kissed him, even as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him, the reality of it all lingered in the back of your mind.

you pull back for a second. "We shouldn't be doing this." Joel's grip tightened on you, his eyes searching yours. "i know, darli'. we shouldn't." He pulled you in again, his lips finding yours, and this time there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was raw, intense, and everything you had been craving. His hands moved over your back, your arms, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he had been holding back for too long. You let yourself forgef everything. He picks you up and places you on the cold kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his middle. "Need'a taste you, sweet thing." You moan as he undresses you from your flimsy shorts, pulling them down and getting on his knees in front of you. "No panties, baby? filthy little thing." Though it wasn't on purpose, you can't help but blush at his reaction. Joel inched closer, rogh beard rubbing against your plush skin, making you jolt. finally, he sticks his tongue out, dragging it through your dripping folds. you grab onto the counter, leaning back on your hands as you try to bite back moans. "Look at ya, dirtying your moms counter. don't you feel bad?" he teases. you don'tㅡ for anything. it all fades away. the moment he digs into you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. joel circles his tongue around your swollen bud agonizingly slow. you try to push his head further, signal him to go faster, but he's adamant that he takes his time.

it doesn't take long until you feel yourself unraveling, that pit forming into your tummy as your muscles tense up. Just then, Joel pulls away with that, leaving you gasping for air. "Not yet, baby. want you to come on my cock." he was so vile, wiping his face with the shirt he had on before undoing his pants. they fall to his ankles and he scoots closer so that he's between your legs, his lenght resting snug between your puffy lips.

"Please, joel, don't do this to me.." You whine, unable to resist longer. "Pretty desperate thing. 's okay, I'll give it to you." With that, he pulls you closer and aligns himself with you dripping entrance. even if it wasn't the first time with him, it still stings, the stretch deliciously painful. "Fuck, baby, look at that. this pussy was made for me, yeah? say it baby. say this pussy is mine." he grabs you harshly by your face, as he pushes in fully. " 's all y-yours, joel, 'm all yours."

"damn right you are. my little girl, so eager to take my cock.." he deliberately snaps his hips, the tip slipping past your cervix. the pain was taking over your body, and you let yourself sob as joel holds you close while he starts moving. " 's okay, sweet thing. i got you. you're alright, you can take it." you are alright.

Joel leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you faster, harder, and you hiss softly through the kiss. he's moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that was pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Joel, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Joel's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against his hold, one hand slipping under one of your thighs as his lips write kisses from your neck to your pebbled nipples "I'm so closeㅡ" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, baby, shitㅡ 'm gonna come some deep in you. feel me in your little tummy?"

your heart almost stops. he loves you. joel loves you. he said he loves you while he's drilling into you on your mom's countertop. and he's your mom's husband. as he's fucking deeper into you, the words slip out without warning, no second-guessing. "I love yㅡou, Joel!" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains yours as his hips buckle from releasing white ropes of warm liquid inside of your velvet walls, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. You both catch your breath. finally, he breaks the silence, while taking his shaft out of your pulsing cunt.

"fuck, baby... look at the mess you made. you bad girlㅡ lick it up now." you whimper as you try to move your limp body down the counter, bending yourself over to lick up the juices and come that dripped from you. joel licks his lips, watching as his seed trickles down your thighs. he takes two fingers and with no warning sticks them up in you, as you still lick the cold surface. "Want it all in you." you feel his warm, thick fingers swirling around your cunt, pushing back in any come that may have slipped out. "You'll look so pretty with my baby in you."

Joel loves you.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @1-800-sluttysadness @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury

[stylesispunk]

"Is God watching our eyes burn?"

Not outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Two best friends are falling in love. What could have gone wrong?

w.c: 6k

warnings: angst as always. No proofreading.

a/n: I wrote this during the afternoon, so please don't hurt my feelings. I hope you like it, though. It has the potential for a second part. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Falling in love with your best friend. What a typical beginning or an ending of a story.

From your eyes you could see people describing their partner as their soulmates, their other half, and their best friends.

What are the odds of you falling in love with yours? How? when he had never seen you with those loving eyes you witnessed in others.

Joel loved you. That wasn’t in doubt but he had loved you as a brother loved a sister, as a friend loved his friend.

And that's why you were simply that. Best friends.

You watched him as he spoke, hands moving animatedly as he shared some story or other, and you smiled and laughed at all the right moments. Still, there was a part of you that was miles away, caught in a daydream where he was looking at you, just once, the way people looked at their person.

It wasn’t something you’d wanted to feel. For years, Joel had been your rock. You knew each other in ways no one else did, inside jokes, old scars, even that soft corner of his heart that few others got to see. He’d been the one person you could count on, even when things got messy, and you never wanted to risk that. But somewhere along the way, the little moments started to change. His hand on your shoulder, his smile in the morning, his laugh when he caught you dancing alone in the kitchen, all those things that had once been innocent had started to mean something else.

You used to feel safe around him. Now, every word, every glance, every touch was charged with a question he couldn’t hear, and it scared you. You kept asking yourself, When did it happen? How did it happen? It was like a puzzle you couldn’t solve. One minute, you were friends; the next, you were wondering what his hand would feel like if it held yours just a little longer.

He had found his way inside you. You didn’t mean it sexually, but spiritually. It felt like him and his bared hand ripped the skin off your chest and took your most precious belonging. Your heart.

From that day on, it felt like your breathed for him. That you belonged to him. To his breath, to his thoughts, to his gaze. Every time he wasn’t looking at you, you felt your heart tearing apart.

It was maddening, really, how much you had come to need him, how each of his smiles, each of his laughs, felt like something you couldn’t live without. You’d catch yourself watching him, memorizing the lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed when he was with you, how his voice softened when he talked about something he loved. You’d watch him in the little moments when he didn’t know you were looking, like when he was lost in thought, eyes drifting away as he tapped his fingers against his knee.

But you were losing your hold on yourself, inch by inch. You knew it every time he walked into the room and your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat as if he was the most important person in the world. And he was. At some point, he’d become everything. And you could do nothing about it.

It felt like you breathed for him.

The more you tried to keep those feelings quiet, the louder they seemed to get. There were nights when you’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of his absence like a weight pressing down on you. It was terrifying to know that you belonged to him in a way that he’d never understand. You belonged to his laugh, his gaze, the casual touches he’d give that left their mark on you long after he’d pulled away.

And you had came to understand why your relationships never worked out.

And why all his flings and lover weren’t very fond of you.

It all made sense now, why every other relationship you’d tried felt hollow, why every time someone else held you, it felt like a betrayal. You had always been searching for something that could fill the space Joel left behind, something that could compare to the feeling of being with him. And no one ever measured up. No one could make you feel the way he did with just a look, just a laugh, or a soft touch on your shoulder.

His girlfriends must have sensed it, too—the subtle pull that kept you by his side, the way he’d cancel plans with them if you needed him, the way he always looked for you in a crowded room. They saw what you tried to keep hidden. They could see that in some quiet, unspoken way, you were always there, between them and him.

But you also knew he was far away from healing from his last heartbreak. And you knew that when he kissed you like he mean it, he was looking out for comfort from you, the person who always was there.

And you gave in.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. You told yourself a hundred times that you could be his friend, his rock, without crossing that line. But when he showed up at your door late one night, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, the air felt different. He looked worn down, like he’d been carrying too much for too long, and all he wanted was relief, a place where he didn’t have to pretend to be okay.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, his voice low and raw, and you knew what that meant, knew it had to do with the last woman who’d walked out of his life, leaving him with wounds that hadn’t yet healed. You’d listened to him, night after night, as he talked through the pain, the trust he’d put in her, the hopes he’d had that had all fallen apart. And though every word cut deep, you were there, steady as ever, offering him comfort, reassurance.

So when he stepped closer, when his hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, you felt your own resolve crumbling. You could tell yourself all you wanted that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t the way you’d dreamed it. But the truth was, his touch set you on fire, made you feel like you’d been waiting for this moment forever.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and you could see the flicker of need in his eyes, the desperation. You knew he was reaching for you to fill a void, to ease a hurt that still felt fresh, and maybe it was wrong, maybe you were both vulnerable, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You wanted to be the person he needed, even if it was only for a night, even if he was looking at you through the lens of heartbreak and loss. Because the way his gaze softened, the way he touched you, it was everything you’d been longing for, even if it came from his own need to feel whole again.

So you let him. You let him take that step, let his lips press against yours, let him hold you close as if you were the only one who could fix the pieces left broken. It wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, but it was real in its own way, a moment where you belonged to each other, even if he would never see it that way.

And as he kissed you, as he held you close, you knew you’d regret it in the morning, that you’d feel the ache of him slipping away once the moment passed.

But that never happened.

Instead, everything between you and Joel shifted that night, as if a door that had always been locked was suddenly wide open. You had thought it would be one moment, a single night where you could pretend that his touch was a promise, that his kisses meant as much to him as they did to you. But he didn’t let you go, didn’t pull back into that safe distance of friendship once the night had passed. Instead, he lingered, stayed close, as if he was finding something in you he hadn’t expected, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The next morning, you’d braced yourself, heart pounding as you turned to face him, expecting to see the hesitation, the discomfort. But instead, you found him watching you, his expression soft, almost vulnerable, as he reached for you again. “Hey,” he murmured, and his hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a certainty that left you breathless.

And from there, it didn’t stop.

Joel didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess the leap you both had taken. In the weeks that followed, it was as if he had been waiting just as long, holding back feelings he hadn’t even realized he had. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t cautious; he didn’t linger in that unsure space between friendship and something more. Instead, he was all in, crossing every line with a steadiness that left you dizzy.

It only took him two months to raise the bar, to show you what it was like to be truly wanted. He’d come over with flowers in hand like it was nothing, his face breaking into a grin when you’d open the door, as if the sight of you made everything right. He’d brush hair from your face, a little slower than he used to, letting his fingers linger on your cheek, his gaze holding a warmth you’d once only dreamed of. There was no hesitation in his touches now, no holding back. He’d pull you close on a crowded street, run his fingers down your arm as you laughed over breakfast, hold you just because you were there. With Joel, you never had to wonder if you were enough.

And you found yourself slipping into those roles, playing the parts of the lovers you’d once watched from a distance. You both did, almost instinctively. At first, it felt strange, like you were walking on a stage, wearing someone else’s life. You’d spend your days together, trying to believe it was real, that the Joel who laughed into your shoulder and kissed you in the middle of a conversation was yours.

The first time he told you he’d fallen for you, it was casual, thrown in like he’d said it a thousand times before, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Even in the warmth of his love, in the softness of his gaze when he looked at you, there was always a flicker of something else, something he couldn’t quite hide. A shadow that lingered behind his smile, a sadness that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to bury it. You could see it in the quiet moments, when the laughter faded, and he’d look at you as if he was searching for something, as if he was afraid of losing you even while you were right there in his arms.

It hurt to see that sadness in him, knowing you couldn’t reach it, couldn’t pull him fully into the light. You’d watch him sometimes, catch him lost in thought, his eyes distant, and wonder if he was thinking of his past—of the scars he’d carried from those who had left him, the pieces of himself he’d lost along the way. There were nights when he’d hold you close, his grip a little tighter, as if you were an anchor keeping him grounded, and you’d feel the weight of that sadness, as if he was trying to drown it in the warmth between you.

One evening, after a quiet dinner, you both sat on the couch, his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. The glow of the lamplight softened everything around you, casting shadows that danced across his face. You could see the sadness there, deeper tonight, almost heavy enough to spill over. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Joel,” you whispered, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw, hoping to ease the ache you saw in him. “What is it?”

He looked down, his thumb moving over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, as if he was gathering his thoughts. “Sometimes, I think about… how lucky I am to have you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “And it scares me. Because I’ve lost things before. People. And… I don’t ever want that to happen with us. I don’t want to wake up and find out this was just… I don’t know, a dream.”

You felt your heart twist, aching for him, for the years he’d spent holding onto pain he couldn’t let go of. And yet, you also understood. You’d been best friends for so long, and even in love, you could sense that he was still trying to protect himself, to guard that broken part of him that he feared would shatter if he let himself believe too much, hope too much.

So you held his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I’m here, and I want to be here. Whatever shadows you carry, I’ll be here to help you face them. I love you, all of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

His eyes softened, and he looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, something precious he’d stumbled upon and was still afraid to hold too tightly. But then, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as he let himself breathe, let himself feel the weight of your words.

But you knew, just as he did, that there was a part of him still haunted by her—by the girl he’d lost, the one who followed him like a ghost he could never quite shake. She lingered in the quiet corners of his mind, a memory that wouldn’t fade, an echo that haunted him even when he was wrapped in your arms. You could feel it in the way he held you sometimes, as if he was clinging to the present but couldn’t fully leave the past behind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you. You knew he did; you could feel it in every touch, in every whispered word. But there was a part of him still lost in a place you couldn’t reach, tethered to memories you could never truly understand. He didn’t talk about her, didn’t bring her up, and you never pushed him to. Still, you sensed the weight of her shadow in his silences, in the moments when his gaze grew distant, as though he was looking right through you to someone who wasn’t there.

It was a strange thing, learning to share him with a memory, a ghost that still lived somewhere deep inside him. You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you could be patient, that one day he’d let go of her completely. But some nights, when you caught him staring into the distance with that quiet sadness in his eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy—not for her, but for the part of him she still held captive.

In those moments, you couldn’t help but wonder if she would always be there, lingering just beyond the reach of what you and Joel were building together. If he’d ever truly be able to let go, to give himself over to this love without the pull of that past, that echo.

"Sometimes, it feels like I’m not really here," you said, voice tight with a vulnerability you’d tried to keep hidden. "Like you’re looking past me—to her."

Joel’s eyes flicked up, surprised by the intensity in your voice. He shifted, as if he wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from, but the sadness you’d seen in him so many times was still there, familiar and frustrating. "That’s not fair," he murmured, his tone soft but guarded. "You know it’s not like that."

“Then what is it like, Joel?” you demanded, feeling a pang of guilt even as the words escaped. “Because every time you get that look in your eyes, every time you drift off… it’s her, isn’t it?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, weary. “She was a part of my life. I can’t just erase that.”

"And what about us?” you shot back, the words sharper than you intended. “Do I always have to share you with her? Am I ever going to be enough, or am I just supposed to be okay with half of you?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his face shadowed. “You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then help me understand, Joel,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I’ve tried. I’ve been patient, I’ve given you space, but it’s like… it’s like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get past. And I don’t know if I ever will.”

He looked back at you then, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. “It’s not about you,” he said, frustration seeping into his tone. “This is my burden, my past. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“But it does mean you’re not all here,” you replied, the words trembling with pain. “And I can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be.”

There was a long, aching silence as your words hung in the air. Joel looked away, his face set in a hard line, and for a moment, you felt a wave of regret, of fear that maybe you’d pushed too far. But you needed him to hear it. Needed him to understand how much it hurt to be constantly measured against a memory, to feel like you were always fighting to pull him into the present.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m trying. But it’s not that simple. You think I don’t want to let go? You think I don’t want to be… whole?”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much, cutting through your anger and leaving you feeling exposed. You could see how much he wanted to give you what you deserved, how he hated the way he was bound to a past he couldn’t change. And yet, part of you still felt that ache, that longing for a love that wasn’t haunted by shadows.

“I don’t want to be your second choice, Joel,” you whispered, feeling the tears rise, though you tried to blink them away. “I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m… not enough.”

Joel reached for you then, his hand finding yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not my second choice,” he said softly, his voice barely holding together. “You’re the one here, the one I want. I just… sometimes, I don’t know how to shake the past. I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as you felt the weight of his words settle heavy on your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words reassure you, but the doubt lingered, a painful reminder of the distance that still stretched between you.

“I know you’re trying, Joel,” you said quietly. “But I know better than to wait for you back here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you prepared to say the words you’d kept buried for too long. “I mean… I can’t keep standing on the sidelines, hoping one day you’ll be fully here. I can’t be the one waiting for you to decide if you’re ready to move on.” You paused, watching as his face registered the meaning of your words, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes. “I love you, Joel. But I can’t keep giving all of myself if you’re not ready to do the same.”

He looked at you, the silence stretching between you, and you could see the conflict etched into his expression. “You think I don’t want that?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You think I don’t wish every day that I could leave all that behind?”

“I know you do,” you replied, feeling your own voice tremble. “But wishing isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re here, that this—us—isn’t just you trying to fill some empty space.”

He took a step closer, his hand tightening around yours. “You’re not just filling a space, not to me,” he insisted, his voice filled with a rawness you rarely saw. “But… I don’t know how to give you more when there’s still a part of me that’s… trapped there.”

You nodded, a painful understanding settling over you. “I know. And maybe that’s something you have to work through—without me.”

His grip loosened, and you felt the weight of your words sink in, the realization in his eyes piercing. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he looked at you, the anguish plain on his face, and you knew he understood. This wasn’t what you wanted, wasn’t the ending you’d dreamed of, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper.

“And I don’t want to lose you either, Joel,” you replied, your own voice choked with emotion. “But I can’t lose myself waiting for you to be ready.” You paused, your own breath shaking. “I’ve breaking my own heart for years already. I can’t do it anymore” you confessed, the truth spilling out in a rush, leaving you feeling exposed. The words hung in the air, heavy with all the unspoken feelings that had built up between you over time. You had spent so long convincing yourself that you could wait, that love would be enough to bridge the gap, but now it felt like the dam had finally burst.

He flinched, his expression twisting with a mix of regret and sorrow. “I didn’t realize…” His voice trailed off, the weight of your admission hitting him like a freight train.

“I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve always been my best friend, and now you’re so much more. I just thought… I thought we had time.”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Time is what I don’t have, Joel. I’ve given so much of myself to this, to us, and I thought it would be enough. But now, standing here, I see it’s not just about love.”

He swallowed hard, the realization dawning on him. “You’re right. I need to figure this out. I can’t just keep pretending it’s all okay when it’s not.”

The truth of his words cut through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest. You wanted him to be free, to find that peace, but the thought of stepping away felt like tearing off a bandage that had just begun to heal. “I care about you, Joel. I always will. But I need to put myself first for once.”

“Please don’t go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best part of my life.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it nearly broke you. “I need space,” you whispered, barely able to hold it together. “I was brave enough when I let you in. I need to find out who I am without you being my everything. Maybe one day, we can find our way back to each other. But right now… I just can’t.”

The weight of your words hung in the air between you, heavy with the uncharted territory of separation. You could see the flicker of panic in Joel’s eyes, the realization that he might lose the one person who understood him the most. But you knew that this was necessary—for both of you.

He opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, he simply stood there, helpless, as you took a step back. “I don’t want to lose you,” he repeated, the raw vulnerability in his voice piercing through you. “You’re the only one who knows me like this, who gets me. What if… what if we can find a way to work through this together?”

Your heart twisted at the thought, but you had to be strong. “I don’t think I can be what you need right now,” you said softly. “And you deserve to heal without me holding you back. I’ve become a crutch, Joel, and I don’t want to be that. You need to find yourself again, without the ghost of her and without me. We both do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with despair. “I don’t want to face the world without you by my side. You make everything better, you know? I can’t imagine not having you here.”

You felt a tear escape, rolling down your cheek as you realized how much you would miss him too. “I know. But..It’s really a shame we caught each at a bad time,” you said, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue. The reality of it all hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You had both wanted more, but life had a way of complicating things, of intertwining your paths at the wrong moments.

Joel looked at you, his expression shifting as if he were grappling with the same sentiment.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could turn back time and be in a place where I could give you everything you deserve.”

The ache in your chest deepened. “Me too,” you admitted softly. “But wishing won’t change anything. I can’t keep hoping that one day you’ll wake up and be ready to love me the way I need to be loved. You need to find your way first, Joel.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words pressed down on him. “I know. I just… I don’t want to lose you in the process. I don’t want this to be the end for us.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll be there still waiting, but now I have to free myself from you.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll still be there waiting, but right now, I have to free myself from you.”

His brow furrowed as he took in your words, and you could see the conflict within him, a part of him wanting to fight against the inevitable. “Free yourself from me? That sounds so final,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “What if I need you?”

“It’s not about what you need right now, Joel,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s about what I need too. I’ve spent too long being your comfort, your escape from pain, and I’ve lost sight of who I am in the process. I need to find myself again, separate from you and your memories.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raised a hand, cutting him off gently. “I care about you deeply. I always will. But I can’t be your crutch. I can’t let my happiness depend on your healing. It’s unfair to both of us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, a shared understanding lingering in the air. You could see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the understanding that your decision was not just about him—it was about you reclaiming your own life, your own identity.

“I just wish…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “I wish too. But wishing isn’t enough. We both deserve to find our own paths, even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.”

He nodded slowly, the understanding settling in, and you felt a pang of sorrow for the love that had been, but also a glimmer of hope for what could be.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Before I go, I want you to know something important,” you said, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t think of you as a bad guy for reaching out to me when you needed comfort. You were kind to me, and you opened your heart in ways I never expected. It’s okay to seek solace in the people who care about you. Just like you were there for me, I was always there for you, and I don’t regret that.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, a tear escaping as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “And I don’t blame you. We were both trying to find our way, and sometimes, it’s messy. I’m not angry with you for needing me, or for those moments we shared. I just need to prioritize myself now.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

You took a step back, feeling the distance grow between you, both physical and emotional. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I need to breathe, to figure out what I want. I hope you do the same.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Before I go, I want you to know something important,” you said, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t think of you as a bad guy for reaching out to me when you needed comfort. You were kind to me, and you opened your heart in ways I never expected. It’s okay to seek solace in the people who care about you. Just like you were there for me, I was always there for you, and I don’t regret that.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, a tear escaping as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “And I don’t blame you. We were both trying to find our way, and sometimes, it’s messy. I’m not angry with you for needing me, or for those moments we shared. I just need to prioritize myself now.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

You took a step back, feeling the distance grow between you, both physical and emotional. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I need to breathe, to figure out what I want. I hope you do the same.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you raised a hand again, cutting him off gently. “Let’s not prolong this. It’s hard enough as it is. Just know that I care about you, and I always will. You’ve been an important part of my life.”

With one last lingering look, you turned to leave, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door behind you closed with a soft click, sealing away the warmth of what you once shared and leaving behind a bittersweet ache in your chest. You took a deep breath as you stepped into the world outside.

A world without Joel and you crossing paths again.

Five years later, you stood in front of the mirror, your heart racing as you adjusted the veil that framed your face. The reflection staring back at you was beautiful, but it felt like a stranger wearing a mask. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, the delicate lace and flowing fabric crafted with love, but it couldn’t hide the uncertainty churning inside you.

As you applied the final touches of makeup, you could hear the soft hum of voices filtering through the closed door. Friends and family gathered outside, their excited chatter mingling with the gentle music playing in the background. They were all waiting for you, eager to celebrate a love that was supposed to be yours. Yet, as the minutes ticked away, a feeling of pressure weighed heavily on your chest, a sense of urgency that made you question everything.

You thought about the man waiting for you at the altar, a kind and caring soul who had been there for you in ways you had never expected. He loved you deeply, and you admired him for it. But as you glanced at your reflection, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Was this truly love? Or were you just filling a void left by someone else?

And then there was Joel. The memories of him flooded your mind like a bittersweet wave. The moments you shared, the laughter and the pain, the way he had opened your heart and left you wanting more. You hadn’t seen him in years, and yet he lingered in your thoughts, a ghost of what could have been. The ache for him had faded, but it had never truly disappeared. You had always wondered if you could love someone else as deeply as you had loved him.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, ready to face the music outside. As you turned toward the door, your heart pounded louder, each beat echoing your uncertainty. Just then, a firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the world around you fading away as you stared into his eyes, those deep, expressive eyes that had once held your heart captive. Everything you had thought you’d left behind rushed back in an instant, and for a moment, you were both suspended in time—two souls that had once been so close, now standing on the precipice of an unknown future.

“Joel,” you breathed, the weight of his presence crashing over you. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” he replied, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to show how serious he was. “I know this is crazy, but I couldn’t let you walk down that aisle without telling you how I feel.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, memories swirling like ghosts in the space around you. You could feel the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the reflection you had tried to ignore. It was a moment of reckoning, one that could change everything.

[joelscurls]

stranded

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.6k

summary: your shitty boyfriend dumps you on the side of the road after a fight. joel miller finds you.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, no outbreak, explicit smut, oral (f receiving) (joel miller is a munch and u cannot convince me otherwise), slight angst, reader has a shitty/abusive (ex) bf (only briefly mentioned), allusions to piv sex, i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: this is my entry for the summer lovin' writing challenge put together by the incredible @pedgito, @amanitacowboy, and @chaotic-mystery (ily all so much), based on the above moodboard with the location hiking (i went for hitchhiking) and the quote "i'm your only hope". i haven't written in what feels like years & am admittedly rusty, but alas! it was so much fun to get back into writing with a little challenge. dividers by @/saradika-graphics. this was minimally edited; all mistakes are my own.

His red pickup truck had been the first car you'd seen in hours. Rain pouring down, drenching your t-shirt and streaking mascara along the apples of your cheeks, it'd been like a beacon through the fog. 

You’d asked to borrow his cell phone to call a friend. Don't have one, he’d drawled. Got a landline at my place, but the whole county’s without power.

And though you knew nothing about the man in the driver's seat -- not his name nor his history with the law -- you'd still gotten in when he'd pushed open the passenger-side door. After all, you had little other choice.

It was either that, or risk freezing to death on the side of the road where your boyfriend had deserted you.  Ex boyfriend, now. That asshole had taken everything from you: your phone, your keys, your dignity -- and left you for dead. So really, how much worse could this admittedly handsome stranger be?

Just a bit, it turns out. 

Okay, so he's giving you a lift. Back to his place to wait out the storm and call a friend on his landline once the power returns. And he's not hurling nonsensical accusations at you with hands curled tightly around the steering wheel. No declarations of, "My buddy swears he saw you dancing with another guy. Why would he lie about that?"

Still, his silence is beyond off-putting. His brows seem permanently contorted downward, his eyes narrowed on the road ahead as he drives, the highway closer and closer to flooding with every mile that passes. He hasn't asked if you're okay despite the fact that you're holding your ankle in your lap, its incessant throbbing a reminder of when your ex pushed you out of his car earlier. No, he hasn't even offered his name.

You wonder if you're driving to your death.

The first words he speak are muttered under his breath, a quick, "it's just down this road," as pavement turns to gravel. He slows the truck, tires crunching and mud splattering until the trees give way to a tiny wood cabin. The driveway is a long stretch of dirt that winds through an unkempt yard, all tall grass and overgrown shrubs.

It's dark, the sky an angry black as you hobble out of the truck. Your ankle stings and your heart pounds when the strange man rounds on you, and you flinch when he outstretches a hand.

"You hurt?"

His voice, though unamused, drips like thick, rich honey. Pools at your feet with the rainwater.

"Yeah," you respond meekly. Your fingers curl against your palm, nails digging into the skin there. "It's uh, my ankle." His eyes follow yours down to your feet. Widen at the sight of black and blue. 

"Shit."

It's quiet for a long moment. You can tell he's trying to piece it all together: how you ended up alone on the side of the road, hurt.  He still doesn't ask though. Not until a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds overhead, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

He sighs, a half-hearted comforting hand on your shoulder. 

"Someone dump you out there?" 

"Yeah," you sigh. "Boyfriend. We got into a fight and he just...lost it."

The man nods. Takes a small step forward as you hop on one foot next to him. 

It must take five whole minutes to get to the front door. Your ankle only feels worse by the time you step onto the porch, throbbing having turned into searing pain somewhere along the way. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as he jostles the key in the doorknob, the metallic taste of your own blood a temporary distraction.

He motions for you to follow him in, which you do, albeit hesitantly. His house is as you'd expect it to be from your brief encounter: little furniture or decoration, dishes in the sink, a general air of…man…throughout the small, dark space.

“Sit down,” he says. “I'll get a first-aid-kit.”

“Wait,” you stop him, because for some reason it seems of utmost importance in this very moment, despite the flash flood outside and your inability to walk, to know–

“What's your name?”

“Joel.”

You situate yourself on the couch as you wait for him to return. Scan the room for any signs of imminent danger. There’s a bookshelf on the far wall, stacked top to bottom with hardcovers and carved wooden trinkets. You wonder if he – Joel – made them himself. 

You wonder if the books keep him company out here; if the stories of Huck Finn and Moby Dick make him feel less alone. 

You wonder why he’s so isolated in the first place. 

You have little time to dwell on it though, as he re-enters the room promptly, dusty first-aid-kit in one hand and a lantern in the other. He places the latter down by his feet before pulling up a footstool. Opens up the kit and pulls out a roll of gauze.

“Might hurt a little,” he warns, beginning to unravel it.

You nod. Brace yourself. 

By the look of his hands – large and gruff – you expect him to be a bit rough. But he’s gentle, surprisingly so, cradling the lower half of your leg and wrapping your ankle with laser focus. His fingers, though calloused, skate across your skin with a near-startling softness. 

You watch his face as he works on you, quickly finding yourself transfixed by the way his brows contort and his eyes narrow, by the absentminded twitch of his mouth. He looks so much less intimidating like this, and you inadvertently begin to relax into his touch.

He seems to notice this, leaning in closer to your body, and while you know it's just to get a better angle, more precision, it still sends a rather confusing shockwave of electricity up your spine. In this proximity, you can practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. Can practically see every fiber of muscle in his biceps as they flex under his flannel shirt.

This close, you're met with the rather inconvenient realization that Joel is beautiful.

You try to tell yourself that it's purely situational, that if you hadn't just been dumped on the side of the road by your asshole boyfriend, you wouldn't be seeking the physical comfort of another man. Still, this does nothing to stop the steady acceleration of your heartbeat, nor the growing arousal between your thighs. 

All of this, despite the pain in your ankle.

You almost don't realize he's done mending you, the shifting of his hand to your opposite calf sending you into a prompt spell of dizziness. Mind flooded with images of him spreading you apart, taking you right here on this worn, leather couch, you're silently reeling. 

His eyes flit up to meet yours, a little darker than you recall them being. His fingers curl against your skin and your breath hitches. 

Does he feel this too?

You shift experimentally. Let your legs fall apart just an inch. To your dismay, he pulls his hand back; clears his throat.

And just like that – the bubble bursts.

“All set,” he announces as he stands, before practically running out of the room.

A little humiliated, you retreat back into yourself. Stare out the window and pretend not to notice when he rejoins you in the living room and wordlessly drags his footstool to the opposite side of the room.

The remainder of the day passes agonizingly slow. Minutes feel like hours, the sky only growing darker, and it’s a wonder how Joel can even see the pages of the book he’s currently got his nose stuck into.

Not that he’d offered you one. 

Instead, you’ve been stuck in place. A prisoner to this couch, the springs of which are digging into your back uncomfortably. Staring out the window like some harrowed female protagonist in a period piece.

Joel doesn’t seem to notice your presence, after a while. He reads, drinks warm beer, and quite literally twiddles his thumbs. Anything to avoid talking to you. 

You’re not sure what you did wrong. Had you said something to offend him without realizing? Had your subtle pass at him been less subtle than you’d thought? Had you crossed a line? You’d really just considered it innocent flirting. Maybe Joel hadn’t.

Regardless, it makes you wonder why he even brought you here. Maybe he’d just wanted to feel like a hero – hadn’t thought about what came after. About you occupying his precious space. 

After a while of sitting in the same place, your muscles begin to ache. Plus, your throat feels dry. You need to stand, need to get something to drink. Except, when you move to get up, Joel immediately stops you. 

“Where you goin’?” 

“Need a drink.”

“I’ll get you one,” he offers. “What do you want?” 

What you really want is to go home. To forget this entire day even happened.

So you settle on–

“Vodka?” 

He hums. “Don’t got that.”

“Tequila?”

“Got some scotch left. Might be one more beer. Was really hopin’ to have it though.”

You scoff. 

“Okay. Water, then?” 

“That I can do.” 

He disappears into the kitchen and returns moments later with a glass. Hands it over without making eye contact. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. He says nothing in response. Just collects his empty beer bottles from off the floor and retreats once again. 

By the time he comes back, the sun is setting – at least, what can be seen of it through the dark clouds that still rage in the sky. 

He seems tense, fixating himself by the window and watching the storm with such acuity you think he may be waiting for the second it ends to kick you out. 

“Have you heard anything about when this is supposed to pass?” you ask.

“Have no electricity,” he grumbles. “So, no.”

You stretch out your back. Stand. This time, Joel doesn't stop you. “Just didn't know if you had a radio or something.”

“I don't.”

Rounding on him, you attempt to get him to look in your direction. Still, he stares straight ahead, like you're not even there. Frustration bubbles in you, quickly reaching a full boil.

"What is your problem?"

He finally looks at you. And then he laughs, though you get the sense that he's not amused in the slightest.

"My problem?”

You nod. Raise your eyebrows at him.

“I'm lettin' you wait out a storm in my house right now,” he says. “Doesn't seem like somethin' you should be asking me."

You scoff. "I just don't know what I did to piss you off."

He turns to face you completely now. 

"Are you kidding? Haven't done nothing but inconvenience me since you got in my truck. Askin’ for a fuckin’ cocktail like this is some kind of resort. Starin’ at me all day like i'm a guest in my own home.”

Is he fucking serious?

“Why’d you even pick me up?"

"Wasn't gonna drive by a stranded girl on the side of the road, was I?"

You're both silent for a long moment. You can't exactly be mad at him for rescuing you. Still, you feel extremely uncomfortable now, knowing that he doesn't want you here. Tears pickle the corners of your eyes threateningly. You choke them back.

"Well fine, if i'm such a fucking burden, i'll leave."

You're expecting him to open the door for you. Throw you out to the wolves. So you're more than taken aback when he shakes his head at you disapprovingly.

"Like hell you will. There's about two feet of water out there. Where you gonna go?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “But i'll figure it out."

"You'll figure it out?"

"That's what I said."

Joel tuts. "Look at the state of you right now. You can barely even walk. There’s no power anywhere. Just face it: you wanna get home safely, before tomorrow, i'm your only hope."

“Fuck you,” you spit, stepping closer to him. Where does he get off, acting like such a righteous savior? You're going to brush past him, leave anyway, but as soon as you go to move, his hand is winding around your arm.

“Don't.”

“Or what?” you hiss. 

“Just – don't.” His voice is less angry; more pleading.

“You don't want me here,” you say. It's not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Yes I do. I mean – I don't want anything to happen to you out there. Please just – let me make this up to you.”

His hand slides up to your shoulder. Squeezes gently. Your eyes wander to where he holds you. When they flit up to his face again, you find he's already gazing at you.

You're not sure who moves first.

You're back on his couch in an instant, your shorts being tugged down and off your legs, along with your panties. And then Joel is shouldering himself between your legs, shimmying down the couch and situating his face right in front of your pussy.

His nails dig into the skin of your thighs as he gets his first taste of you, and he groans. You shudder at the sight of him, the sound of him. Your fingers find their way to the curls at the crown of his head and grasp tightly onto them.

“Is this what you need, baby?” he slurs, and you nod deliriously.

“Yeah,” he smirks. “I know.”

His tongue dips into your apex, greedily lapping up some of your sweet nectar before he finally decides to put you out of your misery, dragging it up to swipe over your swollen clit. 

You instinctually buck against his face, trying to force him closer, and he chuckles. Grabs onto your thighs and pulls you toward his mouth. His tongue begins to relentlessly massage your clit and you cry out, a needy little whine that echoes through the room. 

“Mhm,” he hums against you in understanding, the vibrations of his voice sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your core. And then he pulls away, only momentarily, to spit on your pussy, the sound of it so obscene that your eyes roll back in response. He's back on you immediately, plunging two fingers into your soaked cunt and curling them against your g-spot as his tongue laves at you.

In less than a minute, you're coming hard, gushing all over his chin and his hand. He doesn't relent until you're gasping for him to stop, scratching at his shoulders in desperation. And then he's kissing you, the taste of your arousal on his mouth, and though satiated, you've never felt so starving.

“Need you,” you mumble against his lips, your hands roving restlessly across any part of him you can reach, grasping at fabric and skin.

He nibbles at your neck and you inhale the scent of him. Commit the smell of his sweat and musk to memory. This'll probably be the only time you have him, after all. You push that thought to the back of your mind. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Joel pulls off his shirt and undoes his belt. Shucks his jeans off. He hovers back over you with a newfound ferocity in his eyes. 

“Up,” he orders. Helps you sit. You pull your own shirt off and toss it aside. Unclasp your bra and let it fall from your body as Joel stares wolfishly at your exposed chest.

Your eyes, on the other hand, fly straight to his cock. It tents in his boxer, his bulge a bit intimidating, and you feel yourself beginning to salivate.

He chuckles above you, hand coming to rest placatingly on your waist.

“Think you can take it, baby?”

In truth, you're not entirely sure. But you're sure as hell not about to waste any more time wondering.

“Please just – fuck me.”

He shifts his weight. Props your ankle atop his back and rests with his elbows on either side of you. And then he grinds against you, the heft of his hard cock rubbing against your bare pussy.

“Patience,” he tuts. “We got nothin’ but time.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

bloody hands. l Joel Miller

Summary:  he didn't expect to find you in such a state

Warnings:  angst, but with a lot of sad moments, guns, knife and blood, two dead bodies, allusion to rape, nervous breakdown

A/N: I had a certain scene in mind and I really wanted to create something around it. something like this came out. scribbles. but I hope you'll be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

and once I wrote that, the thought grew in me to give these two something more... and now i'm unsure what to do with it next. help?

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The sound of the shot echoed through the building and Joel felt a shiver run through his body. He sped up and quickly climbed the next stairs, then headed down the corridor where he could hear the sounds of scuffling and Ellie's screams. Fingers tightened around the handle of the rifle, he pushed the door with his shoe and for a moment he didn't know what was happening.

Ellie was sitting against the wall with terror in her eyes. The body of one of the men was lying on the floor, and the other...

"Shit!" Joel hissed, lowering the barrel of the rifle.

You were breathing heavily, trying to fill your lungs with oxygen. You were still holding the knife in your clenched, bloody hand, sitting astride the body of the other man. Thick blood flooded the floor beneath him, his clothes were soaked in it.

"Hey, it's me."

Terrified eyes found Joel's face, you tried to brush your hair away from your face, but you stained it even more with the man's blood. It seemed that you weren't hurt so Miller quickly looked towards the girl squeezed against the wall.

"Are you okay?"

Ellie nodded and stood up "Those pricks tried to..."

She didn't have to finish. Joel quickly noticed the mess your clothes were in, the unfastened belt buckle on your pants - he knew what could have happened and a shiver ran down his spine again.

"It's over." he choked out and held out his hand to help you up "Let's get out of here."

Despite the daze you were in, you stood up efficiently and quickly gathered your things. You all wanted to leave this cursed place as soon as possible and return to Jackson. A few days of travel separated you from your destination, but at that moment everything seemed to be even further away.

It was already getting dark outside when you managed to find an empty small house near a stream. Joel checked the place out before sinking into the dusty couch with relief. Every muscle in his body ached, and his stomach was increasingly demanding food.

Ellie's footsteps echoed silently across the floor as she visited empty rooms. Joel noticed you after a moment when you brought a bucket of water into the house.

"I want to wash this off myself." You said quietly, seeing his questioning look. Your hands and face were still smeared with dried blood.

"Do you need help? We will eat something soon." he said, but you just shook your head.

"I'm not hungry, thank you." and you quietly closed the bathroom door behind you.

This evening was different, he could clearly feel it. You joined them only after some time, still saying that you weren't hungry, you sat on the couch, pulling your legs up and wrapping yourself in an old blanket. There were no evening conversations between you and Ellie, although the girl tried to pull you in, you were strangely absent.

Joel saw it all, he knew you so well. You had walked together not only many miles, but also many dangerous situations. This time, however, everything was different, and that worried him.

He didn't know what had woken him up in the night and only after a short while did he realize that it was the splash of water and... crying. 

He looked around the dark room, Ellie was fast asleep on the couch, but your place was empty. Joel threw off the blanket and quietly made his way towards the bathroom, the door was ajar. 

The night was cloudless and the moonlight reflected off the once white tiles, dimly illuminating the interior. First he saw your clothes thrown somewhere on the floor, and after a moment...

"Sweet Jesus." he whispered, slipping inside and closing the door behind him.

You were sitting naked in a bathtub half filled with water. The water was freezing cold, because Joel could clearly see how you were shaking, but it could also have been intensified by the crying.

"What are you doing here, sweetie?" he whispered, crouching by the edge and placing his hand on your back, "Fuck, you're so cold. Get out of here."

Your arms were wrapped around your knees, your damp hair was sticking to your face, and you were still sobbing quietly.

"I can't wash it off, Joel..." you groaned, your throat hurting so much that you could barely say the next words, "My hands... I can still see it..."

He took your icy hands in his warm ones, "They're clean, look. How long have you been sitting here? You shouldn't… Come on, I'll help you."

"But my hands..."

"Sweetie, everything's fine. You're fine. C'mon." He grabbed you carefully by the waist, noticing with despair how cold you were, you must have been sitting in the water for a long time.

He noticed an old towel on the floor and quickly wrapped it around you. Your body was shaking, but you didn't seem to feel it. All of this made Joel feel even more afraid for you. He didn't expect this, he didn't expect you to snap at such a moment. But maybe it awaits everyone sooner or later?

This was surprising to him. You were always tough, you didn't lose your cool quickly and Joel was sure that when you said "I've got your back." you always did it right. Now, however, he held in his arms such a fragile version of you that his heart broke with each of your quickened breaths.

This wasn't something you deserved, certainly not you. You grounded him, helped him not to go crazy. He probably never told you how important you were to him, how your presence soothed his heart and mind. How much he liked it when you fell asleep and your head fell lightly on his shoulder, how he felt more confident when you grabbed his hand. You always did it at the perfect moment, when fear began to take control of his body. Your fingers would intertwine tightly with his and then you would take control.

"You're shaking all over." he mumbled as he sat down on the floor with you, his hands rubbing your shoulders hard. "Why did you come here?"

Doe eyes found him, your eyelids were red from crying. "I couldn't sleep." you whispered. "I could still feel him on me. His breath, his hands, and then his blood... I was so scared."

"I know, I know..."

"I wasn't afraid for myself, but for Ellie." Joel swallowed hard. "I couldn't... She didn't deserve this. She shouldn't have seen this."

Strong hands grabbed your face tenderly. "You saved her. You did what you had to."

"I slaughtered them like pigs, Joel..." you groaned, your voice breaking. "What kind of person am I? I'm no different from them. I didn't expect something like this to be inside me... I'm scared, Joel."

He knew exactly what you were talking about. It was something he had been pushing out of his head for years, and in the meantime you had cracked. You were made from different, better clay.

"Listen to me." he finally spoke, his thumbs tenderly stroking your cheeks. "You're a good person, but sometimes you have to do bad things to save the ones you love, right? Don't blame yourself for this, you had no other choice. If it weren't for you, you'd both be dead by now." you closed your eyes as if his words were soothing you "We've been through so much together. I know what you're like, you're definitely not a bad person. You're good...and gentle...caring... and sensitive...understanding...patient..."

"Please..."

“I wish I could meet you in better times." he added quietly "I'd gladly take you to a cozy restaurant, or to the cinema to see some terrible movie."

You quietly burst out laughing, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. He wasn't lying.

Joel had long imagined how it all could have looked if nothing bad had happened, if your paths had crossed at a different moment and time. These dreams, however, were pushed far to the fringes of his mind, because they gave him nothing more than a sense of injustice and helplessness.

"I can't imagine you in a place like that." You said quietly.

"I definitely wouldn't take a gun there, you know." He snorted, and you smiled. "But everything else... I think I could surprise you."

"You think so?" His hands slid down, one of them now lying loosely on your thigh, stroking it lightly, the other brushing wet strands of hair away from your face. "I think I like the idea. It seems so...safe."

"I'll do anything to keep you safe. You know that, right?"

You nodded. "I guess I should get dressed. If Ellie woke up and found us like this..."

"Right, right." You both stood up from the floor, and you reached for your clothes. "If you need help..."

"Thank you, Joel. You've done a lot already."

A weak smile appeared on your face, but he knew it was costing you a lot. So he left, letting you get dressed in peace.

A strange feeling filled his heart the moment he lay back down, in his already cold spot. He felt a small spark of happiness and hope when he held you in his arms, but at the same time anger and sadness that you could only dream of such nice moments together. The world had taken everything you could have had together, and you could only dream of it on the cold tiles of a dirty bathroom in a house in the middle of nowhere. It was so unfair.

Quiet footsteps announced that you had returned to the room, and after a moment you laid down next to Joel.

"Feeling better?" he asked in a whisper, you nodded "If you need anything..."

"Can you hug me? Just for a moment, please..."

It wasn't a request, just a plea. Joel mumbled a quiet "C'mere." and after a while he felt your body next to his. He clung to your back, wrapping his arm tightly around your waist. But your hand found his again, your fingers intertwined and you brought it closer to your face, kissing the top of it.

"Thank you, Joel. For everything." You whispered.

And he buried his face in your hair, squeezing his eyes shut. He kissed your head and deep in his heart he regretted that this was all he could give you. And you deserved so much more.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[1980shorrorfilm]

every road i know

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie thought it was time to solidify your relationship. she might have been wrong.

before you read…inspired by the strangers, minus the killing n stuff. modern day fic. angst with comfort <3

the autumn night is silent, besides the occasional creak of the old miller’s cabin settling into its nighttime routine. you listen to the wind whistling outside, through the tall pines surrounding the small wooden home. 

it’s a lonely town, the nearest house a few miles down the road, something vastly different from your shared apartment in the city. 

ellie started bringing you here after joel had let it collect endless dust and cobwebs, the woman cleaning it all up for you. whenever life got too busy, chaotic, or hard, this way your getaway. peace. just you and her and the nature that surrounded you.

now, it feels as though it’s purgatory. 

the fireplace flickers softly, its glow dancing on the wooden walls, but the warmth couldn’t seem to comfort you. not right now. ellie sits in front of the flames, her silhouette outlined by the orange gentle light.

she has yet to utter a single word to you. the car ride here was silent. even the radio on mute, because ellie couldn’t find the simple strength to turn it up.

the moment is replaying in her mind, over and over, the sad smile you had given her burned into her memory. the thing she’s had anxiety about for the past month. proposing, to you.

the dark velvet box holding the special ring, now lying on the coffee table beside her. a stark reminder of the event.

you’re sat on the couch, chewing your lip, a rose petal in your hand. it’s soft, you find yourself stroking the smooth flower. they cover, nearly, the whole cabin. ellie had thrown the petals around before you had arrived together, trying to make it appear as romantic as possible. 

it’s not her strong suit, her appreciation toward you shown in much different ways than typical lovey-dovey things you see on television, but tonight it felt right. long candles garnish whatever surface she could put them on, yellow and smelling like vanilla. they’re not lit. 

she assumed she’d spark them when you came back from the long day you had. one that started with your favorite breakfast, ellie waking up extra early to make it as perfect as she could. and she did, you made sure to compliment her repeatedly.

then she took you downtown, viewing places you rarely visited, spending more time admiring you than the other pretty views. what occupied most of your time, was going to a museum she took you to on your first date, reminiscing on how awkward you two were compared to now.

she swears that’s her favorite place, and not just because she’s a nerd, because she now associates it with you. 

ellie had took you out to dinner, to your favorite restaurant, hardly eating and claiming she just wasn’t hungry. that was a lie, she just didn’t think she could keep food down. her nerves were washing over her, multiplying when you had finished, and you took a walk near the river, beneath the red trees that blew softly above you.

you had felt her pause in place, holding her warm hand, and you thought maybe the tie had come undone on her sneakers. she had washed them the day prior until her fingers pruned, you found it odd for ellie but didn’t say anything. but that wasn’t the problem. she stared at you like she saw a ghost, and it worried you.

you almost thought this was the end, she was about to tell you those four dreaded words. we need to break up. oh, the idea terrorizes you. that, however, also wasn’t it.

she had whispered inaudible words to herself, then mumbling ‘okay, okay, okay.’

you thought the woman was breaking before you, concern in your eyes, holding her hand tight. then she gulped, trying to get out the rehearsed words that seemed to vanish the longer she stood in your presence. 

how much you mean to her. from the very moment you two got paired up for a project that she insisted she’d do all the work for, but you fought back, finding yourself in her bedroom the entire week, the girl studying you more than the work laid out before her.

she found herself by your side all the time afterward.

she needed to be by your side. 

she doesn’t know how she lived before you, and if she could live without you— no, insisting she could not live with you. she simply wouldn’t have the will. waking up to a bed you didn’t occupy, not hearing your genuine laughter to her most idiotic jokes, not being able to hold you when you experienced the hardest day of your life.

she couldn’t have that. she needs this…you and her, to last forever. so, she asked those four words that you weren’t prepared for. will you marry me?

to which, you didn’t say yes.

you couldn’t. you love ellie, more than you could ever put into words, you swear on your life that you do, and it didn’t at all reflect your feelings for her. you were just…paralyzed. by fear, uncertainty, and the weight of expectations that you couldn’t hold up to for her. every single insecurity, hitting you at once, in the worst moment it possibly could.

you had said her name in a weak whisper, and ellie gulped, realizing what was happening. a tear slipped from your eye, that she quickly wiped away, reassuring you it was okay. that you’re okay. putting you before her, a habit of hers. bits of her broken heart being blown away in the cool wind that hits you, while she cradles yours. 

you walked to the car together in silence, a suffocating fog. a silence that seemed to last forever.

the tension between you two is almost palpable, both of your minds are currently a whirlwind of heavy emotions. a gentle crackle of the fire and ellie shifting in place, makes you finally turn your attention to her. “ellie,” you say her name softly, voice strained as you finally break the unbearable quiet. “can we talk?”

her gaze remains on the fiery flames, her shoulders tense. “we don’t have to,” she replies quietly, “i get it.”

“i don’t think you do,” you lowly say, heart aching at the mere thought of all the negativity running through her precious head, doubts about herself and your relationship. that’s the last thing you could ever want.

ellie swallows thickly, “it doesn’t matter.”

you watch her get up, turning her back to you as she leaves the room. your eyes trail her to the kitchen before you follow her. she doesn’t glance at you as you lean against the nearby counter, watching her grab an expensive champagne bottle. 

you assume she bought it just for tonight, she wouldn’t drink it any other time. she won’t even touch a glass of wine. she pops it open, pouring it into one of the two glasses beside it. “i don’t…” you begin to say as she hovers over the other glass, ellie nodding in response. you’re afraid if you drink it you’ll throw up all the nerves inside your system. 

“i got your favorite ice cream…if you want that instead,” ellie mentions, tapping her finger on the glass, “went to like…3 different stores. couldn’t find the brand you like.”

she ends the sentence with an attempt at a laugh, finding it so silly now. all the effort, for what? humiliation? pity? she sips on the disgusting drink like it would make her feel better. the only other thing that helps her in trying times, is you; and that’s not exactly possible in this scenario.

“do you…” she pauses, staring at the liquid as she swirls it around, “do you want this…us?”

“of course i do,” you answer her without hesitation, taking a step closer to her, but still out of reach. “it’s not that, ellie,” you tell her, trying to figure out how to inform her it’s you and not her, without sounding like a poor cliche overused excuse. 

“it’s just…we’re young…im scared you’re making a mistake,” your voice wavers near the end, ashamed to admit such a thing, that you are her mistake. ellie looks at you like you just spit in her face. she doesn’t know how to interpret the comment, she slightly feels insulted that you would think that she’s making a ‘mistake.’ 

this isn’t putting a shirt on inside out. this isn’t forgetting to turn the light off when you leave a room. it’s not tripping over your step. it’s her committing herself to you, after five beautiful years attached to you, something she wants hundreds more years of, if that were possible. nothing about that is a mistake.

you’re the love of her life. cementing that is not a fucking mistake. 

“is that how you feel?” she flips the script, putting the spotlight on you, feeling like you’re burning beneath it at the accusation. “what?” you whisper, “n-no…no ellie.”

you can’t read her expression, she’s swallowing the rest of her drink, blankly staring ahead. 

she ignores your response, “i’ll drive us home in the morning. you should get some sleep.”

she turns away, placing her glass carefully in the sink, resting there for a moment. your eyes are boring into the back of her head as if you could read the thoughts inside it. so many bad thoughts. 

you push yourself forward, taking a few quiet steps to her. you plant your feet behind her, wrapping your arms around her body. her breathing is slow, her figure painfully stiff, hugging a tree and not your person. so solid despite the endless embraces where she would melt into you.

you murmur her name, holding her tighter. 

ellie can’t resist you.

her hands reach for yours, resting against the center of her torso. her fingers brush against you softly, her breath hitching slightly, before letting out a sigh she’s held in for hours. 

just for this moment, the tension settles beneath the old floorboards of the cabin, giving you air to breathe instead of holding in. your hug is so tender, ellie could be lured to sleep by it. and her body is so warm, you’d rather die than pull away.

you wish it could last forever, and the hours prior could be forgotten. 

then her phone rings from her back pocket, vibrating against you, and she shifts. you let go, biting your lip, watching her fish the device out. joel. assumingly calling to congratulate her. ellie wishes she never told him, because fuck, this is going to be awkward. 

“i uh…should take this,” she whispers, not sparing you a glance when she walks away. you hear the front door open, then shut. you can’t help but walk back into the living room, standing before the window and peeking at ellie, who sat on the porch steps. 

you can’t see her face, her head down, a glow from a cigarette, and grey smoke surrounding her figure. it’s clearly not a happy conversation, there was no sugarcoating what had happened. it pains you. 

you turn back around, following the rose petals that scattered the floor, all the way down the hall, and stopping at the bathroom. you open the door, turning the light on, eyes falling on the several small candles on the edges of the bathtub. red, grey, and purple, they decorated the space. 

ellie really tried to make tonight special.

you stand idly, taking a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, staring at yourself with shame. a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, knowing it did something so drastic, that the only person they love, finds it hard to look at them. 

you quickly turn away. 

you run the bath and wait, tugging your top and pants off, kicking them to the side. you strip naked when it fills up completely, steam radiating from the water. you step in, adjusting to the high temperature, before sinking into it. it almost burns you, but not in a way that you mind. you just don’t care right now. 

ellie is the only thing on your mind. you wonder if she’s talking about you, openly questioning where your relationship lies, if she thinks it’s even going to last after today. 

before you know it, a single tear is falling down your face.

you hug your knees, turning your head and laying your cheek against them. you stare out the open bathroom door, to the wood paneled wall, a framed photo of a deer hung on it.

you forget to blink, spacing out, not noticing the creaking of the front door or the floor. not until ellie is within your view, pausing in the doorway, looking down at you. you’re crying to yourself.

her expression softens, not saying anything when she joins you, kneeling beside the bathtub and touching your face. her thumbs wipe the salty tears from beneath your eyes, but they don’t stop. 

“i’m scared, ellie,” you say just above a whisper, ellie only hears you because of how quiet the cabin is. besides the repetitive dripping from the sink. “i’m gonna fail you…” you continue, your voice now giving up on you, “scared’m gonna ruin this…ruin us…you’re so good, ellie— i just —i couldn’t say yes.”

you choke into a sob, her green eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “oh baby,” she says so softly, giving you the time to process your emotions, to let the tears fall while she holds you. 

“i can’t…” she stops, gulping and sighing, “i can’t change what you think…but i can promise you that nothing could ever change my mind about you.”

her grip on you is firm, reaffirming, as she continues to speak, “we can wait…i’m willing to wait forever for you. i will show you no matter what happens, i will still love you— i will always love you. i just needed…need you to know that.”

very faintly, your lips twitch upwards slightly, ellie mirroring you the moment she notices. “you’re enough for me,” she says, “just you. that’s all i want.”

ellie is, unfortunately, right; it doesn’t change the tainted mindset you have. that, however, has nothing to do with her. you don’t doubt the things she tells you, you’ve never felt more love from someone in your whole life, and you know for a fact that you never will.

and that’s why it brings you relief, to listen to her, understanding her point of view rather than your own, and the cruel demon on your shoulder whispering harsh words into your ear. 

ellie williams is the angel. 

it’s not the first time she’s eased the anxiety taunting you, and it will not be the last. she will always be there, rain or shine, you pushing her away or letting her in. she truly means what she says. you’re enough for her. and soon, you will accept that for yourself.

“i really want to hug you right now.”

ellie chuckles, a lightness in the air as she gets up, grabbing a beige towel. you stand, letting her wrap it around you, shivering at the coolness in the air. not caring about the water droplets still coating your body, ellie’s arms are quickly around you, her palm on the back of your head, cradling it gently.

you instantly feel warm again, at peace.

after the moment of serenity ends, ellie is leading you to the bedroom. she grabs your pajamas from your still-packed bag, letting you put them on while she does the same. your eyes fall on her pale back, watching her throw a white tee on, looking away when she turns her head at you. 

“was thinking about leaving at 8…wanna beat the traffic,” she says, hoping the statement doesn’t go back to making things awkward. just in case, she adds, “can stop at that pancake place you love.”

you can’t ignore the glum undertones of the suggestion, but you still give her a smile, barely modding your head.

you sit in bed, ellie exiting the room to turn off every light in the lonely cabin, leaving you with your thoughts. you hate it. thinking about how happy the two of you were coming here, compared to you leaving. you don’t even want to leave. you want to shut out the rest of the world, but more importantly, your mind.

how differently things would be right now, if you could just do that.

your eyes meet hers when she enters the room again, and you debate what you’re about to ask her. you can’t help it. “can i see it?”

“hm?” “the ring.”

ellie looks at you, freezing for a moment, stuttering, “y-yea…sure.”

again, she exits the room, grabbing the velvet small box on the table, the one she avoided even sparing a glance at just a minute ago. then she jogs back, scratching the back of her neck. she’s nervous as she approaches you, placing it in your open hands, like it’s a baby. 

it’s the first time you’re getting a decent look at it, having been unable to observe it during the moment, and it’s beautiful. it’s simple, yet the green sapphire is so elegant, resembling the way ellie’s eyes look beneath the sun. you smile at it. 

“i…can’t return it…if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“i’m not,” you tell her, “it’s gorgeous, ellie.”

you don’t want to give it back to her. it feels…so right, in your possession, that you can’t help but nervously slide it down your finger. there’s a bittersweet smile on your face at how perfect it is. how when you look at it, ellie is the first thing to come to your mind. 

your lover, for eternity. your lover that swears to you, that your need for her is as mutual as her need for you, no matter the circumstances, it is permanent. that your worries are just that. worries— self-doubt, and bitter thoughts about yourself, that are only present in the moment. they won't last forever. not like you and her.

with hesitance, you take it off, avoiding her gaze when you give it back to her. “i’ll be ready,” you promise, your finger oddly feeling so lonely despite only wearing it for a minute. “i will…i will be,” you find yourself mumbling, ellie getting closer and grabbing your hands.

“hey, i meant what i said,” her thumbs stroke your skin, reminding you once more, “i can wait forever for you.”

and she means it.

[covetyou]

digital

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)�� warnings: sex toys (like the wevibe jive or lovense lush/vulse), masturbation, phone sex, fluff, mild angst and serious yearning, novelty hats, Joel doesn't forget the balls, reader has a mom (inc. vague mentions of other family), no use of y/n word count: 4k  summary: You're exhausted. The special kind. The kind that only comes with visiting your family for Thanksgiving. Still, the exhaustion can't keep that yearning ache at bay, the ache you've been fending off all day. So, in the dark of the night, you reach out to Joel in the only way you can.

A/N: we're ignoring that this is well over 2 weeks later than I planned. we're not ignoring that this is the penultimate fic in this accidental series. the final installment will be coming to you all sometime in the coming weeks, and I hope you can join me in seeing off these two lovebirds right where it all began. see you soon 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

It's late when you fall into bed, sinking into the shape of yourself indented into a mattress you'd long left behind.

You're exhausted. The special kind. The kind that only comes with visiting your family for Thanksgiving.

It was stupid to have expected anything else really. Between the travelling, over indulgence, and endless socializing and catching up with family, there wasn't a chance you'd be anything other than bone tired and irritable. Wasn't that how these things always went?

In fact, from the moment you'd been welcomed by your mom with open arms and an it's good to have you home, you'd been annoyed. You couldn't even quite put your finger on why until Joel had sent his first message that morning; a picture of him and Sarah in matching holiday t-shirts, wearing matching squinting eyed grins, with a message that read wish you were here, and you wished you were too.

It wasn't until the fifth welcome home that day that you realized home hadn't been this place in a long time. Home, instead, was a million miles away, in Austin, Texas.

Home was sat on his couch, sharing a bag of chips with his daughter.

Home was chatting shit with his brother, cracking open a cold one on the patio.

Home was probably curled up in bed, holding a pillow close to himself to fill the empty space left by you.

Home was Joel Miller.

And home wasn't here.

At dinner, you'd made a decent effort to fill the Joel shaped void in your chest with mashed potatoes and stuffing, eating until your stomach ached so much that any other part of you couldn't possibly ache for any other reason. By the time dessert rolled around, the longing was back, clawing at you and pulling you toward a family that could be yours, if only you'd let it, until you filled that aching void again with too much pie and wine.

It was back now, that ache. Softer and gentler now that you were alone. More creeping than clawing as it worked its way back up your spine, latching at your throat with a squeeze rather than the bruising grip from earlier in the day.

It was that very same ache - that longing - that made you send maybe the most pathetic text you'd ever sent in your life.

you up?

He shouldn't be, you don't think. If it's late here it's even later there. He has a kid. Responsibilities you have been reminded over and over by "well meaning" family members that you don't have. At any rate, he had better things to do than to keep you company in the middle of the night, when the longing got too much to bear alone. Because you are alone, in this house filled with people - people you love - and you think that maybe you've never been more alone than now because, suddenly, alone feels a lot like lonely and -

The shrill ring of your phone stops your spiralling thoughts and, in a panic, you slap at the screen just to shut it up, rolling over until the brightness of it blinds you, and then you hear him.

His familiar drawl is softer than usual. He sounds tired, but content, almost like you can hear the smile in his voice and the crinkle in his eyes.

"Was hopin' I'd hear from you."

Your brain has stuttered to a stop. You're not breathing, not blinking, barely moving where you lie on your front, propped on your elbows, staring down at the too-bright screen of your phone where Joel stares back. It's just a picture - one you'd taken some weeks ago as you sat next to him on his couch and had looked at every day since. It was a good picture. He looked beautiful - soft and comfortable in his own home, looking right at you. Fuck, do you miss him.

"Hello? Y'ain't fallen asleep on me that quick, have you?"

You blink, shake yourself, and curse under your breath, catching Joel's raspy laugh as you fumble with your phone and smack it to the side of your head much harder than you meant to.

"Fuck, fuck, ow, yes, sorry. Hello," you garble, before taking a deep breath. "Hello. Hi."

"Hey there, darlin'," he says back, that smile so evident on his voice you're grinning right back at him in the dark. "You okay? Doze off for a little there?"

"Sorry it's - it's just your voice. Sounds better than I remember," you laugh softly. "Wasn't expecting it."

"Only been a couple days," he teases, and the familiar, comfortable ease of being with Joel blankets you. From what feels like so very far away he's managed to crawl back into your chest and illuminate the dark, empty cavern inside of it in a matter of moments. You never stood a chance.

"I know," you sigh as you roll over and flick on a bedside lamp to keep the creeping dark at bay. "I've missed you. Today was... not fun."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

By this point you knew him well enough to know he was running his tongue across his teeth, nodding in that gentle, understanding way he did whenever you'd complain about work, or how you'd kicked the kitchen cabinet by accident yet again. For as much as he'd barrelled into your life, he was always so very gentle with the parts you gave, and even gentler with the parts that you weren't yet ready for him to see. Fuck, do you love him.

He hums then, in just the way you'd expect, and you listen to the delicate sounds of each others breaths for a beat before he breaks the silence.

"Wanna tell me what that surprise you were teasin' me was instead?"

Shit. You'd forgotten about that. Sort of.

This morning you'd almost pulled it out, plan set to tease Joel with it all day. One look at the thing in your hand, and the idea of your cunt pulsing away while you tried to have a conversation with your mother turned you off from that idea entirely.

Now, it sat back in your bag, tucked away and hidden in the closet, away from the prying eyes of your family, and almost forgotten entirely by you.

"It can wait," you say hastily, flapping a hand in the air as if there was any chance he could see you.

"Now hold on a sec. You were teasin' me with that all week. Told me I couldn't have it at home, it was best to show me from all the way over there. Now, I don't know what you're plannin', but you got two days to show me what mischief you been makin', sweetheart, or all that fuss before was for nothin'."

You don't answer, instead eyeing the closet and weighing up your chances of waking anyone in the house if you did show Joel the little surprise you'd been planning on giving him for weeks.

"Think I can make a few guesses, don't you?"

"You could try," you scoff, knowing Joel's eyebrows are making a valiant attempt to meet his hairline right now.

"Try?" he asks, all too innocently. "Just tell me somethin', then. You doin' that thing where you touch yourself without even realizin' it?"

Your hand stops just at it's about to make another loop across your chest and down the softness of your stomach. "No."

He tuts down the line, and you can see the tick of his head behind your eyes, pinched shut as if he'd just caught you in the act in person.

"And you're gonna tell me your little surprise got nothin' to do with that."

That happened to be the way you always found yourself touching yourself in some way whenever you spoke to Joel, from whatever distance you found yourself from him. Not always in a sexy way either, though more often than not it was. Sometimes it was just soothing, you supposed. Listening to him talk while your hands played idly on your skin calmed you better than just about anything else, and here you were, soothing yourself with his voice from across the miles, your hands tracing the patterns you wished his could. It was nice - a connection to him even through the distance that wasn't just audible, but physical too.

Which was the exact point of your little surprise - a way to be with Joel without actually being with Joel.

"It might."

Joel's stubborn silence is about all you need to know the man isn't about to back down and let you off the hook any time soon. "Fine, but you've got to give me a second to grab it."

You huff in faux annoyance and haul your ass out of bed, tired bones creaking, but the weariness you'd felt all day slowly fading away as excitement creeps in to replace it.

"Can hear you movin' around."

You're glad for it. You hope he can hear every single thing - the soft click of the closet door, the thud of pillows propped up on the bed you spent years of your life sleeping in, the creak of springs as you settle yourself back into the unfamiliar sheets covering it, how you pull up your shirt just so and rest the surprise you'd stashed away across the miles right between your bare breasts. You hope he hears you fumble and tap at your phone as you take picture after picture, until you get one just right, and scramble to hit send.

It's a hope that's realized when you hear his breath hitch and the words get lost in his throat.

"Well," he says with a cough. "Don't quite know what the surprise for me is. Never hid those beauties from me before though, so I'm gonna have to say it's the pretty thing between 'em. Think I can guess where it goes. You gonna let me listen in?"

"Maybe," you say just as you hit send on another message to Joel. "Was kinda hoping you'd give me a hand though."

"What -"

He sounds muffled, but you can hear him mumbling to himself as his thick fingers tap away at his phone screen. And then, exactly as you hoped, the toy sitting on your chest rumbles to life and you could almost cry at the feeling. You grasp it in your fist, just as the other motor hums into action and starts gently thrusting against your palm. For a moment, the intensity gets so much your skin starts to tingle, until it dies down and then finally rumbles to a stop.

"This what I think it is? You really get this so I can play with you like this?" he asks, voice laced in disbelief.

"Yeah," you say, the toy in your hand purring into action again.

"You ain't put it in yet, have you?"

"Not yet," you murmur. "But I can feel you."

"Yeah?" he says, and a moment later the vibrations strengthen and weaken against your hand, like a wave coming in strong before pulling back out to sea. "Y'feel that?"

"Mhm."

The toy buzzes to life and quickly shuts off over and over, short stacatto bursts of vibrations tickling your hand, and you laugh at the silliness of it. "Joel. That's not gonna get anyone off. You're just gonna break it."

"What? It ain't nice like that?" he jokes.

"Feeling you is always nice."

"Know what'd be even nicer?" he asks. "Takin' off them panties and lettin' me really put this thing to use. Feel me where you really need it. Know you gotta be wet down there - your brain don't shut off like that when I'm talking to you if you ain't."

Your panties are flung across the room barely a moment later, your fingers skating gently along the edges of them before you yanked them down your legs. You are wet, panties soaked through in the middle, cunt sensitive and ready for a cock that isn't coming. Despite the obvious emptiness, and even more painfully obvious lack of Joel in the room, you know you're about to come quicker than you have in some time. You can barely swipe your own fingers through your slick folds, gathering your own wetness to smear it over the toy, without holding back a moan.

"That's it. Can hear you. Think we oughta start off nice 'n' gentle, huh?"

The air hitches in your lungs as the toy thrums to life. You guide the gentle buzz down your front, leaving a slick trail of your own wetness over the softness of your belly, before teasing down and down, between your legs and across already twitching thighs.

You circle your cunt with it, teasing with its vibrating tip, eyes pinched shut while Joel keeps it soft and steady for you as you slip it across slick coated skin and up to your clit.

"That good?"

He sounds so soft, almost breathless. You hope he's touching himself too, but you don't have the words to ask. If you open your mouth you're going to let out the moan you're so desperately holding back, your bottom lip sore with it, and the idea of anyone waking up, of ruining this for you now when it's just begun, is enough to keep your lips sealed tight.

"Mhm."

"S'good. Think you're playin' with that clit now, huh?"

You nod. Stupidly. Yet somehow he knows. He always knows. And the toy buzzes harder, intensity sliding up so gently as you were swirling it around yourself you almost didn't notice until the vibrations dancing past your clit forced the moan out of you, face turned into the pillow to stifle it.

"Gotta keep quiet," he says then. "Y'aint alone over there, darlin'. But I ain't with you to put that mouth to use either."

You groan again. You can't control it. It comes out low and strong, the phone you were grasping so tightly left forgotten against the pillow by your ear so you can clutch the plush pillow to your face instead, biting it.

"Too good," you say around a mouthful of pillow. "I need to put it in, Joel, it's gonna make me come too fast - shit - just knowing - knowing you're there, doing that and I - fuck..."

"Put it in. Slip it in that wet little hole for me. You feel that? Feel me in there?"

It's easy, sliding it into you. It's only small - you certainly have bigger - but so very powerful. Not the motor, no, but the way it, and Joel's control over it, have you a sopping mess already.

"I feel you," you say, Joel turning sliding on the other setting - the thrust you felt in your palm minutes ago - setting the toy wiggling and buzzing inside you. "Fuck, I feel you."

You dig your nails into your thighs, letting them bite into the soft, sensitive flesh to pull you back, to pull you down from whatever high you were going toward. It's too much and it's not enough all at once. You want him - need him - desperately, but he's so damn far away and somehow that makes this all the sweeter and all the more bitter, all in one.

"Wish I could be fuckin' you for real, feel you twitchin' on my cock. You twitchin'?" he asks, that breathlessness back in his voice again, and you just know he's joining you. You can see his hand gripped tight around his cock, his head slick and ruddy, squeezing more than stroking, holding back just like you were desperately trying to.

"Don't want to yet. Want this to last - ah - won't have you for days."

"Look at you," he mutters, the vibrations inside you kicking up a notch. "Can't go a few days without me."

And you never want to again.

"Touch that clit for me. Wish I could do it for you. Know how much y'need it."

At his guidance, your grip on your thighs releases. You stroke one quivering hand across your mound. You're so tense. From the day, sure, but from holding back too. All damn day you've held back. Held back looking at your phone in front of anyone. Held back saying Joel's name, mentioning the man who had you so distracted even from so far away. Held back talking about his amazing daughter, and the little family you'd accidentally and gladly fallen into. Held back telling everyone about the life you'd carved for yourself a million miles away from here, so different from the one you left behind. Held back, held back, held back.

Even now you're holding back, but fuck, are you ready to fly.

"Need to see you," you beg, a little too loudly, but you can't bring yourself to care. The combination of him working away in your cunt and your fingers stroking against your swollen clit are too much. You need to see him. "Please. I'm close. I'm -"

There's a shuffle and then the screen illuminates against your face just as the pulsing throb in your cunt gets stronger. You fumble, grabbing it just before it slips beneath your shoulder, and squint against the brightness, eyes adjusting until you see the beautiful face of Joel.

He's smiling. Face as flushed as you imagine yours is.

"Fuck -" you gasp. He looks better than you remember. Even at this terrible angle, the extreme close up of his face. He's shirtless. You can see his bare, tanned collarbones, the slope of his traps into his shoulders. "Fuck."

"You really that close?" you watch him say, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth moves around each word. So fixated, you barely notice him pull back the camera, or shift it upwards, until his full head is in view.

Including the turkey hat perched on top of it.

You almost stop swiping your fingers across your clit.

Almost.

"You asshole," you moan, as Joel's face lights up. He frowns then too, a look of concentration flicking over his face, tukey legs flapping by his ears, until you feel the damned thing rumbling inside you thrust wilder, wiggling against that very spot usually reserved for Joel's fingers. "Fu-uck. You - you just put that hat on. I heard you."

"This old thing?" he says with wobble of his head that sends the turkey flopping from side to side.

"Take it off. I'm close Joel, I-"

He shrugs. You watch him fucking shrug as you speed up the movement of your fingers, teasing yourself as he teases you in every sense of the word and, somehow, it does nothing but get you wetter, sends your legs quivering and your brain desperately trying to hold on for a little bit longer. "Don't think it's enough to stop you. Never had a problem comin' before. Think you can come no matter what I'm wearin'."

"Fuck," you say again, because it's true. And he smirks, because he knows it is too.

"You can do it. Keep rubbin' that thing for me, can tell you're so fuckin' close."

"Are you hard? Please. I need to know, I can't, I'm - I -"

"Where the fuck do you think my other hand is, huh? You wanna see 'im? Know you said you missed me but I bet you're really fuckin' missin' him right now, ain't you?"

"Please."

You're loud. You know you are. Even as you beg, you know it's too loud, and you know these walls are too damn thin for this. The only thing saving your ass right now is holiday exhaustion and too much pie.

When Joel flips his camera, you damn near come immediately. He's cupping his balls, massaging them while his solid cock desperately leaks. He's holding himself back for you - fuck, you love him - he's waited for you all this time, hoping to hear from you, thinking of you as he played with himself alone, so far away from you and your helping hands.

"Oh my god, I swear, I swear I've never wanted it more. I need it."

"I believe you," he breathes, jerking his cock in his massive hand. "You're gonna get it, darlin'. Second you're back here, gonna bend you over your kitchen counter and fuck you right there. Keep makin' them pretty noises for me now. That's it. Need more fuckin' hands..."

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna -"

And you do. Joel makes one last flick across his phone screen, the intensity rumbling in you reaching a peak, your fingers rub, rub, rubbing at your clit as you watch his heavy cock throb in his hand, and you come, clenching and fluttering around the unrelenting toy as you swear and moan right down the phoneline.

Joel isn't far behind. Even fucked out and exhausted, you somehow keep your eyes open, keep the toy lodged in you, buzzing away, pulling aftershocks out of you as you watch Joel work his cock until he's spilling all over his fist and thigh with a shakey groan.

"Shit."

You yank the toy from you when it becomes too much to bear, leaving it wet and rumbling on the sheets. Joel cleans up - a softly murmurred be right back, leaving you face down on his bed as you become a boneless sack filled with too much pie and longing in your own bed, so very far from his.

"You made me come in a turkey hat," you say sleepily when his face reappears on your phone screen, that very same hat still pulled tight on his head. You can see his own exhaustion now, each line and shadow on his face exacerbated by the late hour and low light.

"Think we both know you came with me wearin' weirder before. You like the weird."

"You like the weird."

"I love the weird."

He yawns. His massive hand covering his mouth, eyes closing in on themselves, rolling his head - and that stupid turkey hat - on his neck, and he's maybe never looked better. Silly, sleepy, content. Yours.

"I love you."

You don't know why you say it, exactly. You suppose you think it so loud it just slipped out. Fuck knows you'd toyed with it enough. Started saying how much you love his laugh or love his hair in the morning. Text him it. You love him. It should be easy. But it wasn't, even if he said it to you a thousand times over, a thousand different ways, without the many miles between you.

Joel doesn't hesitate, not even for a second. "Come say that to my face."

"I will," you say. "I promise, I will."

There's four days between you, and as many phonecalls. As many I love you's too. Practice makes perfect, they say. And you have a promise to keep.

You say another I love you to your mother when she pulls you in for one last hug, and you mean that just as much, even though that's never been easy either. Practice makes perfect.

She pulls away, pushing you toward something else, when you load your bags into the car, welcome home turned to safe journey home. From where home was to where home is. You know she sees it too.

Soft smiles, a kiss to your head. Whispers of I'm so happy for you, I can't wait to meet him, and you're off, away, longing for where love is.

She sees it too.

When you land in Austin that evening, you drive past the door with the lock that started it all, the key sat forgotten at the bottom of your bag. One knock is all it takes, and he's there.

"I love you."

next part

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[davosmymaster]

No Time To Die

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no explicit smut but sexual themes, whump, a lot of angst, blood, graphic wounds and procedures (?) probably not medically accurate, could be almost gore if you squint, hurt/comfort, two dorks in love, canon-typical violence, near-death experiences. Not based on the game, I don’t know anything about the game and I don’t want spoilers please.

PAIRINGS - Joel Miller x fem!reader

WORD COUNT -  9.6k.

SUMMARY - The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

A/N - I honestly don’t know what this is. I tried to look for angsty and whumpy fics and couldn’t find any that hit the spot just right; so I wrote my own. This story is set in some time between 2010 and 2020, or so. Bill and Frank are still very much alive. The only warning apart the amount of blood in this, it’s my own knowledge of the English language.

'Breathe'

 With a shiver, you try to comply with your own command. The action itself confuses you, and you don't know where exactly in your mind that thought came from; or why. All you know is that a moment ago you were nothing, absolutely nothing, not even human. You forgot your own existence in a still ocean made of black thick ink. The ink is now backtracking, though, but the remnants of it stay in your foggy mind, clouding it as your consciousness comes back in waves.

 Waking up from a dream is easy, you just come back into yourself from a nice trip to your own imagination. Regaining consciousness, however, is a little more difficult. Instead of going somewhere, you go inwards into yourself. Your overworked mind, already tired and busy with keeping you alive, doesn't care much about bringing you to any other place so you can die peacefully. No. And the awakening is not as it should be either.

Coming back into yourself is your body crawling its way to the land of the living, with your flesh drenched in tears, blood and sweat; and nails digging firmly into the dirt. At least that's how it feels as you go back and forth between the two worlds, rocked violently by the waves threatening to drown you in its heavy never-ending dream.

 You wake up tired, and cold. The first sense that returns is touch; and with it, a pulsing pain radiates from under the right side of your collarbone and all the way down to your chest and back. The —obvious— wound is warmer than the rest of your body. It's like you've grown a second heart right at the borders of the wound; it throbs relentlessly. The second is taste. Your mouth tastes like salt and melted butter; despite not having eaten either in at least three days. Around the dryness of your tongue you feel a sticky liquid swirling around in your mouth, plastered to your gums.

 Whatever it is, you cough it out of your mouth. The old blackened blood splatters on the wooden planks below your mouth. Then, a second later, you feel a sprawled hand on your back; and the rest of your consciousness returns with it.

 He calls your name. And he, whose presence you'd have recognized even blindfolded, even miles away from there, doesn't appear in your mind for a few seconds. But even half-conscious and at death's gates, his name leaves your mouth with a sigh of relief.

 Joel.

 "I'm here," he says, his palm now pressing a bit harder into your back, trying to comfort you somehow. If you had been fully aware, you'd have been embarrassed at the relieved groan that had escaped your lips while saying his name. "How are you feeling?"

 His voice sounds less muffled now, but the pulsing pain intensifies the closer you are to the surface. A second groan escapes your mouth as the warmth under your collarbone becomes impossible to ignore.

 "I know, I know" he says.

 Your eyes flutter open. From your point of view there's not much to see except torn wallpaper, your blood stains, and the shadow of a window. You're on the floor, your cheek pressed against the dusty carpet, your body very still laying on them, and Joel rubbing your back.

 The room is dark. His fingers enter your field of vision, they dip on the wet blood stains and turn around so Joel can see the sticky fluid staining his fingers. He takes a breath, a gasp, really.

 "Goddamnit," he mutters under his breath. His hand stops rubbing your back, and as black stains crawl from the corners of your vision, trying to take you under the waves again, he talks to you:

 "I need to turn you around..." he says with a gentle voice. It's like the icing on top of a sour and burnt cake; he's trying to sound caring, but that doesn't change the fact that it's going to hurt like a bitch. "You hear me?" he says, and his voice breaks for a second. Your ears ring, the next thing he says your brain doesn't process it, your vision has been clouded by darkness again...

 A scream tores your throat as a shooting pain lights your body on fire. It feels like lightning going through your backbone. Suddenly, the waves are very far away and you're feeling way too conscious for your liking. Despite your pain, Joel is still as careful as he can as he lays you on the floor, now facing the ceiling instead.

 The throbbing pain continues, and you blink to get rid of the tears that distort Joel's face. His hand wipes the tears from your face.

 "I know," he says. He has a crease between his seemingly angry eyebrows that you had never seen before.

 Both hands are roaming your ribs now, before you can even say anything. His warm hands give you shivers as he touches your naked skin. The pain is so unbearable that all you can do to mitigate it is hold your breath. If you could move, you'd be right now curled on the floor like a pretzel. You are not crying anymore, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't close.

 "Can you breathe?" he asks then, when he doesn't find any cracks in your ribs by touch alone. You don't respond because you can't find your own voice, and he sounds desperate at this point. "You coughed blood, I need to know if any of your lungs are collapsing."

 "It-it hurts..." you wheeze, your eyes tightly shut. For a split second, you wish you were back to being nothing. Being nothing sounds way better than having a gunshot wound in your chest. The bandages, tight over your bones and shoulder, don't mitigate the pain either. If anything, they worsen it. It feels like a tight sock over a painful pustule on your heel.

 Worst part is you know all this pain is for nothing; you know you won't make it. If you go back to the QZ, you will be executed. If not, there's nobody to help you except Joel. But even if there were doctors or hospitals, you highly doubted you could find the necessary tools to extract a bullet and stitch the wound. That is, if you manage not to die of blood loss.

 "Where?" Joel asks. Even beyond all this concern and well-hidden panic, he seems to cling to an ounce of hope. "Tell me where it hurts."

 Your fingers gently trace your skin until they reach the area under your collarbone, and you sign to your back too. There's a bandage there, but nothing else, and that's when you notice you don't have a shirt on, just your blood-soaked bra.

 "Is it bad?"

 "Not that bad. The bullet went through," he said. That explains the pain on both sides of your body; you have a literal hole in your chest. "And it clotted soon enough to stop the bleeding, but you lost too much blood anyway... Anywhere else?"

 Your whole body hurts and this abandoned house suddenly feels like penance, but you don't want to scare him further, so you shake your head no very slowly.

 "Alright," he mumbles. Joel nods once, and it looks like he is reassuring himself. His eyes betray him, he looks like he is very far away from here, very buried under all the scenes playing on his mind; but despite his stillness, his lower lip quivers.

 You can't move your right arm at all, but with the other hand, your fingers lightly touch his knuckles still resting on your stomach. He winces, and your fingers are wet with his blood too. He must have beaten to death whoever shot you, that you are certain about.

 Your voice, little more than a weak breath, whispers:

 "I-I want you to do it."

 The crease between his eyebrows deepens. He seems confused rather than angry; the reaction you were hoping for. You take a breath to repeat your own words, but he squeezes your hand.

 "Don't," he says.

 "Joel..."

 "Don't even think about it," he snarls. "You are perfectly fine, don't be dramatic."

 You don't know what hurts more; his pain or yours, but his denial makes your eyes wet with tears again. This is already hard, but he is making it even harder. All he will achieve by trying to keep you alive is either prolonging his pain or getting himself killed. You both know this is no world for the injured and the sick, not out of the QZ, at least. And in most cases, not inside either.

 All you ask of him is to not leave you for the infected to find. Is that too much to ask?

 You want to insist, but you know he won't have it. Joel has lost so much already that the thought of losing what little left he has is not even going to cross his mind. Not until it's too late, at least. Also, you don't want your last moments with him to be a fight. You are tired of fighting, of swimming against the current. You just want to let go for once, give in to the external forces, close your eyes and peacefully breathe.

 What's more, you should have already known that he wouldn't do you that favor. He is too selfish for that.

 He pats your cheeks gently with his large hands, and your eyes, already rolling back into your skull, get focused on him again with a few blinks. You breathe slowly, trying to focus on him, on the world around you slowly twisting and turning.

 "...that's it," he says, it doesn't sound like his first sentence, so you guess he's been talking to you before. When you look back at him, his breathing is shallow, and you know he is trying to take a hold of himself too, trying not to give in to panic. "Good girl, that's it. Keep your eyes on me."

 Exhausted and hurting as you are, keeping your eyes open it's like asking you not to drop a weight that you cannot, in fact, handle; but you try nonetheless. It's your fault, really, for letting yourself go, for trying to give up on your fight earlier than you should. Joel is here trying to keep you alive, mending all your broken ends and stitching them together —he has always been good at that— while you're just trying to give up on him —you are really good at that too—.

 Giving up on Joel has been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do; and now you're letting him go for the last time. Part of you is glad you don't have to keep watching how he chooses Theresa over and over again. You are even relieved that fate —or whatever there is out there— is forcing you out of the equation. After all, you would never have given up fully on him.

 He refuses to kill you, what he doesn't know is that you've been dead for a long while now. Him being your executioner would be the kindest act he could have with you, the most intimate thing you'd ever share; your last moments. You want it to be him, you want him to free you from this torment.

 He refuses, though; and it feels like a punch to the pit of your stomach. You shiver.

 He gets up from his place on the floor, where you are lying just over the carpet. You follow him with your eyes and see a fire cracking up in a fucked-up chimney. He stokes the fire, throws some more wood on it and then comes back to you, covering you with his jacket, the very same jacket you had on before he turned you around. It's warm, his, and you have to stop yourself from sinking your nose into the collar.

 "I had to take off your shirt to patch you up," he says, but he doesn't say sorry. Ever. So you guess it's his way of apologizing.

 You simply nod, aware that you had wished for this very moment to happen many times before. You had dreamt of his rough hands over your naked flesh, caressing the sides of your body. You had dreamt of him watching you with those chocolate eyes as you took your shirt off, deep black pupils spreading over the brown as he watched the lace fall like a helpless witness.

 But now the bra was covered in blood and he was watching you anywhere but the lace. He had a frightened and concerned look on his face, rather than aroused. A look that would have made you feel guilty and ashamed if it had happened in the other scenario. And instead of undressing you, he was covering your body with his jacket as if you were his child.

 "What's wrong?" he is asking now, instead of whispering 'I want you' and it hurts all the same to know he's not ever going to say it, and that Tess now will have all those words for however long their lives are.

 You guess they were made for each other. And it makes all the sense, really, no one like Joel would ever look at you twice. You were grateful that he even allowed you to be his friend.

 "Nothing," you respond.

 It's always 'nothing' when it comes to Joel. It's always that nothing whenever he notices you are under the weather. It's always nothing when you are hurt, when someone tries to rob you and they leave an angry black eye on your face. It's always nothing; and he never believes you.

 "I don't make promises, you know that," he says, taking your left hand in his. "but you will be fine, I swear."

 You don't know what to say, how to explain that you are not scared of death, that you are just scared of not seeing him again. But you can't, so you say nothing and just nod.

 Does he want to hurt himself? Okay. You can't do much while lying on the floor anyway.

 After that, both of you stay silent. Joel seems to be avoiding looking at you. His eyes are stuck in the fire creaking in the chimney, but they are too restless to be present and conscious of the yellow and orange haze.

 Your palm lands on his thigh, your fingers gently brushing the denim. You want to comfort him somehow, but, at the same time, you are scared he will reject your touch and reassurance. That's all you can do for him: no words, no further touching, just a featherlight touch that indicates you are still present. There, with him.

 "I thought we couldn't make a fire."

 "Don't be dumb. The windows are all broken, it's winter and you are in shock. How else would you heat up?"

 "Got it. You're not in a talking mood," you huff. "Alright."

 Silence settles between both of you. However, one of his big, rough hands travels to where your fingertips are gently brushing his thigh. At the touch, even if you don't want to let go, your fingers begin to back off. He's not in a good mood, and you seem to be pushing his boundaries a little too much. Except that, instead of letting you go, he catches your hand in his and puts it back over his jean. This time, it's him who brushes his thumb over your knuckles.

 For a minute, the only sound in the living room are both your breathing patterns, the flames licking the air and the wind rushing through the broken windows.

 "I'm sorry..." you start. And immediately, his brown eyes are all over you again. Your voice sounds exhausted, more than you'd have liked. "...I fucked up the mission. I know-"

 "You haven't fucked up anything," he interrupts. That's Joel, all stoic, swallowing his feelings and denying everything that it is not up to his standards. "Would you mind to just rest-"

 Your eyes well with tears.

 "Joel, for once... Just for once, don't lecture me, don't ignore what I'm trying to say just because you don't want to hear it," you tell him. Then, he thankfully presses his lips together in a pained grimace, but stays silent nonetheless. "I fucked up the mission getting injured. I know it isn't my fault, but it doesn't matter whose fault it is. If you wanna go on without me, I won't blame you."

 His fingers are now squeezing yours, but you know he is not even conscious of that. He leans in a little, his cheeks now reddened in anger. He looks like he is about to spit on your face.

 "I'm not leaving you anywhere," he says. He looks offended that you even thought he was capable of that. "You and I are gonna get to Lincoln, either if you like it or not. There, Bill and Frank will help you. We have traded all kinds of things with them, and I know they are very well supplied."

 "Why would they help me?"

 "They are not just people we trade with," he says. His fingertips brush a strand of hair out of your face. "I know they will."

 "What if they changed their minds?"

 His pupils lock into your own, his jawline swells as he grits his teeth.

 "I'm persistent."

 The mission was supposed to be an easy one. Walk out of the QZ undetected, walk fifteen miles to the town of Lincoln, just outside Boston, get our things and come back. Our cargo were the two last spools of aluminum that Joel had promised to trade with them and two packets of seeds. Theirs? Two pounds of rolling tobacco and a gun. Tess couldn't make it, she had appointments with other smugglers, probably the ones who snuck the drugs in; which was more than half of their business. If it wasn't that important, she wouldn't have stayed in the QZ for anything in the world. But Bill and Frank were also important, and Joel couldn't go alone.

 The two of you should be home by now, and you wondered if Tess was regretting her decision of asking you to go with him. Last night you had both snuck out of the Boston QZ; and it usually didn't take more than six hours to get to Lincoln. But just outside the city you had bumped into raiders; and a stray bullet had hit you. Now you were stranded in a small cabin lost in the woods, about seven miles away from Lincoln; and unable to walk a single step.

 And to top it all off, Joel was enraged and neurotic.

 Still with the same expression, he takes your wrist and squeezes two fingers into it. Even if you had preferred him not to, knowing that your heartbeat got wild whenever he was around. You let him check on you, hoping that if your symptoms got better he would let you have a quick nap. Your nervousness, however, doesn't improve despite your efforts of trying to calm yourself down.

 "Since when are you a doctor?"

 He lets your wrist go, then gets back on his feet and gets his rifle.

 "You should rest. You'lll need it," he says, now heading to the entrance. He's gonna be standing on guard all night, you are sure of that. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."

 That is when you lose it. You can't believe he is that blind, that caught up in his own world.

 "I know in your perfect fantasy this is just a scratch, but I truly can't move, Joel. Even laying here awake is hard. How am I supposed to follow...? Joel!"

 But he's out of the house before you even finish the sentence.

  [***]

  Joel doesn't keep his word.

 A few hours later, not even near dawn yet, you get pulled back from a dream. Your eyes take a few minutes to register your surroundings; again. And the memories gallop back to your mind in a rush; accompanied by the burning and piercing pain on the upper right side of your chest. Your eyes shut tight, and you inhale a shallow breath. Even breathing hurts.

 "We need to go," Joel whispers. His voice sounds muffled, especially over the sound of your beating heart. "C'mon, wake up."

 He is once again rocking you rather than shaking you awake. Just to be able to fall asleep you had rolled back into your chest, cheek once again firmly pressed against that twenty-year-old dusty carpet. When he came back from checking the perimeter, not even five minutes after your argument, he placed his backpack right under your stomach so your right side was elevated. You wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if it wasn't for that. The pain was maddening, atrociously painful. Joel had found you gritting your teeth even in your sleep.

 He had said you'd leave the next day, but you felt like not even minutes had passed.

 "Morning," you complained, half a grunt accompanying your words. Joel shook you gently again when he saw you relax a second time, and your voice came back. "Y-you said...mor-"

 "I know what I said but we can't wait any longer," he answered. "I'm gonna sit you up."

 Fear pumped enough adrenaline into your system to wake you up. The ache from before rushed back into your mind, and your 'please' and 'wait' left your mouth like a prayer.

 "I can do it," you said, but it sounded more like begging than an affirmation.

 "I know you can," he lied. As your eyes opened and you saw his expression —eyes focused on you, trembling hands, half of his face hidden in the shadows, the other half gently licked by the orange-like haze of the dying fire— you understood that you had to be in a really bad condition for him to look at you that way, and feel the need to lie to make you feel better. But then, a second right after that, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes fluttered between your face and the surface of his jacket over your shoulders. His stoic mask was back on. "I'm just gonna help you, okay? But you do it."

 He did not, in fact, let you do it.

 You had managed to lift yourself barely an inch over the carpet, using all the strength left in your healthy arm, when both his hands curled around your side and pulled you up to his chest. Clenching your jaw, you allowed him to drag you a few feet back and into a seating position against the wall; your whole weight over the left side of your body.

 "Don't lean on the other side, your shoulder blade is broken."

 "Oh..." you almost chuckled. "Great."

 For a second, Joel looks at you as if you were completely insane. He reaches for his backpack, crouching on the place where you were lying just seconds prior. Then takes his flask and doubts when passing it on.

 "I'm not that desperate for water," you respond, reaching for the flask and drinking a gulp of the liquid. You swallow despite the soreness in your throat. "Next thing you'll do is spit food into my mouth."

 "Not even getting shot shuts your fucking mouth, does it?" he says, grossed out at your comment. However, a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Relaxing him has a calming effect on you too.

 You try to pass him the flask again, but he refuses.

 "No," he says. "Drink it all. You'll need it."

 You look at him with narrowed eyes, confused. It's hard to keep a single thought in your head other than the throbbing pain in your chest and back, but you still try. Rather than asking him how you are supposed to walk seven miles, with the aluminum and his pack, you try to approach the matter another way.

 "What's the plan?"

 He takes a deep breath.

 "You're not gonna like it," he says, his deep voice almost slurring the words. It's barely a whisper. He looks into your eyes, then. "I'm gonna carry you."

 "What?"

 "You heard me."

 There's not an ounce of doubt in his eyes. Joel has that look of determination, the one you only really see when he has his eyes set on something really fucking important for him; most times that includes his own brother or not talking about the times before the outbreak. And with that look on his face, you know there's nothing you could possibly say or do to make him reconsider his own words. He's stubborn like that.

 You still try.

 "It's seven miles, Joel..." you tell him on a thready voice, a whisper. And Joel sighs through his nose —as if he had forgotten. "And we have to carry..."

 "We leave everything here," he says. "Come back for it later."

 "They won't let us in empty-handed."

 "You don't know them."

 For Joel to be so certain about it, certain enough as to put both your life and his on the hands of strangers; you understand that their relationship goes beyond trading. Joel had told you about them, about their situation and the first time Tess and him had shared dinner with Bill and Frank. Still, you were suspicious of them, and you thought that he was too; up until now, at least.

 "It's still seven miles," you tell him, and you know him, you know he's about to stop talking to you and leave the room if you don't, at least, partly give in to his reasoning. "...are you sure you wanna do it?"

 His pleading brown eyes engulf you, then, with an emotion he had never showed before. His gaze diverts for a second to your wound, to the bandages that, as you look at them, you find they are once again covered in blood. They are soaked in it, the skin surrounding it has a large black bruise —internal bleeding, you guess. And when you try to take a full deep breath, you find yourself unable to, at least not at full capacity.

 The understanding hits you, then. You don't have much time left.

 "I don't have any other choice," Joel says, but what he means is 'I don't want to lose you'.

 "Okay."

 Not even a full second has passed from your reluctant acceptance, but he is already on his feet. Joel walks to the only table in the room, takes your gun and puts it in his hip, right inside the jean. The only other thing he takes apart from ammo is another set of bandages —and he silently thanks whatever it is out there that he put those there a month ago—. He doesn't have anything to clean the wound, though; and one of his biggest fears is that it might already be infected. Even bandaged it looks bad.

 He approaches you, crouches down so he is facing the wound.

 "I'm going to tighten the bandage, and I have to keep the pressure," he says, loosening the knot. His fingers are once again stained with you blood, and he has to fight the images of him pressing on your wound from a few hours ago, when he had found you and, with trembling hands, had tried to stop the bleeding coming out in waves. He looks at you, trying to forget the awful picture of your eyes closed, your body limp on the ground. "Bite something."

 You reach for the sleeve of his jacket, the one hanging from your shoulders; and put the padded cuff of his jacket into your mouth.

 Joel doesn't give you a warning; and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing, either. He presses the heel of his hand right over the covered hole in your chest, with such strength that you wonder if he will end up breaking your clavicle in half. As he presses your body against the wall, you can almost feel the cracked bones in your back smashing against each other.

 Needless to say, the pain is blinding. The view of the room, the feeling of his heat around you, the scent of him under your nose... all gone in a matter of seconds. Your vision turns white, all your senses stop functioning. Over the scream that falls from your lips, muffled by the jacket, you hear him say:

 "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

 He lets go, and your vision immediately darkens, the shadows flowing from the corners of the room quick to reach you. With your last grip on reality you feel yourself melting against the wall, slowly slipping to the side. Joel catches you before you hit the floor.

 Cold water is what brings you back. Your breathing quickens at the coldness of it, and the next thing you feel are his wet hands palming your cheeks, throwing water from his flask all over your face.

 "C'mon," he mumbles. "I need you awake."

 Your eyes flutter open, your whole body relaxed now that he's not applying pressure; but alert enough that your unfocused eyes make a single shape out of him.

 While coming back into yourself, Joel does not have any time to lose. He takes his jacket over your shoulders and slips your left arm inside the sleeve, the other, where the wound is, he decides to leave it as it is; and buttons it over your chest so you're not exposed.

 "You good?"

 In any other situation you'd have said some joke, or just something to piss him off. But as of right now, nothing comes to your clouded mind; and even if something did come, you're too exhausted to even do the mental effort to say it. So you just nod.

 "Okay," he nods too, talking to himself inside his head, then takes your face in his hands and looks into your eyes. "You're fine, you hear me? I'm gonna carry you and you're gonna be on my back; so I need you talking all the damn time, alright?

 You nod again.

��"Starting now."

 "Y-yes... okay."

 "Good," he says. His hand crawls to the back of your neck, and he joins both your foreheads. He takes quick breaths. He's terrified when he whispers. "You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you."

 "Y-you... are?"

 "Mm-hmm," he says. And as his words settle into your brain, you feel your chest warm. When you open your eyes and he separates, there's a tear on his cheek, but he's quick to wipe it off. "I'm gonna open the front door."

 It's just an excuse, you both know it, but neither dares to say anything. None of you wants to talk about the elephant in the room, the fact that your chances are slim even if this works.

 Joel returns quickly, with his lashes wet and reddened eyes. It makes you speechless, to know that all this effort and tears are for you. You'd have never, in a million years, thought you'd ever see Joel Miller cry; let alone for you. He had always been so quiet, so detached from everyone, even from Tess.

 Without a word, his hands get hooked on the underside of your thighs. He lifts you up, seemingly effortlessly, and your inner thighs surround his hips. You take a deep breath, again —or at least try to— as you try not to blush and show those feelings you buried long ago. This is not the time, nor the place; so you allow your head to follow his range of motion; forwards. Soon, your nose is pressed against the lapels of his denim shirt. With your good arm, you grab one of his broad shoulders. The other falls limp, and even that little movement hurts like hell.

 He freezes, his shoulders now stiff under your hand. His beard grazes your jaw as he tries to look at you, so still in his arms.

 "You okay?"

 "Yeah..."

 Better than okay, you want to respond. Better than I've been in a long time. But you don't.

 He leaves you on the table, on the edge, with your legs dangling.  His eyes waver for a second as he leaves you there, his hands squeeze your knees in such a brief movement that you wonder if he was even conscious of that. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can't think of what, so he turns around and bends his knees a little to get you to a good height.

 "I need you to push yourself up with your good arm," he instructs. "and keep the other still, okay?"

 "Okay," you respond, fighting the urge to just nod instead.

 Not even following his instructions to a t saves you from the pain. The effort, even with your arm limp in the air, makes your body shudder and an agonizing stab runs through your whole spine. The scream that tores from the depths of your throat is so intense that Joel hesitates to put you back on the table, his back trembles for a second as his body shivers in distress. But, in the end, he has you in the air with a good hold.

 He waits, but doesn't hear anything except shallow breaths, doesn't feel anything but the weight of your head over his shoulder.

 "You with me?" he asks. He is seconds away from aborting the mission.

 "Y-yeah..."

 Your arm surrounds his neck loosely. Your fist is closed tightly, grabbing the other shoulder, and he wishes he could touch you, give you some kind of comfort, but he can't let go from his grip under your knees.

 Joel does not have the privilege of time, every second is precious, so not even giving it a try, he starts walking as if you weighted nothing. He crosses the front door and the freezing cold wind of the East Coast cuts your cheeks. If he notices —and you know that he has, wearing just his shirt in the middle of the night— he doesn't react.

 "Remember what I told you?" he asks.

 In less than a minute he has crossed the space from the cabin to the highway, where you were surprised by raiders. You look around, see the bodies of five men sprawled on the floor; lifeless, drowning in a pool of their own blood. One of them has his face mauled to nothing. The sight is so sickening —or maybe you are getting so ill— that a sudden dizziness takes hold of your shivering body.

 "Hey..."

 "I'm sorry..." you start, teeth chattering from the cold. "I'm sorry I screamed into your ear earlier."

 A sound, half a relieved sigh and half a chuckle, leaves his mouth.

 "I'm half deaf from that ear anyway."

 A light chuckle falls from your lips too. Joel keeps walking west through the highway, and you keep yourself desperately clinging to him for dear life. The moon is your only other companion; without her, you both would be completely blind in the darkness of the night.

  [***]

  Joel probably hadn't thought about the possibility of taking breaks along the way. That's why, fourty-five minutes later, and under a beautiful sunrise of orange tones, he's struggling to keep going. His knees are screaming for him to stop, his biceps and hands tired of walking with a person's weight over his shoulders. And for the first time in years he remembers the times before the outbreak, when he was capable of lifting and moving huge pieces of furniture; often times on his own, other times with just Tommy.

 He might have overestimated his own strength, assuming he was as strong as before. But it seems that not only his mental health has deteriorated after Sarah's death, no. All of him has become older and darker and more broken since then. He hardly recognizes himself in the mirror anymore.

 "Joel?"

 "Yeah..." he gasps, out of air. "Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying...?"

 It is in moments like this that he hates not to be that same person he was before. He wonders if he is, finally, paying for his past sins, for all the people, infected or not, that he has killed.

It is unfair, the fact that you're paying for his piper.

 "You should stop for a while," you tell him, your voice low like a whisper. The warm air from your mouth slithers across his skin, up his neck, over his ear, and almost sends a shiver down his spine.

 "No."

 "Joel..." you huff. Before speaking again, you take a big gulp of air. "We are not getting anywhere if you don't take breaks. You'll just wear yourself off before we reach the halfway mark."

 His mind refuses to agree, but it's as if his body takes a relieved breath when he hears the words. Little by little, his body starts to listen to you before his mind does. His thighs are screaming, sore from the pain of exertion; and before he acknowledges, even, his body has stopped moving.

 "Okay," he gasps, quick tired breaths quickly entering and leaving his lungs. "...but just a minute, we don't have time for this bullshit."

 "Okay," you say, in the same tone he used earlier with you; when he lied and said he knew you could sit up on your own. "Just a minute."

 He pulls to the side of the road, and with the last of his strength he kneels down and tries to lay you on the ground as carefully as possible. You fall on your ass on the wet ground, but at least you don't hurt yourself on the spot. He asks you for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours if you are okay.

 "I think I'm doing better than you," you respond, but your voice is so exhausted that Joel would love to just lay next to you and lull you to sleep.

 He turns around, his whole weight sitting on the grass as he takes gulps of oxygen. His eyes shut tightly, he wipes off a tear of sweat from his temple and looks at you.

 Wide-open eyes stare back at you, but just for a split second. He gets closer, his thumb brushing the shoulder of the brown jacket, his brown jacket. His eyes pierce yours.

 "Are you sure?"

 "That bad do I look?"

 Joel doesn't look at you, not at your face getting paler by the second or the dark circles under your eyes, or your hair now dishevelled. He sees you on his memories and can barely recognize you; your skin and eyes always glowing under the sun, your hair always perfectly done. Your job was often to act as an HR for their clients, and very rarely took actual FEDRA jobs that stained your hands; you weren't like Joel, you didn't care about rations or money or whatever.

 Expert fingers gently tug at the buttons, unbuttoning them so he could take a look to the wound. He had barely a glimpse of it when your fingers stopped his hands. Joel looks at you with those puppy eyes, as if you were about to faint in the next second.

 "If you wanted to see me naked you didn't have to wait until I got shot, you know?"

 You had said it in a playful manner, kidding, as a joke; but he saw beyond that. Part of you had only expected him to laugh, the other was dying —not pun intended— for him to kiss you. You'd have never said it if you weren't in this position, you'd have never gotten in between Joel and Tess.

 However, he didn't laugh, didn't make any funny remark. The way he looked at you, from under his eyebrows, lit a spark of hope somewhere inside you. Deep, deeper than your conscious mind would have ever reached. Joel didn't say anything, not even chuckled. His eyes came back to the wound, and uncovered the full sight of it.

 He had to fight a shocked gasp. His eyes fluttered, while holding his breath, between your own face and the wound. The bandage was still soaked in blood, that he had expected, but not the large bruise growing into your neck; or your right hand slightly paler than the other. He lifted, with trembling fingers, a corner of the bandage, and his action caused a trickle of dark blood to gush out, as if he had crushed a piece of watermelon between his fingers and it was now running down his arm. He looked below, inside his jacket, and saw a trail of blood that landed right into your navel.

 This time, it was impossible for him not to react. Not only his face, but also his body. He tried to get back on his two feet again, but before he finished the action, your fist closed around his wrist.

 "Joel..." he heard you call.

 "We need to go, now."

 Pressing your lips in a sad smile, you pulled him to the ground and he sat, mesmerised on that face he had only yet seen once; that time when he got too drunk on a Friday night and told you about Sarah at three in the morning. He felt his pulse quicken, his heart beating at the ends of his fingertips.

 "It's okay," you told him. Your gentle touch brushed his palm, danced around over his tan skin. "You can rest."

 Joel felt like he was in a fever dream. The setting certainly felt like it. You hadn't left the Boston QZ in a long while, and he had never pictured you out of those big silver walls either. He had not agreed to Tess' idea either, the dangers beyond the walls were almost impossible to escape. Still, Tess and him knew the city, they could get out fairly easily, had done that for a couple years to share stories over dinner with Bill and Frank. And Joel had loved the idea of seeing you sitting at that dinner table next to him, surrounded by a garden full of flowers, going through the dresses in the boutique that Tess had sworn you'd love.

 He had not signed up for this.

 "We need to go, please..." he tried a second time, but you just shook your head. He understood, somehow, what you meant.

 "A minute won't make a difference," you told him. In reality, you wanted to tell him that you'd be dead when he got the both of you to Lincoln, anyway. "If you are tired we will never get there."

 Useless and powerless as he felt, his only option was waiting. He took your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours and took a deep breath. You had never seen him so upset.

 "What are you so scared of?"

 At your words, his lower lip quivered slightly; it would almost have gone unnoticed if it wasn't because you had been watching him attentively for so many years. He looked at you, eyes barely half open, from under his eyelashes.

 "You're very important to me," he said. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, he seemed to be even more breathless than he was before. Joel had a hard time admitting his feelings, even to himself. "I don't know if you understand to what extent you're important to me."

 "I know..." you answered, nodding, your hand squeezed his for a second, trying to give him strength. "But you have Tess home, and your brother loves you... It will hurt for a while..."

 "Shut. Up."

 His eyes were tightly shut when he said it. It was a metaphor, almost, the way his eyes were closed not just to the physical world, but to the whole situation too that he couldn't escape from.

 The tip of your tongue wetted your lips.

 "What I'm trying to say is... it will pass..."

 His chest heaved, his gaps the only sound that filled the space between the two of you. And you continued:

 "People die all the time, Joel; and most times we can't do anything about it."

 His body rushed at you, his hands locked perfectly on both your cheeks, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally in place.

 "Not you, you hear me? Not you," he almost growled, his face a mixture of anger, determination, and grief. "Never you. You're not allowed to leave me. I will never forgive you."

 There was something hidden between the lines, something Joel wasn't saying. It was something you had denied yourself for a long time, for years, something you had insisted on not seeing because you didn't want to see it. Because, deep down, you were afraid that Joel would never love you back, that he would break your heart, that the only good man you'd ever known inside the walls of the Boston QZ would also be the one to abandon you to your luck.

 Joel had been your family for so long, and you had unconsciously protected yourself from seeing him as something else. But now there it was, clearly, latent in his confession. Your punishment for years of silence was now time, or rather, the lack of it.

 "I'm not giving up," he said. "and I need you not to give up either."

 He's close. His hot breath smells sweet -so instinctively Joel- and it's all around your face. His flesh is warm over the freezing skin of your cheeks. His body around you is shelter, is home.

 Joel is soon leaning in. He's all erratic breathing, rapid heartbeat and trembling hands; and as you close your eyes to allow his presence to swallow you like a black hole, he closes his eyes too.

 He doesn't let go, not just yet. He breathes in into your quick breaths the same way you revel in his.

 "I need an answer," he whispers over your mouth.

 "I won't, either."

 At first it's like a collision. He kisses you angrily for a split second, demanding and impatient; then, once he knows this is really happening, once he does understand that this is —finally— not a dream, he relaxes into your touch, your fingers delineating his jawline, caressing the beard there.

 He's quick, quicker than you'd have expected him to be; definitely quicker then he would have liked. He separates, then; and looks down at his jacket and the drops of blood staining the insides of it. It's not enough blood to send you into shock again, but it means part of the wound is ripping. You need stitches, not just a couple of bandages.

 "Enough resting then," he says.

   [***]

 Seven miles is usually nothing for Joel. In the first few months trading with Bill and Frank, Tess and him usually walked the fifteen miles that separated the city and the town at least twice a month. But this is all the more difficult, not just carrying you there, but knowing that he is running out of time.

 And you seem hellbent on making the journey even more difficult.

 "So...Tess?"

 "Pass."

 You huff, and the warm air sends a shiver down his spine; but he says nothing.

 "Okay."

 Your voice sounds so disappointed that he feels a pang of guilt. You know him better than to insist, and he knows that too. The guilt increases, though; and now he's inhaling a big gulp of air while still walking as fast as he possibly can without hurting his own knees.

 "We fucked a few times, before," he says. "but that doesn't mean anything. She's my colleague. That's all."

 If he was better with words, and feelings, he could say that he didn't feel anything for her. He could say that their hookups were nothing, just a fun thing they used to do before, before he realized that the one who he really wanted was you. A few months back he had realized that it never actually satisfied him, that those moments with Tess weren't as fun and innocent as they seemed to be before. They had talked about it, of course. He didn't want to play with her feelings, and that had been the end of it. She was just as fine without him, anyway.

 "I thought you two were dating."

 "If selling drugs for a living is what you call dating, then yes."

 Without even looking at you, he knew you were smiling, he could almost feel your lips stretching over his shirt.

 "I..." you said, then he heard you take another deep breath before talking again. "I'm sorry I asked you," another breath. "I... ran out of things to say."

 His brow furrowed in confusion.

 "You can say anything," he says. "Anything you really like, even a story."

 Anything just to know you're there...

 "Well..." you started. Then, a wheezing noise filled the air, followed by a gasp. "I... liked rock music-" silence. "...back in the day."

 "You okay?"

 Your fist tightened around his shoulder, your forehead pressing against his trapezius. He heard that wheezing sound again, followed by a pant. His hands squeezed harder the tender flesh under her knees.

 Joel tried to look at her, but all he could see from his peripheral vision was the top of her head and one eye tightly closed. His throat turned into knots.

 "Baby..." that was the most gentle tone you had ever heard coming from his mouth. "C'mon baby. Hold on, we're almost there."

 His whole body felt paralyzed, and he had to force himself to keep walking.

 What he didn't know was that your lungs were burning. They felt like a pair of balloons squeezing against your ribs, trying to expand beyond its cage. And it made all the pain in your back, from the shot, double as painful. The air you tried to swallow so bad, sounded like a whistle, like the breeze through an almost closed window. You were suffocating.

 "Talk to me, c'mon."

 With a painful drag of air, you complied.

 "I can't..." your fist tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "I can't."

 "Goddamnit..." he was panicking now. "Okay, that's okay baby. Just hold on to me, don't let go."

 Unable to do anything else, you just nodded as best you could and kept on holding on to him. His eyes desperately looked for signs of the town, and far away, in the distance, the row of trees ended; and he walked faster, hoping that Bill had already seen the both of you through the cameras.

 "J-Joel"

 You struggled to find air, and, therefore, the words.

 "Easy, easy" he said. "Just a bit more. You can do it, I know you can."

 His words lingered in the air, unanswered, not even him fully believed them. Joel was starting to feel his own shirt wet with blood from your wound. The feeling made him sick, his own imagination as he pictured what Bill was watching through the cameras, made it all a hundred times worse.

 He kept hearing the panting, the wheezing, becoming more desperate by the second. He realized, with horror, that you were suffocating righ there, on his back; from a collapsing lung, he guessed.

 He shouted Bill's name as he saw the fence that separated them from the town. Joel wasn't sure if he could hear him, but tried anyway.

 He felt your grip on his shirt hesitate, and he had to fight the instinct to squeeze your hand; if he had done it, you'd have fallen from his own grip. He heard you try and say his name.

 "Save it," he responded, even if it came out not as reassuring as he would have liked. "Don't try to talk."

 Before he reached the fence, it was already opening. Bill came out running, yelling something that he was too distracted to distinguish, Frank came behind him. Joel felt his knees wobble once through the gate. And now kneeling on the floor, he called your name, tried to turn his head to take a glimpse of you.

 "You did it. We're here."

 He noticed, then, that everything seemed all too silent. Everything that happened after that, happened very quickly. The hand that had been gripping his shirt slipped, limp over his shoulder.

 His mind disconnected, completely unaware of the other two people approaching. He released you with all the care that a person could have had, and his arms immediately caught you in an embrace. The sight of your closed eyes made him panic, and not having even checked your pulse, he buried his face into your neck and sobbed.

 Trails of blood ran through his forearms, and he threw up all the words that passed through his mind; a string of 'please stay' and 'I'm sorry'.

 "Joel," Frank struggled with him, fingers digging into his shoulder. "Joel you have to let go. Let us help her."

 He was too far gone, so much so that once your body hit the floor, Frank didn't allow him to touch you again. He sobbed, and, for a second, Bill saw himself in him. He would have never thought he would see Joel in this state, but yet there he was. He kept pressure on the wound, and saw himself in Joel, and Frank in you; and promised he would never let this happen to the two of them.

 Never.

  [***]

  The sun comes out the next morning. As it always does, as it always has. Orange light and blue skies illuminate the room, the clouds shine a different color; and Joel blinks; absolutely exhausted, devastated.

 His body is heavy, even if he's not holding any of his weight. He's sitting on the cold tiles, on the floor, his sore knees and thighs in the space under the bed, his head lying on the mattress, his whole body is bent over and it feels like jelly. His eyes are the only thing moving, they look at the window and see the night sky turn into daylight.

 Joel couldn't possibly say that he slept in that position; because he didn't actually sleep. He hasn't had a second of sleep since you got shot two days ago. Lying on the bed, is you, dormant; and his thumb draws circles on the back of you hand even if he's not paying attention to it. It comforts him to a degree, at least.

 Suddenly, pretty much everything has lost its meaning. Frank opens the door an hour later, almost tripping with the tray of food and water that he left the night before for Joel. He hasn't touched any of it. In fact, he forgot about it, but if it bothers him, Frank doesn't say anything. He takes it in his hands so he can take it to the kitchen downstairs.

 "We played 'I will survive' in the radio" he whispers before leaving. "It's a 70s song, but Tess will get the meaning."

 "Thank you," he mutters, his mouth pasty from barely speaking in the last twenty-four hours. Funnily enough, the only word he's said to them is 'thank you'.

 "You're welcome, Joel," he says. After a few seconds, waiting, he makes a dissatisfied sound. Frank approaches Joel, his palm squeezing his shoulder. "You should eat something, at least. Is there anything you want?"

 Joel looks at him, lifting his cheek from the mattress for the first time. His eyes are blood-shot and black circles adorn his eyes.

 "Coffee."

 "Not coffee, you need sleep."

 He huffs, his eyes lost in the window again. Frank, knowing he won't get anything from him again, vanishes behind the door and into the kitchen. He will bring him warm food later, hoping the smell will make him eat something despite his unwillingness to listen to any signal of hunger from his own body.

 A few moments later, your hand slips from his. As he loses your touch, a pang hits the pit of his stomach. But then, as he lifts from the mattress again, your fingertips lightly touch his chin, your thumb lovingly brushing his beard.

 "Baby?"

 Maybe he lost his sense of time, because he didn't expect you to wake up yet. In any case, when he sees your eyes open he practically pounces on the bed. He sits on the edge, and swallows the image of you looking at him.

 "Morning."

 He smiles at your words, feels his strength coming back into his body.

 "You're here," he says.

 Even beaten up as you look, he thinks you are gorgeous. Your face has regained its usual color, the bruising is coming down, changing colors little by little, the wound is stitched and bandaged, and the blood flow seems to reach your fingertips normally once again. Joel has no idea how Bill fixed the collapsing lung, he had said something about medical knowledge being necessary in the field too, but he hadn't paid attention. He doesn't care about the details, though. He just cares that you're safe and sound, and despite the close call, that has seemed to be the end result to this whole dilemma.

 There's no blood in sight, not even in the bandages. Frank had washed the blood from your hair the day before, and Joel had helped with the rest. He wished he could have you like this everyday: happy, clean, safe...

 In the last few hours Joel had discovered he was jealous. He wished he had a town like Lincoln all to himself, just so he could see you picking flowers in the front garden.

 "I'm here," you told him. The words felt like strawberries in his mouth. "and I'm not giving up on you."

 He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, leaned in for both your foreheads to meet, and kissed you.