#need help clicker training

[sandra-hippologic]

Lack of Time to Train your Horse...

Read this when you don't have enough time to exercise your horse

Many people struggle with having enough time to exercise their horses. I’have a Facebook support group for Overweight Horses and many people told me that time is their biggest struggle. Also in my other FB group (HippoLogic Clicker Training Horses) people struggle with a lack of time. Step 1: What is the real problem? As a clicker coach I notice that everyone has the same amount of time (24…

[rowanthestrange]

one minute of silly puppy playing with and teething on his nylabone, to the background restaurant noise of a silent travelvlogger (to get him used to the television and different kinds of ambient sounds).

[lewd-yakitori]

[foxtrology]

it ain't me babe (2)

joel miller x reader

series

ao3 link

warnings: no y/n, smut, fluff, age gap, female reader.

word count: 15.k

─────

Six months.

It had been six full months since that night on the porch—since the snow, the whiskey, the ache. Since she’d asked him if it was one-sided, and Joel had looked at her like the truth might kill them both.

It’s not, he’d said. And then nothing had happened.

Not in the way people might’ve expected. There was no kiss. No grand confession. No tangled sheets or impulsive mistakes. Instead, something quieter took root. Something steadier.

They fell into a rhythm.

Mornings meant breakfast at the mess hall—her, Joel, and Ellie sitting in their usual corner table. Ellie griped about early patrol shifts while poking at eggs with a fork, Joel drank his coffee like it was penance, and she—well, she watched them both with a quiet kind of fondness she’d never known how to name.

After breakfast, it was patrol. Joel paired with her every time, without question. They rode side by side through snow-packed trails and frozen rivers, never needing to talk much, though sometimes they did.

She told him about the horse she’d trained to recognize clicker sounds. He told her about a guitar he used to play—used to, because the sound made him too damn sad now.

Afternoons, he’d show up at the stables. Said he was just “helpin’ where help was needed,” but she knew better. He helped muck stalls, repair fences, haul hay bales like they weighed nothing. Never hovered. Never gave orders. Just…showed up.

And when he left, he always found Willie and gave him a quick scratch behind the ears. The dog adored him now—probably more than anyone else in Jackson, aside from her.

Their conversations grew longer. Their silences more comfortable. They began moving through the world like a unit—not loudly, not publicly, but with an understanding that didn’t need spelling out.

And her father hated it. He hadn’t said it outright. He didn’t need to.

It was in the way his jaw locked whenever she returned home late from patrol with Joel.

The way his fingers twitched when Joel’s name came up at dinner.

The way he stood just a little straighter when they passed each other in the street, like he needed to remind everyone—including himself—who she belonged to.

“You’re riding with Jack tomorrow.”

The statement came over stew. Blunt. Cold. She looked up from her bowl, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

“No, I’m not,” she said.

Her dad’s eyes were level. “Already cleared it with Tommy.”

“You what?”

“Joel’s off patrol. Jack’s taking his place. You’ll be riding the south route.”

She set the spoon down with a soft clatter. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I do, actually. And I did.”

Her voice dropped, flat and dangerous. “You went behind my back.”

He didn’t flinch. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“And you’re not thinking straight.”

“Oh, right,” she snapped. “Because I must’ve lost all sense the second I let a man speak to me.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m protecting you.”

“From what? Joel? He’s not a threat.”

Her father’s voice rose for the first time.

“He’s everything I ever taught you to avoid. Older. Hard. Violent. That man has a trail of bodies behind him longer than the Snake River.”

“He also fixed my trough last week,” she shot back. “And brought a heater during the blizzard. And makes sure I eat when I forget to.”

“That’s not love,” he said, low. “That’s penance.”

She stared at him. Her chest hurt.

“You don’t know him,” she said.

“I know men like him.”

She stood, chair scraping against the floor. Willie lifted his head from where he laid under the table.

“I’m not a child,” she said. “You don’t get to control who I ride with.”

“I’m not controlling you. I’m reminding you who you are. What you’ve survived. And who you owe that survival to.”

She froze. The words sliced deeper than he intended—and from the way his expression shifted, he knew it.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” she said, grabbing her coat. “You always do.”

And then she left. Willie followed silently, tail low.

The next morning, she showed up at the stables before sunrise, saddle already over her shoulder. She could see Jack near the gate, rubbing his gloved hands together, clearly waiting for her.

But Joel was there, too—leaning against the barn, one boot braced against the wood, coffee in hand.

She didn’t speak. Just walked past Jack and tossed the saddle onto her horse’s back with more force than necessary.

“You’re not paired with him,” Jack called.

She didn’t look at him. “That so?”

“Tommy said—”

“I don’t care what Tommy said.”

She mounted the horse in one smooth motion.

Joel stepped forward. Quiet. Watchful.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “I ride with who I trust.”

He didn’t smile. But his gaze softened.

She turned the horse toward the gate. “You coming, or what?”

Joel swung up onto his mount without a word, and together, they rode out before anyone could stop them.

By noon, the snow was falling sideways.

They took cover near an old ranger’s outpost, the kind built back when the woods had still been part of a national park. Inside, the floor was littered with leaves and mouse droppings, but it was dry. Sort of.

She sat with her back to the wall, arms crossed. Joel crouched near the door, scanning the trees like the storm might spit out clickers just for fun.

“Your old man’s not gonna be happy,” he said finally.

She snorted. “He hasn’t been happy in years.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinkin’.”

“That’s dangerous.”

He huffed. “You and him ever fight like that before?”

“All the time. Just not about you.”

His brow furrowed. “So I’m the problem now?”

She rubbed her hands together for warmth. “No. The problem is that you’re not the kind of person he can control.”

Joel didn’t respond.

“But you don’t try to control me, either,” she added. “That’s why he doesn’t trust you. And why I do.”

Joel glanced down at his gloved hands.

“People talk,” he said after a moment. “About me.”

“I know.”

“They say things. About what I’ve done. Who I’ve been.”

She looked at him. “I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“I do care,” she corrected. “But not in the way you think.”

He shifted against the wall. The silence stretched, long and brittle.

“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, finally.

“Neither do I.”

“But it’s...somethin’.”

She nodded.

“Yeah. It is.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. Just looked like he wanted to. She sat still, heartbeat loud in her ears.

“I ain’t good at this,” Joel said. “I never was.”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” she said softly. “You just have to show up.”

“I'll show up whenever you want me to,” he said.

She smiled, small and real. “I know.”

Outside, the wind screamed against the cabin walls. But inside, it was quiet. And warm enough.

By the end of the week, Maria got involved. She cornered her outside the stables, one hand resting on the curve of her pregnant belly like a shield.

“We need to talk,” Maria said.

She wiped her hands on her jeans. “About what?”

“Joel.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You always this subtle?”

Maria didn’t blink. “Your father’s concerned.”

“Of course he is.”

“And I’m concerned, too.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

“Because Joel’s a threat.”

“No,” she said. “He was a threat. There’s a difference.”

Maria’s expression didn’t change. “You’re young. And he’s Joel.”

“And you don’t like him,” she said.

Maria didn’t deny it.

“I’ve known men like him. My whole life. They only love in moments of calm, and they burn everything when things get hard.”

She nodded once. “Well, I’ve known men like my dad. Who protect so hard they forget how to let go. Who teach you not to trust anyone until you don’t even trust yourself.”

Maria went quiet.

“I’m not asking you to like him,” she said. “But don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Maria’s voice softened. “He’s not going to give you what you want.”

“I’m not asking him to.”

“You will.”

That, she didn’t have an answer for.

That night, Joel fixed her tack room door. It had been creaking for weeks. She hadn’t asked. But she found him there anyway, kneeling in the dark, screwdriver in hand.

She stood behind him, arms crossed, “You always break in like this?”

“Door was open,” he said.

“It’s always open.”

He glanced up. “That ain’t safe.”

“I know.”

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her. He stood. Dusted off his hands. The space between them felt thinner than usual. Closer.

“They’re going to keep pushing,” she said.

“I know.”

“They want me to stop seeing you.”

His jaw tightened. “That what you want?”

“No.”

He looked at her like that meant something he didn’t know how to handle. She stepped closer. Just a little.

“I don’t scare easy, Joel.”

“I know that too.”

She was inches away now. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch her. But she felt him anyway. That quiet heat. That slow, aching want he didn’t know what to do with.

“You ever gonna kiss me?” she asked.

Joel swallowed. And then—finally—he did. It was slow. Careful. Like he thought she might shatter.

She didn’t. She leaned in and kissed him back like she’d been waiting two goddamn months. And maybe she had.

When they pulled apart, they didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He touched her cheek once, soft. And she let him.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, the world held still.

The air between them was warmer now—like the kiss had ignited something neither of them wanted to name yet. Her eyes were still closed, her breath caught halfway in her throat.

Joel hadn’t moved away. Not fully. Just hovered there, gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips like he wasn’t sure if one kiss had been a mistake or a beginning.

Then—

Willie barked. Not once. Not twice. A full, echoing string of sharp warnings from just outside the barn.

Both of them jerked slightly—guilt and tension crackling between them like live wire.

The tack room door creaked open with a creaking groan, and then—

“Oh my god, finally.”

Ellie stood just inside the doorway, eyebrows halfway up her forehead, mouth open like she’d stumbled into a crime scene.

Willie trotted in behind her like he’d done his duty and was now ready for his treat.

Joel took one step back from her, rubbing the back of his neck in that guilty, awkward way she was starting to recognize. His cheeks flushed with unmistakable red, jaw clenched tight as he looked everywhere but directly at Ellie.

“Jesus, Joel,” Ellie deadpanned, “you look like I caught you watching old people porn.”

Her mouth fell open.

Joel groaned, low and pained. “Ellie…”

“What?” Ellie said, spreading her hands like she was the picture of innocence. “I’m just saying, I knew something was going on. I’ve seen the way you two hover around each other. The glances. The weird carpentry flirting. It was just a matter of time.”

“I don’t hover,” Joel grumbled.

“You are the definition of hovering,” she shot back. “You probably invented hovering.”

Joel muttered something that might’ve been a curse.

Willie barked again and padded over to sniff Ellie’s boots before flopping down on a saddle blanket like he was bored of all of them.

She couldn’t stop the laugh that rose in her chest—not the full kind, just a huff, but it cracked the tension wide open.

Ellie pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “Anyway, I was sent to get you two for dinner before I walked in on your moment. So let’s go. I’m starving and Tommy said if Joel doesn’t show up soon, he's feeding his stew portion to the sheep.”

Joel blinked. “He’s not—”

“He is. I asked.”

The walk to the mess hall was quiet at first—mostly because Joel didn’t say a word, and she couldn’t stop replaying the feel of his lips against hers.

It hadn’t been dramatic. It hadn’t been desperate. It had just…been. And that was somehow worse. Because it meant it was real.

She didn’t know what it meant for tomorrow, or next week, or what she’d say to her father when he inevitably found out, but in that moment, she let herself feel it.

The quiet buzz beneath her skin. The warmth lingering behind her ribs. The small, strange twist in her stomach when she saw how Joel’s fingers still hovered near hers, like he wanted to reach for her and didn’t quite know how.

Ellie, walking ahead with Willie bouncing beside her, didn’t let the silence last long.

“So, what’s the plan now?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with that trademark glint in her eye. “Gonna get married in the greenhouse? Willie can be the ring bearer.”

Joel let out a long sigh.

“Dina can officiate,” Ellie continued, undeterred. “She’s got a great voice.”

“You need to stop talkin’,” Joel muttered.

“You’re blushing,” she pointed out gleefully. “Oh my god, you are actually blushing. This is the best day of my life.”

“Ellie,” he warned, voice gravel and threat.

Ellie turned to look at her. “Can I be the flower girl?”

She grinned. “Only if you promise to wear the dress.”

“Gross! No!”

Joel stopped walking. “No one’s wearin’ a dress.”

Ellie and Willie both ignored him.

The mess hall was warm, loud, and full of the usual clatter of evening routine. Kids darted between tables. Someone had rigged a record player to spin an old folk album in the corner, the scratchy notes of a guitar weaving under the din.

As soon as they stepped through the doors, she saw them—her father and his old friend Jack, sitting at their usual table near the north wall. The second Joel entered behind her, both men straightened, shoulders tightening like they were preparing for a fight.

Willie, oblivious to the tension, trotted directly over to them, tail wagging, ears up. He sat politely by Jack’s knee, earning a scratch behind the ears, then nudged his nose toward her father’s hand with quiet expectation.

Her father didn’t pet him at first. Then, after a moment, he gave one short scratch behind the ear. It was muscle memory, not affection.

Jack whispered something to him, and both men’s eyes tracked her across the room like spotlights. She didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Just kept walking toward the far end of the room where Ellie and Dina had already claimed a table.

Joel hesitated behind her for half a second before following.

Dinner was stew. Again. Joel said nothing about it, but she noticed the way he always stirred it clockwise, slow and deliberate, like his thoughts were louder than his appetite.

Ellie, on the other hand, had no such distractions.

“So,” she said between spoonfuls, “Dina and I were talking, and we decided we’re forming a community watch group for your relationship.”

She blinked. “A what?”

“A watch group,” Dina chimed in, grinning. “To monitor and track all romantic developments in this emotionally repressed post-apocalyptic will-they-won’t-they we’ve been forced to live through.”

Joel groaned. “Christ.”

“Language,” Ellie teased. “You’ve got children present.”

“You are the child,” he muttered.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re judging you,” Dina continued, spoon tapping against her bowl. “We’re just… observing. For science.”

“This ain’t science,” Joel said, exasperated. “It’s harassment.”

“Only if we write it down,” Ellie said. “Right now it’s just casual undercover work.”

Joel glared at her.

Dina shrugged. “Also, your kid’s been beaming all evening. Pretty sure that’s a good sign.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m not his kid.”

Joel looked like he was about to argue, but stopped. Something passed over his face—a flicker of something unspoken and fragile.

He didn’t correct her. But he also didn’t deny it. She caught the shift. Stored it away. Something in her chest tugged a little harder.

Across the mess hall, she could feel her father’s stare like a second spine. She glanced up once—just briefly—and met his eyes.

Hard. Unblinking. Jack was whispering something again, and her father didn’t blink.

She felt Joel shift beside her. His body didn’t move much, but his attention did. Like he could feel it too.

When dinner was over, Ellie and Dina walked ahead, heading towards her home, already planning something chaotic for the next day. Joel and her hung back by the door.

Willie returned to her side, brushing against her leg. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Joel.

Outside, the air was biting. The wind had shifted direction, blowing off the mountains, colder now.

She paused just outside the mess hall. Joel did, too.

“You feelin’ watched?” he asked, quiet.

“I’m always watched.”

He didn’t look at her. Just scanned the street.

“You think he’s gonna say somethin’?”

She shrugged. “He already did.”

Joel’s jaw worked for a moment. “You want me to back off?”

She turned to face him.

“No,” she said. “I want you to stay.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. His eyes were tired, but not unsure.

“I ain’t gonna make this easy,” he said.

“I didn’t survive this long looking for easy.”

A long pause. Then, “You wanna come by?” he asked, voice low. “I got coffee. Better than the bark stuff.”

Her heart skipped. She didn’t answer. She just started walking in the direction of his house, Willie trotting beside her.

Joel followed. And somewhere in the dark, behind windows and whispers and flickering porch lights, she knew people were watching.

But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care. Because tonight, the snow was falling quiet again. And she wasn’t walking alone.

Joel didn’t say anything as they moved through the snow-covered street, his footsteps falling into rhythm with hers like it had always been this way. Willie trotted beside them, his nails clicking on the wooden porch when they reached Joel’s house.

The wind howled around the corner of the street, whipping at her flannel, tugging strands of hair loose from her braid. Joel stepped up behind her and opened the door without a word, holding it just long enough for her to pass through before following behind and closing it against the cold.

Inside, everything felt...still.

The house was dim. Warm. Smelled faintly of wood smoke and old coffee grounds. A low fire crackled in the hearth, half-burned logs glowing faint orange. Joel dropped his coat onto the back of the chair, his boots thudding gently as he kicked them off. She followed suit, letting the silence settle, comfortable now. Familiar.

Willie padded straight for the fireplace, circled once, and flopped onto the worn rug with a dramatic huff, nose between his paws.

“You want coffee?” Joel asked after a moment, voice low.

She nodded. “Only if it doesn’t taste like bark.”

A hint of a smile touched his face. “No promises.”

He moved into the kitchen while she wandered the room, taking it in slowly—she’d been here before, once or twice, but never long. Never like this. The place was clean in that practical, utilitarian way—everything had a purpose. A place. But there were little things too, a chipped mug resting on the windowsill, an old paperback tucked spine-up under a pile of tools, a photo frame turned face-down on the table near the window.

He didn’t talk about the past. She didn’t ask. But the ghost of it lingered everywhere, like woodsmoke clinging to the walls.

Joel returned with two mismatched mugs, steam curling from the surface. He handed her one without a word, then lowered himself onto the couch, settling in with a tired exhale. She joined him, tucking her legs beneath herself, mug cradled between her palms.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire, Willie’s low breathing, and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling.

“You ever think about what normal used to be?” she asked quietly, voice half-lost in the rim of the mug.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“Used to,” he said eventually. “Stopped. Hurts too much.”

She nodded.

“I don’t remember much of it,” she said. “Bits and pieces. Cartoons on TV. My dad cussing at traffic.”

Joel huffed a breath. “Traffic.”

“Right?” she smiled. “Feels made up now.”

He glanced at her, something softening behind his eyes. “You were just a kid.”

“So were you,” she said. “Just... a bigger one.”

That made him chuckle. A real sound, low and rough.

“You tryin’ to call me old?”

“I don’t have to try.”

He gave her a look. She grinned into her cup.

After a while, she leaned into the back cushions, her shoulder brushing his. He didn’t move. Just shifted slightly, enough for their arms to touch.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him. It wasn’t about her safety. It wasn’t about patrol, or her dad, or the town. It was just him, asking if she was okay. Right now. In this moment.

And she nodded.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

The words lingered in the air between them, soft and real. Joel’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Her breath caught.

She leaned in first. Their second kiss wasn’t like the first. It wasn’t careful. It was hungry.

A slow, burning press of lips that deepened too fast, like they’d been holding back too long. Joel’s hand came to her cheek, his thumb rough with callus, palm warm. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, grounding herself.

He made a sound low in his throat, the kind that went straight to her chest and rattled loose something she hadn’t realized she’d been locking away.

She shifted closer. Into his space. Onto his lap, knees bracketing his thighs as she straddled him without hesitation.

Joel froze for a second. Not because he didn’t want it—God, he did—but because of how much he wanted it. His hands found her hips, firm but not possessive. Guiding. Steady.

She kissed him again. And again. His scruff scraped her jaw in the best way, grounding and raw, his mouth tasting like coffee. She buried her hands in his hair, tugged just enough to make him groan into her mouth.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Every kiss was a confession.

Her hips pressed against him, her chest flush with his, and he kissed her like he was memorizing every second of it. His hands slid beneath her flannel, fingertips brushing her back, but never moving further than that—like he needed to hold her close but was afraid of pushing too far, too fast.

She broke the kiss first, barely, her forehead resting against his, breath ragged.

“I don’t wanna stop,” she murmured.

“I know,” Joel said, voice rough, trembling against her mouth. “I know, darlin’. But…”

His hands slid to her thighs, holding her there like an anchor.

“I wanna do this right,” he said. “Wanna do you right.”

She blinked.

He swallowed hard. “You matter to me. More than I know how to say. And I ain’t gonna mess this up by rushin’ into somethin’ and makin’ it feel like it don’t matter.”

She touched his face. Soft. “It already matters.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I need to go slow.”

She nodded. Pressed a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw. Slid her arms around his shoulders and tucked herself there, breathing in the scent of him—something undeniably Joel.

Willie lifted his head from across the room, let out a soft sigh, then dropped back down with a thump. Joel chuckled.

“He your chaperone?”

“He's judgmental,” she mumbled into his neck. “Keeps me humble.”

Joel wrapped his arms around her fully then, pulled her close until her chest was pressed against his and her breath warmed the hollow of his throat.

They stayed like that for a long time. Just breathing. Letting it be quiet. Letting it be enough.

Eventually, her breathing evened out. Her arms went slack. She shifted once in his lap and mumbled something unintelligible into his shirt. Joel looked down and found her asleep.

Her face softened in sleep, all the fight and fire melting into something quiet and safe. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then ran a hand slowly down her back.

“Jesus,” he whispered to himself. “What are you doin’ to me.”

He sat there for a moment longer, just holding her.

Then, slowly, gently, he stood. She stirred in his arms, murmured something, but didn’t wake. Her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her hand still clutching a fistful of his shirt.

He carried her upstairs. His knees popped once on the landing, and he muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath, even though Willie was the only one awake enough to hear.

He nudged his bedroom door open with his foot, crossed the room, and pulled back the blankets with one hand. Laid her down like she was made of glass.

She curled into the pillow immediately, one hand searching. Joel stood for a moment, watching. Then he leaned down, brushed his lips to her temple.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

Willie padded in and laid down at the foot of the bed, ears flicking once before he sighed and settled.

Joel sat in the old armchair near the window. Stared out at the snow falling under the moonlight.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to run. Didn’t feel the weight of what was behind him. Only what was here. What was coming.

He looked back at the bed, at her curled up with the covers tangled around her jeans. And for once, the ache in his chest didn’t feel like grief. It felt like hope. And that scared the hell out of him.

Joel sat in the old armchair near the window, boots off, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped in front of him. The snow outside fell in thick, slow flakes, heavy enough to mute even the wind. The kind of snow that blanketed everything until it looked soft—peaceful. Clean.

He’d always hated how quiet winter could be. Made it too easy to think. Too easy to remember.

The fire downstairs had burned low by now, and the house had taken on that particular kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. Upstairs, the only sounds were the occasional creak of the wood beneath them, the whisper of her breath as she slept in his bed, and the slow, rhythmic thump of Willie’s tail every time she shifted under the covers.

Joel watched her. Curled up in a tangle of blankets, mouth slightly parted, one arm reaching for something even in sleep. She looked young. Soft. Peaceful in a way he’d never seen on her face before—like some part of her had finally stopped bracing for the next blow.

And that did something to him. Twisted up something he’d buried so deep it had almost turned to bone.

Sarah. The name alone was enough to hollow out his chest.

She would’ve been in her thirties now. A grown woman. Might’ve been a mother herself. Might’ve had her own porch, her own slow mornings, her own dog sprawled on the rug like he owned the place.

Instead, she was a ghost. Still thirteen in his head. Still asleep in that pink hoodie, curled up against the passenger seat, trusting him with everything.

Still dying in his arms while the world burned around them.

Joel dragged a hand down his face. It didn’t stop the ache. Never had.

He hadn’t let himself think about Sarah—not deeply, not honestly—in a long time. Couldn’t. Because thinking about her meant remembering what it had felt like to lose her. And remembering that felt like trying to breathe underwater.

But tonight, with her—this woman wrapped in his sheets and tangled up in his chest—it was harder not to think about Sarah. About the difference.

About the similarities.

Joel had known her father carried his little girl into the apocalypse. Had watched that little girl grow up in the kind of world no child should. Watched her learn how to hold a knife and set a trap and smile without softness.

Her father had kept her alive. Joel hadn’t. That truth stuck like glass in his throat.

No matter how much good he tried to do now—no matter how many fences he fixed, patrols he ran, meals he shared—it never changed the fact that his daughter had died in his arms, and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

But her? She had made it. Not just survived—but lived. That meant something.

She stirred under the blankets, murmured something incoherent, and rolled over, one hand stretching toward the empty space beside her.

Joel’s heart gave a slow, painful thump.

He stood. His body was stiff—back aching, joints creaking like old wood—but he moved slowly toward the bed. The sheets rustled as he sat on the edge, watching her face for any sign that she’d wake.

She didn’t. Just made a small sound in her sleep and shifted closer.

Joel hesitated only a moment more before slipping under the covers beside her.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and she immediately moved toward the warmth, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder like she’d always belonged there. One leg slung across his. Her arm curled against his chest, fingers resting just over his heart.

He froze. Then breathed. His hand came up slowly—tentatively—and settled against her back. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing. The weight of her. Real. Alive.

He closed his eyes. And tried not to fall apart. She didn’t know what this meant to him. Not yet.

She didn’t know how long it had been since he’d shared a bed with anyone. Not for sex, not for convenience, not for heat—but just to be near. To be held. Even in sleep.

She didn’t know how deeply she was undoing him. Didn’t know that part of him—the one that had been cold and locked up for twenty years—was slowly beginning to thaw in her presence. That she was rebuilding things in him he hadn’t thought repairable.

He didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know how to deserve it. But she was here. In his bed. In his life. And for tonight, that was enough.

Joel pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Closed his eyes. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, he let himself fall asleep with something warm in his chest.

Not fire. Not grief. Something gentler. Something dangerously close to love.

That was what settled in Joel’s chest as her breathing warmed his collarbone, her leg still draped across his hip.

The early hours of morning crept in slow and gray, winter’s hush resting heavy against the windows. She slept like someone who hadn’t in a long time—deep, weightless, unguarded. And he held her like he knew the truth, that trust like this was a rare, fragile thing. Not a gift, but a risk.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep with her in his arms. Hell, he hadn’t meant to let her fall asleep at all. Not here. Not in his bed, tangled up in him like she belonged there.

But she did. She did, and now he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to wake up without her.

And then someone started banging on the goddamn door.

Joel’s eyes flew open, muscles tensing as he jolted upright halfway, hand instinctively going for the pistol he kept under the side table. Beside him, she flinched, groaning into his shoulder, already stirring.

The knocking didn’t stop. It was angry. Sharp.

A fist slamming into wood like the person on the other side wasn’t just impatient—they were furious.

Joel was already sliding out of bed, careful not to jostle her too hard.

“What—?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep, blinking blearily as Willie jumped to his feet at the end of the bed, growling low in his throat.

Joel peeked through the slat in the curtains. His stomach dropped.

“Shit.”

“What?” she asked, sitting up, rubbing her face. “Who is it?”

Joel turned, jaw tightening. “It’s your dad.”

That woke her up real fast. She pushed the blankets off her, already climbing out of bed, hair a mess, flannel wrinkled, socks half off her feet. “Fuck.”

The knocking turned into pounding.

Joel moved fast. Fixed his wrinkled shirt. He didn’t want to open the door, didn’t want to deal with the man who looked at him like he was one wrong breath away from being put down—but he also wasn’t about to let him wake the whole town.

He opened the door. The man standing on the porch wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t red-faced. He wasn’t even speaking. But he was seething.

Her father stood there like a storm barely holding itself together, coat half-buttoned, gloves stuffed into one hand like he’d left in a hurry. His mouth was a hard, straight line. His eyes—

They were looking past Joel. Straight into the house.

Joel barely got a word out before the man pushed past him into the living room.

She had just reached the bottom of the stairs, one sock on, flannel buttoned, her jeans—

Unbuttoned. She blinked at her father. He blinked back.

Then his gaze dropped. Saw the undone fly of her jeans. The bare strip of her stomach. The bed-rumpled hair. Joel standing half between them, tense, protective.

And something inside him snapped.

“Are you kidding me?” her father hissed. “This is what you’re doing now? This is who you are?”

Joel stepped forward, voice low. “Look—”

“No,” her father snapped, rounding on him. “Don’t you fucking speak to me.”

“Then don’t come poundin’ on my door at six in the goddamn morning—”

“You son of a bitch—”

“Hey!” she cut in sharply, stepping between them, hands up like she was breaking up two dogs on the edge of a fight. “Stop. Both of you.”

Her dad looked at her like he couldn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him.

“You spent the night here?” he asked, voice too quiet now. Too cold.

“Yes,” she said.

“You slept in his bed?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, already spiraling, “And what, you just couldn’t wait? Had to—what? Throw everything away for a warm body?”

Joel stiffened behind her. Her mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking serious?” she barked. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” he snapped. “I find out from Esther, of all people, that you didn’t come home last night. She saw you sneaking into his house—”

“We weren’t sneaking!” she shouted. “Jesus, Dad—do you hear yourself?”

“You’re in his bed—”

“Because I fell asleep.”

He scoffed. “With your pants undone?”

Joel stepped forward again, voice low but hard. “You might wanna stop talkin’ to her like that.”

Her father’s eyes cut to Joel, and the air snapped tight between them. “Don’t act like you’re not loving this. You’ve been sniffing around her since day one. You think I don’t see it?”

“I never touched her without her say-so,” Joel said, jaw clenching. “Never crossed a line.”

“You think that makes you good?” he sneered. “You think that makes you different from the men who came before you?”

Joel’s face darkened, but he didn’t respond. Her voice cut the tension clean in half.

“I undid my jeans,” she said, voice flat, arms crossed. “Because I was sleeping in fucking jeans, and I wanted to breathe. That’s it. I didn’t sleep with him. We didn’t even take our clothes off.”

Her father’s mouth opened—then closed again. The silence that followed was brutal.

She stared at him, tears burning hot at the corners of her eyes. Not because of shame. But because she knew this wasn’t about Joel. Not really. It was about control. About fear. About her growing into someone her father couldn’t protect from everything anymore.

She turned on her heel, “I’m going home to take a shower,” she muttered.

Willie immediately rose to his feet and followed.

Joel stood frozen in the doorway as she brushed past him, barely catching her sleeve. “You okay?”

She looked up at him. And nodded.

“Thanks for not yelling,” she said softly.

He gave her a tired smile. “Didn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Her eyes flicked back to her dad—still standing in the middle of the room like he wasn’t sure whether to hit something or collapse.

Then back to Joel.

“See you later?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice gentle. “You will.”

She left. The cold slapped her cheeks as she stepped outside, but it felt good. Grounding. Willie padded beside her, ears flicking, nose twitching at the air.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Didn’t even curse. She just walked. Because there were things she couldn’t fix right now.

Her father’s fear. Joel’s guilt. The parts of herself still learning how to be wanted without being someone’s responsibility. But this? This was hers. And she’d made her choice.

Back inside Joel’s house, the silence was thick. Her father hadn’t moved.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face, then walked to the front door.

“You ever raise your voice at her like that again,” he said, quiet, dangerous, “we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Her father said nothing. Just stood there, shoulders square. Joel didn’t press. Didn’t push. But he meant it. He always would.

Because whatever this was between them—it wasn’t just about kisses on a couch or coffee and half-smiles.

It was about her. And Joel wasn’t going anywhere. Not this time. Joel meant it.

He meant every damn word, even as her father turned slowly to the door, not saying a thing. Just stared at Joel with a glare that could’ve split ice, shoulders rigid, fists clenched like he was still deciding whether or not to take a swing.

Joel didn’t move. He just looked back. Calm. Solid. And then her father spoke, low and cold,

“You touch her wrong. You hurt her. You make her cry one time—I will kill you.”

Joel didn’t blink. “Wouldn’t expect any less.”

Her father stared for one more long second—then turned and walked out without another word. The door slammed behind him.

Joel stood there, shoulders tight, breath slow.

The sound of her fading footsteps down the snowy road still echoed in his ears. And something in his chest felt a little emptier than it had before. Not because she was gone. But because she’d walked out carrying pain she didn’t deserve.

And that? That tore him apart. She didn’t cry on the way home. Didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back.

But by the time she made it to the porch, her jaw was locked so tight it hurt, her fingers half-numb from how hard she’d clenched her fists.

Willie waited quietly as she opened the door, his tail flicking gently, eyes on her like he could feel it—like he knew something inside her had cracked.

She stripped off her flannel, tossed it onto the kitchen chair, and didn’t stop until she was in the bathroom, steam already clouding the mirror.

The shower was hot. Too hot. She didn’t care. She stood under the spray, hands braced on the tile, eyes closed, chest heaving.

It wasn’t just her dad. It was Esther.

Fucking Esther.

Who the hell did she think she was? Running her mouth to him of all people. Just because she saw her walk into Joel’s house and didn’t see her leave?

She scrubbed her skin harder than necessary, dragging her nails down her arms like she could scrape the frustration out of her bones.

Esther had been circling Joel since the day he arrived in Jackson—always lingering too long at the gate, always talking just a bit too sweet whenever she handed him a plate at the mess hall. She was kind, sure. Capable. The kind of woman who got along with everyone. But he had said it himself,

“I’m not interested.”

He’d said it weeks ago. Quiet and certain, when they were sitting on his steps, sharing jerky and silence like it meant something.

And she’d believed him. Still believed him.

But Esther didn’t know how to let go. And now she’d run to the one man she knewwould go ballistic.

She turned off the water, furious all over again. The towel she wrapped around herself felt suffocating. So did the house. So did the thoughts racing like wildfire in her head.

She needed to work. She needed the barn.

The air smelled like hay, cold metal, and horse musk—the kind of grounding, raw scent that reminded her where she came from. What she’d built.

She got to work without saying a word. Shoveled feed. Replaced water buckets. Brushed out dried mud from hooves, oiled leather reins, unlatched stalls and mucked out shit with a rhythm that felt damn near religious.

Willie laid in the hay beside the mare she liked best—Sparrow, a stubborn gray with more attitude than sense. He didn't bark, didn’t move. Just watched her with those solemn eyes that always made her feel like he knew.

She didn’t want to cry. But her hands shook.

And when she dropped the bucket and it clattered loud against the wood, she whispered a sharp, “Fuck,” and bent down fast, pressing her forehead to the cold side of the stall, eyes shut.

She didn’t even hear the barn door open. But she felt him. His presence always arrived like a change in the air. Subtle but weighty.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t speak.

Joel stopped a few feet away. She could hear his breath. The soft shift of his boots on straw.

“I didn’t invite you here,” she said, voice flat, still facing the stall.

“I know,” he said quietly.

She stayed still for a long moment. Then turned.

His eyes were already on her. Not angry. Not expectant. Just... watching. Waiting.

She wiped her hands on her jeans and picked up the bucket again.

“I’m working,” she muttered.

“I can see that.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

He nodded once. “Didn’t come to talk.”

“Then why are you here?”

He hesitated.

“Wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” she said too fast.

Joel just looked at her. It made her stomach twist. That goddamn soft patience in his eyes. Like he could see through every wall she’d built and was willing to wait on the other side.

She turned back to the stall. He walked in farther. Slowly. Like approaching a wild animal that might bolt if he moved too fast.

“You’re mad at me.”

“No,” she said. “I’m mad at Esther.”

He blinked. “Esther?”

“She’s the one who told him I didn’t come home,” she said, slamming the latch harder than necessary. “Probably because she saw me go into your house and assumed the worst.”

Joel frowned. “Why the hell would she—”

“Because she likes you,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Everyone knows that.”

His brows pulled together. “I don’t give a damn what she wants. I told you—”

“I know,” she cut in.

The silence hung heavy for a moment. She dropped the bucket in the feed room and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I just… I’m tired,” she said quietly. “Of being watched. Of being treated like I don’t know what I’m doing. Like I’m some idiot kid who can’t handle her own heart.”

Joel stepped closer.

“You’re not a kid.”

She looked at him, eyes hot. “My dad—he looked at me like I betrayed him.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “He was wrong.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “But it still fucking hurt.”

He didn’t touch her. Just stood close. Like a shield.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he said. “Not me. Not him. Not Esther.”

She looked up at him, and for the first time since she left his house, her shoulders relaxed.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.

Joel’s expression didn’t change. But his voice softened.

“I don’t either.”

That cracked something open. Because there was something about hearing him say it—this man who had seen the end of the world and walked through hell and back—that made her feel less alone in her own confusion.

“I keep thinking about what it would’ve been like if the world hadn’t ended,” she said. “If I’d been... normal. Had a mom. A real childhood. If he hadn’t had to give everything up to keep me alive.”

Joel’s face twisted. Just slightly.

“And then I think about you,” she added, voice barely a whisper. “What you lost. Who you were before. And I just…”

She stopped. Joel stepped closer. Close enough to reach her if he wanted.

“I look at you,” she continued, “and I see someone who’s still standing. Still showing up. Even when you’ve got every reason not to.”

He didn’t speak. He just reached out and cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing lightly over her cheekbone.

“You’re worth showing up for,” he said simply.

Her breath caught. And then she leaned into him, forehead resting against his chest, arms coming around his waist.

Joel held her. Held her like she was something fragile and real and his.

Not because she asked. But because he wanted to.

Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the barn stayed warm.

They didn’t kiss. Not this time. There was no heat between them in that moment—just something softer.

He stayed while she finished her chores, silent except for the occasional question.

He handed her tools when she needed them. Held a halter while she tightened the buckles. Rubbed Sparrow’s neck while she brushed her out. Even fixed the crooked hinge on the tack room door without being asked.

Willie followed them everywhere. She didn’t talk much. Neither did Joel. But it was the easiest silence she’d known in weeks.

And when he finally left—after squeezing her shoulder once, firm and warm—he didn’t say goodbye.

Just said, “See you later.”

And for once, she believed it. And she let herself breathe. Just for a minute.

She believed him.

The morning after felt warmer. Not just in the way the sunlight cut through the bedroom blinds, or how Willie laid curled like a living furnace at the foot of her bed—but something deeper. Something steadier.

Maybe she hadn’t fallen asleep in Joel’s arms again.

But she had walked away from him knowing she could walk back.

And that meant something.

Until a loud, violent banging rattled the front door, followed immediately by Willie barking like the apocalypse had come back for round two.

She shot upright in bed.

“Jesus fuck—”

Willie launched off the mattress, bolted toward the stairs.

More pounding.

“Hey! Open up! I know you’re in there! You’re not dead, are you?”

Ellie.

She stumbled out of bed, half-blind with sleep, grabbing for yesterday’s flannel and barely jamming her arms into it as she headed down the hall.

Willie barked again—excited now, more tail-wag than threat.

The banging returned.

"I swear to god—"

“Ellie, stop!” she yelled, just as she missed the last step and nearly pitched forward in her socks. She caught herself on the banister and muttered, “Mother—fuck—”

Willie sat by the door, looking far too proud of himself.

She yanked it open with one hand and blinked hard at the daylight slicing through her skull.

Ellie stood there, fully dressed, grinning like she was on something.

“Wow,” the kid said, stepping inside without invitation. “You look like you just fought a horse in your sleep.”

“I am asleep,” she grumbled. “Or I was. What time is it?”

“Like nine.”

She groaned.

“It’s patrol shift changeover,” Ellie said, dropping onto the couch like she lived there. Willie immediately jumped up beside her, tail thumping, tongue out. “So I figured, why not go bother the only person in this entire town who tolerates me.”

She flopped into the chair across from them, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t tolerate you. I endure you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ellie said, already scratching behind Willie’s ears. “He missed me.”

“He was asleep.”

“He lives to see me.”

“Okay, settle down.”

There was a beat of silence before Ellie said, offhanded, “Joel let you be his patrol partner pretty fast.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Just saying,” Ellie said, voice casual, eyes still fixed on Willie. “You two were barely talking, and then suddenly, boom, you’re his patrol partner, you’re eating with us, and now he’s all”—she waved her hands vaguely—“emotionally available.”

She laughed, surprised. “You think I made Joel emotionally available?”

“I mean,” Ellie shrugged, “you kinda did. He talks to you. Listens to you. You’re like—Joel whisperer or something.”

“I don’t control him, Ellie.”

“Yeah, but he loves you,” Ellie said.

The words hit like a gunshot. Not a loud one. Not violent. But sudden. Sharp.

She stilled. “What?”

Ellie looked up, brow raised like duh. “He loves you. I mean, maybe he hasn’t said it. Joel doesn’t really say things. But it’s obvious.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Ellie—”

“He won’t let me go on patrol,” Ellie interrupted. “Still. After all this time.”

She blinked. “He’s just being protective.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said. “Of me. Which is nice, or whatever, but I’m not a little kid. And he won’t even talk about it. If I ask, he just shuts down. Like I said something bad.”

She leaned back in her chair, exhaling.

Ellie’s tone softened. “I thought maybe… since he listens to you, maybe you could say something.”

There was something raw behind the request. Not whining. Not pushing. Just longing. For trust. For independence. For the kind of respect Joel was afraid to give because it meant letting go.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

Ellie grinned. “That means yes.”

“No,” she said, standing. “That means get up. I’m taking you to breakfast. You broke into my house like the cops and now I need caffeine.”

The sun had risen higher, casting a weak gold across the snow. Jackson buzzed with usual morning movement—kids dragging buckets of feed, older folks de-icing steps, the smell of smoke and fresh bread trailing from the mess hall chimney.

They were halfway down the path when they turned the corner—

—and there they were.

Joel. And Esther.

Side by side. Next to the patrol horses.

She stopped walking.

Ellie looked up, squinting. “Is that—?”

Joel noticed them first. His eyes immediately locked on hers. His shoulders stiffened like he’d just walked into a trap, and for a split second, she saw the flash of something like guilt flicker across his face.

Esther, ever smooth, said something with a smile and handed her reins off to the stablehand. Her hand brushed Joel’s sleeve. Brushed it.

And that was it. Her stomach twisted.

Joel took a hesitant step forward. “Hey—”

She didn’t stop walking. Just kept going. Right past him.

Didn’t break stride. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t even flinch.

He called her name—low, like he was trying not to make it a scene. She didn’t answer.

Ellie blinked, half jogging to keep up. “Uh… should I ask?”

“No,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“You’re walking really fast.”

“I do that sometimes.”

“Not usually while breathing fire.”

She pushed open the mess hall door with more force than necessary. The warm air inside hit her hard. Bread, eggs, chatter.

Ellie followed, slightly out of breath. “Okay, so we’re mad.”

She didn’t respond. She just grabbed a plate and moved through the line like a soldier, jaw clenched, hands tight.

Joel hadn’t done anything. Not really. He wasn’t cheating. He wasn’t even flirting.

But Esther’s touch… the way she smiled… the way he’d let her...

It felt like the universe was laughing in her face. He hadn’t even fought for her attention. Just let her walk past like he didn’t know what to say.

And maybe he didn’t. But that hurt more.

They ate in silence for a while. Ellie kept looking at her out of the corner of her eye.

“So,” she said finally, “want me to put a dead rat in Esther’s laundry bag?”

She blinked. Then let out a laugh. Short. Sharp. Real.

Ellie grinned. “I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“No rats,” she said. “Yet.”

Ellie leaned on the table. “You want me to talk to Joel?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because I’m really good at guilt-tripping him.”

“I’m sure.”

Ellie looked at her like she was studying a creature in the wild.

“You love him,” she said.

She stared at her tray. “I don’t—”

“You do.”

Silence.

Then, quietly, “I think I do,” she admitted. “Or I’m about to.”

Ellie’s voice was gentle for once. “He’s scared too, you know.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Just don’t make him chase you too long.”

She sighed. “I’m just… tired of being made to feel less than. Of having to compete for something that already hurts to want.”

Ellie reached across the table and stole her toast.

Then said, “Yeah. But you’re not less than. You’re the only one who ever made him smile.”

And that? That meant more than she'd admit. She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t slow. Didn’t blink. Just walked past, flannel sleeves pushed up, eyes forward, boots cutting sharp lines in the snow like she couldn’t feel the weight of his gaze trailing behind her.

Joel opened his mouth to call her name again. But stopped. Because the way she didn’t look at him?

That said more than any words could. And it hurt more, too.

“Everything okay?” Esther asked, voice sweet and lilting behind him, like she hadn’t just brushed his sleeve with her hand two minutes ago.

Joel didn’t answer.

He turned back toward the horses, jaw tight, throat thick with everything he didn’t know how to say.

Esther had already mounted. Her bay mare flicked its ears as Joel swung up onto his own saddle, the leather groaning beneath him. He adjusted his gloves. Kept his eyes on the trail ahead.

They were heading west today. Scouting route seventeen. Same one he used to ride with her. Familiar snowdrifts, twisted trees that looked like skeletal hands in the winter light. Empty cabins and frozen creeks.

Joel didn’t speak for a good twenty minutes. Didn’t need to. Esther, though—she always needed to.

“I don’t think she likes me,” she said lightly.

Joel didn’t look at her. “Don’t see how that’s my business.”

“She glared at me,” Esther added. “Twice. And I’m very sure it wasn’t because I had something in my teeth.”

Joel gave a noncommittal grunt and tugged the reins to guide his horse through a patch of ice.

“She’s young,” Esther said then, her tone shifting—less breezy now. A little too knowing. “How old is she again? Twenty-five?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Esther smiled faintly. “You know she was five when it happened, right? The outbreak. Just a baby. And now she’s…”

Joel glanced over.

Esther trailed off. Shrugged. “I don’t know. I just worry about you, Joel.”

He stiffened. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, someone has to,” she said. “Maria said you don’t exactly make good choices when it comes to... attachments.”

Joel stopped his horse.

Right there on the trail, frost-laced trees on either side, wind blowing gentle through the brush.

He turned to look at her. Slowly. Eyes hard. Dark.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say?”

Esther’s mare sidestepped, sensing the shift in his posture.

Esther didn’t back down. She never did.

“I’m just saying maybe you don’t realize what people see,” she said. “An older man. A girl half his age. Alone together. In his house. In his bedroom.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“She’s not a girl,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “She’s a woman. A goddamn survivor. Smarter than most people in this town. Stronger than all of ‘em.”

Esther blinked. He had raised his voice before. But not like this.

“And you,” Joel continued, cutting his words sharp and clean, “you don’t get to talk about her like she’s some helpless thing. Like she don’t know her own mind.”

Esther’s expression flickered—surprise, maybe. Then something colder.

“Joel,” she said, voice softer now. “I was just looking out for you.”

“No,” he said. “You were lookin’ down on her. And I’m not gonna sit here and let you do it.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Joel clicked his tongue and spurred his horse forward, leaving her behind on the trail without another word.

The wind was colder than before. He didn’t feel it.

Didn’t feel the weight of his pack, or the ache in his knees, or the saddle digging into his lower back. All he felt was the burn in his chest. The kind that didn’t come from cold or pain—but from regret.

Because he hadn’t gone after her.

Hadn’t grabbed her hand, hadn’t said, “It’s not what it looks like. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want her there.”

He hadn’t told her the truth.

That he only said yes to the patrol with Esther because Maria asked, and he didn’t want to cause a stir. That he’d barely said a word all morning. That all he’d been thinking about was her. The way she’d walked away.

The way her voice trembled last night when she said, “I’m tired of being treated like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Joel had made a life out of silence. Out of staying still until danger passed.

But this? This wasn’t survival. This was her. And he didn’t want to survive her.

He wanted to keep her.

They reached the checkpoint an hour later. Joel didn’t speak. Just logged his name, scoped the ridgeline, did the job.

Esther tried twice to start conversation. He ignored both. On the way back, she didn’t try again.

By the time they reached the gates of Jackson, the silence between them was bitter.

Joel dismounted. Handed off his horse. Nodded to the guard. Started toward the stables.

He didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t look back.

The barn was empty. He stepped inside anyway.

The smell hit him first—dust and hay and her. A little saddle oil. The warm scent of animals and earth and life.

Willie sat by the feed room door, ears pricking up when he saw Joel. He stood and padded over, tail thumping once.

Joel scratched his ears. “She here?”

Willie gave a soft whine. Turned toward the back stalls. Joel followed. And there she was.

Brushing Sparrow’s flank, back turned to him. Flannel sleeves rolled up, hands moving with practiced ease. She hadn’t seen him yet.

He watched her for a second. Just stood there and watched.

He never believed in miracles. Not since Sarah.

But this woman—this strong, stubborn, loyal, blinding woman—was the closest thing he’d seen to one in twenty years.

And he’d let her walk past him without a word.

He stepped forward.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

She paused. Didn’t turn around.

He swallowed. “Can we talk?”

Silence.

Then she said, “You busy with Esther?”

The words were quiet. But sharp. Joel flinched.

“I didn’t ask to ride with her,” he said.

She kept brushing. Slow. Even.

“Maria assigned it. I didn’t want it. Didn’t talk much. Just did the job.”

Still brushing.

“She say something?” she asked, voice tight.

Joel hesitated. “Yeah.”

She stopped. Turned. Eyes cool. Distant.

“What’d she say?”

Joel looked at her. Really looked.

And said, “Didn’t matter. She’s wrong.”

She folded her arms. “Try me.”

He stepped closer.

“She said she worried about me,” he said. “Said you were young. Implying things. Said people might think I was takin’ advantage.”

Her jaw clenched.

Joel’s voice softened. “I told her to stop. Told her you’re the strongest person I know.”

She blinked. Slowly. Joel took another step.

“I don’t care what people think,” he said. “I care what you think.”

A long pause.

Then—

“I think you should’ve come after me,” she said. Quiet. Honest. “I think you should’ve stopped me.”

Joel’s heart broke a little.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“I did.”

He nodded. Painful. Slow. She looked at him like she didn’t know whether to cry or swing.

“You let her touch you.”

“I didn’t want her to.”

“But you let her.”

“I froze.”

She turned away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that don’t fix it. But I am.”

She didn’t move for a long time.

Then said, “I believe you.”

He closed his eyes. Exhaled. And for the first time all day, something inside him settled.

Not all the way. But enough.

Willie laid down at their feet with a sigh.

Joel reached out, tentative. She let him touch her hand. And that? That was everything.

The way she let him touch her hand—quiet, small, steady—it unraveled something in Joel’s chest so slow and deep it almost hurt.

Not pain. Something else. A loosening. Like he didn’t need to hold his breath anymore.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there with him, surrounded by horses and soft golden dust, the early afternoon light filtering in through the warped wooden slats of the barn. Sparrow shifted her weight in the stall behind them. Willie let out a groan from the hay and laid his head back down.

Joel didn’t let go of her hand. He couldn’t. And for once, she didn’t pull away.

She exhaled quietly, shoulders dropping from where they’d been hitched near her ears for most of the morning. The flannel she wore was worn through at the elbows, and he could see the faint line of a scar on her forearm—white and thin, like a whisper from another life.

He wondered what she’d had to survive to earn it. He wondered how many more there were. And he hated that there’d ever been a world where she had to.

“Listen,” he said, voice low, thick with gravel and hesitation, “I’ve been thinkin’—”

She gave him a look. “That’s dangerous.”

He huffed. “Let me finish.”

She arched a brow. “You’re finishing a lot of sentences lately. That’s suspicious.”

Joel gave her a pointed stare. “You want me to say it or not?”

She smiled—small, but real. “Say it.”

Joel rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. His hands were rough, but he was careful with them.

“I was wonderin’ if maybe you’d wanna come by tonight,” he said. “To mine.”

She tilted her head.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll cook. You eat. Willie sleeps on my couch. That sorta thing.”

She blinked. Paused.

Then, “Wait.”

Joel froze. “What?”

Her smile deepened. “Is this a date?”

Joel went quiet. Very quiet. His fingers tightened slightly in hers, but not unkind.

She watched him shift on his feet, and then—just as she suspected—he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Eyes narrowing, jaw working like it betrayed him to even think about being vulnerable.

She laughed. “Oh my god. It’s a date.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You said dinner. And cooking. And Willie sleeping on the couch, which means I’mnot.”

Joel sighed. “You are the most insufferable woman—”

“You are blushing,” she grinned.

“I’m not—”

“You are. It’s adorable.”

Joel glared at her.

She leaned in slightly, still holding his hand. “You do realize I’ve slept in your bed, right? That ship has sailed, Miller.”

He groaned and muttered, “Lord help me.”

She laughed, loud this time, and Willie thumped his tail on the hay in approval.

Joel stared at her for a long second, expression softening.

Then, quieter, “I’d like to cook for you. Yeah. Like a date.”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Yes,” he said too quickly.

She squinted.

“You’re lying.”

“I ain’t.”

“You absolutely are.”

Joel sighed, hand still on the back of his neck. “I can…make things.”

“Like what?”

“Things that go in a pot.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “Joel.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “I got a recipe. Or somethin’ close to it.”

She was grinning now. “You’re gonna poison me.”

“You’ll live.”

“We’ll see.”

They stood in the barn for another few quiet minutes. And then—like gravity pulled them toward it—he leaned in.

She met him halfway. The kiss was slow. Soft. Warm. Different from the hungry, breathless ones before.

This one said I missed you. This one said I’m still here.

His hand found her cheek again, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw, fingers sliding gently beneath the curve of her ear. She felt her knees loosen, the ache in her chest ebb. Her fingers curled into the collar of his jacket.

When they finally pulled apart, her breath came soft against his mouth. She didn’t let go. Neither did he.

She looked at him and whispered, “I’ll come over tonight.”

Joel nodded. Once.

His voice was soft. “Ellie’s staying with Kat.”

She raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” he muttered. “Maria’s makin’ her do a girls’ night.”

“She’ll hate that.”

“I know.”

She smiled. “So we’ll have the place to ourselves?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her.

Something in his face changed then—something soft and weathered and a little raw.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Just us.”

She leaned her forehead against his chest, let herself stand there for another breath or two.

The barn creaked gently around them. The smell of hay and leather filled the air. Willie gave a soft, approving grunt. And for a moment—just a small one—it felt like the world hadn’t ended after all.

She pulled away first, but only just.

Joel didn’t move—not right away. Just watched her as she stepped back, her fingers lingering in his for one more second. The light outside was softer now, dusk beginning to settle. The kind of quiet that made everything feel more real.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough, soft. “You will.”

She turned to go. And then—almost like he couldn’t help it—he reached out and caught her wrist gently, tugging her back just enough to steal another kiss.

This one was quick. But it lingered.

She smiled against his mouth. “You’re greedy today.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “You got no idea.”

Then she was gone. Willie at her side.

And Joel Miller was left standing in the middle of the barn like someone had just struck him over the head and handed him a second chance at life.

Which meant now he had to figure out how the hell to cook dinner.

The kitchen looked like a crime scene.

Joel stood at the counter, arms braced on either side of a wooden bowl, staring down at a pile of possible ingredients like they might start a fire if he looked away.

There was a can of tomatoes from last month’s ration rotation. A jar of dried basil that Ellie looked at in disgust. A sealed bag of pasta—thank god—from a trade he’d made with the supply team. A block of cheese that was hard enough to build a house with. And something that might have been garlic, but was currently fighting for its identity as “aggressive winter root.”

Joel scratched his jaw. He hadn't cooked in a long time. Sure, he’d boiled meat over fire. Fried beans in old pans on the road. Made tough coffee. But dinner?

A real one? With flavor? With a tablecloth? That was new.

He looked at the stove. Looked at the tomatoes. Then looked at the sad little saucepan Maria had given him in the welcome basket six months ago.

“All right,” he muttered. “Let’s make somethin’ edible.”

The sauce was the first problem.

He opened the tomatoes with a dull pocketknife because he couldn’t find the can opener. Half of it sloshed out wrong. Missed the pot. Landed on the floor. Joel swore under his breath and grabbed an old towel from the drawer. The dried basil came out in a clump. He tried to stir it in. It just... floated.

Joel stared down into the red mess, watching the leaves sit stubborn and wrong at the top of the watery sauce. He picked up the maybe-garlic and sniffed it.

Immediately regretted it, “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

He chopped it anyway. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Scraped it into the pot with the side of the knife like he remembered someone doing on a cooking show in the late ‘90s.

The smell hit his face like a punch.

“Yeah,” he said to no one. “That’s flavor, all right.”

The pasta boiled over. Twice. He swore again. Louder. Dropped a wooden spoon on the floor. Burned his hand grabbing the pot handle without a towel.

And that’s when Ellie walked in. She stopped in the doorway, a bag slung over one shoulder, winter beanie sliding half off her head. She blinked once.

“Holy shit,” she said. “Is this... are you cooking?”

Joel didn’t turn around. “Don’t start.”

Ellie stepped farther in, nose wrinkling as she approached the stove. She sniffed the pot. Peered into it.

“Is that... even edible?”

“Go away.”

“Dried leaves?” She leaned closer. “Oh my god. Is that the weird basil I told you not to use?”

“I said go away,” he grumbled, trying to stir the sauce.

She looked around the kitchen. Then looked back at him.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh my god. Is this for her?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Ellie gasped dramatically. “You’re making her dinner. You’re making her dinner?!”

He finally turned. “Ain't you stayin’ with Kat tonight?”

Ellie ignored him entirely. “You stole the tablecloth from storage, didn’t you?”

He glared. “Borrowed it.”

“That’s the one with the little blue flowers!”

Joel said nothing.

“You said hate the little blue flowers when I tried to bring it home.”

“I hate you right now.”

Ellie walked over to the table, which he’d spent nearly an hour wiping down and setting with two salvaged plates and three mismatched forks, just in case. She touched the fabric, grinning.

“You even folded the napkins,” she said. “You’re so in love with her.”

Joel grabbed the pot off the stove and turned away. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Can I stay and watch?”

“No.”

“Can I hide in the pantry?”

“No.”

“Can I leave you a note to read her?”

“Out.”

Ellie raised her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But this is adorable and I am going to make fun of you for it for the rest of your life.”

He turned. “Ellie.”

She met his eyes.

Then, more quietly, she said, “She makes you better, you know.”

Joel’s expression softened.

“I see it,” she added. “You’re... calmer. Less grumpy. You don’t stand like someone’s always about to punch you.”

He exhaled. “You sayin’ I used to be worse?”

“Oh yeah. You were the worst. Now you’re just... mildly awful.”

Joel shook his head.

Ellie smiled. “She’s good for you.”

Then she grabbed her bag, shoved a piece of bread from the counter into her mouth, and said around it, “Good luck, Romeo.”

He heard her boots clomp out the front door. And the house fell quiet again.

Joel stood there in the middle of his kitchen, tomato sauce on his sleeve, steam rising from a pot that smelled vaguely of regret, and looked around at the space he’d tried to make nice.

The tablecloth. The mismatched forks. The wine bottle he didn’t know how to open sitting unopened on the counter.

He hadn’t dated. Not really.

Not even Sarah’s mother. They’d been kids, trying to do right by a baby they hadn’t expected. And after the world ended... there was no room for courtship.

No room for dinner. For flowers. For trying to be something to someone.

Until now. Until her.

Joel looked at the clock. Thirty minutes until she showed up.

His hands trembled a little. He rinsed them, ran a comb through his hair, and changed into a flannel that didn’t smell like sawdust.

Then he stood by the door. And waited. Heart thudding slow and scared in his chest. Because this time? This time he wanted to get it right.

So he stood there, heart quietly thudding behind his ribs, fingers twitching at the seam of his shirt as he watched the clock tick closer to evening.

The sun had dipped low by now, throwing long, amber lines across the hardwood floor. The fire in the hearth was crackling low, flickering against the walls. The scent of tomato, basil, and something vaguely herbal hung in the kitchen like a nervous fog.

He adjusted the table again. Then adjusted the chairs. Then turned the record player back on, because the silence had gotten too loud.

It was an old Johnny Cash album—scratched slightly, but still warm. Familiar. Something he remembered his mama humming in the kitchen back in Texas, long before the world went to hell.

He moved into the kitchen. Checked the pasta again.

Still warm. Still... edible? He hoped.

He hadn’t tasted it. Too nervous. Too focused on making sure the table was clean and the napkins were folded right and the goddamn wine bottle had a corkscrew, it didn’t—he had to jab it with a knife and now it leaked.

Then—

He heard Willie’s bark. Soft, friendly, two doors down. His breath caught.

And there she was.

She walked slow, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her shoulders relaxed in a way they hadn’t been in days.

The street was quiet except for the wind gently tugging at the trees and the crunch of snow under her boots. Willie padded beside her, tail swishing, nose pointed toward Joel’s porch like he already knew where they were going.

She wore a knit sweater—deep green, the kind that made her eyes look brighter in the winter light—and jeans tucked into worn leather boots. Her hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands blowing in the breeze. She looked warm. Comfortable.

Joel stared through the window like a man watching something sacred approach.

He opened the door before she could knock.

Her eyes flicked up. “Eager?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just didn’t want you waitin’ in the cold.”

Willie trotted past him into the house like he owned the place.

She stepped inside, brushing snow from her shoulders. Her eyes scanned the room—the flickering firelight, the table—neatly set, if a little lopsided, the record player humming soft country from the corner.

Her lips curled into a smile. “You got a mood going.”

Joel shut the door behind her. “Tryin’.”

She looked at the table. Then at him.

“Did you steal that tablecloth from the mess pantry?”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Borrowed.”

She laughed. God, he loved her laugh. It wasn’t always easy. She didn’t offer it freely. But when it came, it was whole. Real. Like it didn’t know how to lie.

“You smell like tomato,” she said, pulling off her coat.

Joel took it from her automatically, hanging it on the hook near the door. “Might’ve boiled over once or twice.”

“Mmhmm.”

She turned to him fully. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

She tilted her head.

Joel sighed. “A little.”

She stepped closer, hands brushing lightly down his arms. “It’s just me.”

“I know,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”

She laughed again. And he felt his lungs finally expand.

Dinner was ready—if by “ready” you meant slightly overcooked pasta with a sauce that almost looked intentional.

Joel ladled it into mismatched bowls, wiping his hands on a towel. She helped grab the utensils without being asked, setting them out with a quiet ease that made the space between them feel lived-in.

Willie laid by the fire, already half-asleep.

She sat at the table, hands folded neatly, watching him with something that looked suspiciously like adoration.

Joel sat across from her. Fidgeted. She lifted her fork.

He cleared his throat. “If it’s bad, don’t lie.”

She tasted it. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then looked him dead in the eye and said, “Joel. This is amazing.”

He blinked. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re smilin’.”

“Because it’s good!”

He gave her a long, skeptical look.

She twirled her fork through another bite. “It’s warm. It has flavor. That’s more than I can say for anything we’ve eaten in weeks. You didn’t burn it. There’s no ash. And I didn’t chip a tooth.”

Joel smirked. “High bar.”

“I’m serious,” she said, softer now. “You did good.”

Something in his chest unwound. They ate slowly. Talked quietly.

She asked about the patrol routes he used to run with Tommy before winter made everything unpredictable. He asked about how the pregnant mare was doing—restless, cranky, almost definitely a boy. She teased him about the crooked shelf in the hallway, and he told her how Ellie once filled it with jars of dead insects as a prank.

They drank two fingers of wine each—her idea of moderation—and halfway through her second glass, she looked at him and said,

“You built this table, right? Ellie mentioned it.”

He nodded. “Got tired of eatin’ hunched over the counter.”

Her gaze softened, “You built this for her, didn’t you?”

Joel stilled. Didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “Yeah. Thought she deserved better.”

She reached across the table and laid her hand on his.

“You deserve better.”

Joel looked at her hand. Then at her. And said, “I don’t know how to do this.”

She squeezed his fingers. “You’re doing it.”

Joel looked down at their hands. His thumb brushed her wrist slowly.

“This ain’t how I used to be,” he said.

“I know.”

“Wasn’t soft. Wasn’t... kind.”

“I know that too.”

“But I want to be,” he said. “With you.”

Her breath hitched.

They sat like that for a while, fork abandoned in tomato-stained bowls, the fire cracking low behind them, and Johnny Cash still humming from the corner like the world was trying to lull them into believing it wasn’t broken anymore.

She stood up. Walked around the table. Joel turned in his chair, looking up at her. She sat on his lap without asking. He wrapped his arms around her waist like he’d been waiting for it all night.

She kissed him—soft, slow, with that kind of certainty that made time slow down. He kissed her back like it was the only thing that still made sense.

And as the snow fell softly outside, and the fire died low behind them, Joel Miller rested his forehead against hers and whispered,

“I don’t want this to end.”

She whispered back, “It doesn’t have to. I want this. I want you”

The second she said it, something changed behind Joel’s eyes.

Like a switch flipped. Like the dam cracked open after months of barely holding.

He kissed her again—harder this time. Like he meant it. Like he’d been starving for it. And he had.

His hands gripped her hips like he didn’t know whether to pull her closer or crush her, but god, he needed her close. He needed to feel her. The solid weight of her in his lap. The warmth of her thighs wrapped around him. The way her fingers fisted in his shirt like she didn’t ever wanna let go.

She gasped into his mouth when he rolled his hips up. He growled.

“Jesus, baby,” he breathed. “You got any idea what you do to me?”

Her only answer was a moan—soft, breathy, and so fucking desperate it made Joel’s cock twitch.

He kissed down her neck, dragging his mouth slowly along her jaw, then down to the hollow of her throat. She tilted her head for him without thinking, baring it like she wanted to be marked. Wanted to be taken.

Joel groaned low. “You’re killin’ me.”

He stood—lifted her clean off his lap like she weighed nothing, one arm braced under her thighs. She gasped again, arms flying around his neck, legs instinctively locking at his waist.

“I got you,” he rasped. “Always got you, baby.”

He carried her up the stairs, boots thudding heavy against the wood. She could feel the tension in him—his hands trembling slightly where they held her, his breathing shallow like he was trying not to lose it too fast.

She’d never seen him like this. So unguarded. So hungry.

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, stepped inside, and set her down on the bed like she was breakable.

Then just looked at her. Long and quiet. Like he needed a second to believe she was really there.

That she wanted this. Wanted him.

“Joel,” she whispered, voice shaking.

He reached out and cupped her cheek.

“You say the word,” he said roughly. “And I’ll stop.”

She shook her head. “I don’t wanna stop.”

His jaw clenched. Hard. Like he was holding back years of need.

“You sure, baby? You know I’m older. You know I’m not—fuck—I’m not gentle. Not all the time. Not when I want it this bad.”

She leaned into his palm. And kissed his hand.

“I don’t want gentle,” she said. “I want you.”

And that? That broke him.

Joel kissed her like a starving man. Like he was trying to memorize her. His hands pushed up under her sweater, palms rough as they traced over her waist, her ribs, up to her bra. He groaned when he felt her breasts beneath the fabric, full and warm under his hands.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at you. Goddamn. You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

She whined softly when his thumbs brushed her nipples, already hard beneath the lace.

He looked up at her, “Off,” he said.

She raised her arms, and he pulled the sweater over her head, tossing it somewhere behind him. Then the bra. Then nothing.

Just her. Laid out on his bed like a fucking prayer.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

She went to cover herself, but he caught her wrists.

“No,” he said softly. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t you ever hide from me.”

He kissed her chest, her ribs, the curve of her stomach. Worshipped her with his mouth like he had all night.

She arched up when he took a nipple in his mouth, tongue circling it slow, then sucking just hard enough to make her gasp. One of his hands slid down between her thighs, still covered by denim, and he groaned when he felt how warm she was.

“Fuck. You’re burning up.”

She squirmed, and he growled.

“Tell me what you need, baby.”

“You,” she whispered. “Need you to touch me.”

He sat back on his heels and dragged her jeans down her legs, slow, savoring it. The way her thighs shook.

The way her breath hitched when he reached the edge of her panties. Lace. Black. His fucking weakness.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

He pulled them down, slow and reverent. And when she was bare for him, all flushed and wet and ready—

He just stared. Then let out a broken groan.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice gravel and heat, “you’re soaked.”

She blushed, but he was already leaning in.

“Been thinkin’ about this since I laid eyes on you,” he said, kissing her inner thigh. “Wonderin’ what you sound like when I put my mouth on this pretty pussy.”

She gasped.

“Guess I’m about to find out.”

He dragged his tongue through her folds, slow at first. Just a taste. Then another.

Then his mouth was on her—firm, hungry, good. His tongue lapped at her clit, slow and steady, until her back arched and her hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands.

“Fuck, Joel—”

He groaned against her. “That’s it. Let me hear you, baby. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

She was already shaking, thighs trembling, voice breaking apart with every swipe of his tongue. He sucked gently, then harder, then eased a finger inside her—slow, careful, thick and perfect.

“Shit,” she cried. “Oh my god—”

Joel smiled against her.

“Thought about this every night since that night in the barn, you up against me—holding that knife against my throat,” he said, voice thick. “Thought about you spread out for me. Drippin’. Beggin’. Let me hear it, baby. Don’t hold back.”

She came with a cry, thighs clenching around his head, hands gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles ached.

Joel didn’t stop until she was gasping. Didn’t stop until she was trembling. Didn’t stop until she was his.

He kissed her thigh one last time. Then crawled up over her, kissing her again—this time deep and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“You still sure?” he whispered. “’Cause if I take you now, baby, I’m not lettin’ you go.”

She pulled him in.

“Take me,” she said. “I’m already yours.”

Joel growled.

Ripped his shirt off in one motion. She gasped—Jesus, he had scars and solid heat and muscle, and somehow still soft in the places that mattered. The kind of body built for surviving. The kind of body she wanted over her.

He undid his jeans, cock thick and heavy in his hand, already leaking. He lined up with her, but didn’t push in yet—just rubbed the tip through her slick folds, watching her face.

“Look at me,” he said.

She did. And he pushed in. Slow. Thick. Stretching.

“Fuck, baby— so tight,” he groaned. “Takin’ me so good. Shit. That feel good?”

She nodded, eyes wide, mouth parted. “S-so good, Joel—feels so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” he rasped, hips grinding in deeper. “You want it slow, baby? Or you want me to fuck you like I’ve been dyin’ to?”

“Fuck me,” she said.

And that was it. Joel snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.

She cried out, and he moaned like she’d just saved him.

His thrusts were hard, deep, controlled—like he was holding back a tidal wave, but barely.

“You feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? No one’s ever touched you like this. No one.”

She could barely breathe, let alone respond.

He pinned her wrists above her head, held them there with one hand, and fucked her deeper.

“I’ve been starvin’ for this,” he said against her throat. “You. This pussy. The way you fuckin’ whimper when I—fuck—yeah, just like that.”

She came again, harder this time.

Came around him, clenching so tight he had to bite his own lip to keep from losing it.

“Good girl,” he groaned. “Goddamn. So good for me. So fuckin’ good.”

She was shaking, body limp, but still whispering his name like a prayer.

Joel slowed down. Softened. Kissed her face. Her jaw. Her neck.

“Baby,” he said, voice breaking, “I can’t—I’m not gonna last. Not with you squeezin’ me like this—”

“Inside,” she whispered. “Please, Joel. Come inside me.”

And that? That ended him.

He buried his face in her neck and came hard, hips stuttering, voice a low, broken growl against her skin.

They laid like that for a long time. Panting. Sweating. Holding.

Joel stayed inside her until he softened, kissing her cheek, her hair, her shoulder.

Then pulled out carefully. She winced.

He kissed her again. “I got you. I’ll clean you up, baby. Just lay there.”

She did. And when he came back with a warm cloth and a glass of water, she looked at him like she was already half in love. Maybe more than half.

Joel tucked her into his side and kissed her forehead.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be here.”

And she believed him. Because for once, Joel Miller wasn’t running.

He was home.

[multikara24]

First Time

a/n: It's been a while since I have used Tumblr and this work originally was going to be smut and it turned into a way to plot a long fic if I wanted too.

Warnings: Plot, Fluff, Smut with heavy feelings, P in V, Unprotected... I'm pretty sure there are more so tread carefully. Use of Y/N because apparently writers don't do that anymore?

Parining: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

It was the first time in.. God, he couldn’t remember. It has been over 20 years and time was getting more difficult to tell, yet Joel only continued to get older. Currently, he had his head buried in the shoulder of the woman who laid beneath him. Jackson had become home a few months back after the tedious trip from Boston to Wyoming, Ellie was dating a girl named Dina, and Joel had found a woman of his own. She began traveling with him and Ellie after they arrived at Bill’s only to find nothing left. She made it to Jackson with them after a couple of close encounters and multiple injuries. She was teaching Ellie the things she needed to know when Joel was shot. They always made it back to him in one piece.

Yet, when push came to shove out on the open road. Joel always shoved. There were moments when (Y/N) would go ahead with Ellie and speak to her about things or help her with her aim after Joel showed off to them both. “Cheater” they both claimed. It was hard not to see them as a makeshift family especially when, despite how much he attempted to deny the claims, Joel was staring at her when she thought she wasn’t looking and (Y/N) did the exact same back and the two of them remained friends despite Ellie’s best efforts. Her best efforts were teasing the two adults “Joel, were you staring at her or were those Clickers?” she once asked bluntly, “It's obvious you two like each other.. There’s a building over there, go work it out.” and when those didn’t work she resorted to truth or dare games. Ellie took an interest in how oblivious the both of them seemed and constantly facepalmed in second hand embarrassment.

Arriving at Jackson changed everything. Joel was safe, Ellie was safe, and most importantly (Y/N) was safe, despite the occasional disagreements and arguments they were enough of a family as Tommy and Maria. It was only a few weeks ago that Joel’s barriers were finally broken by (Y/N), he finally let them down. Joel had a nightmare and when asked he couldn’t remember what it was about but he knew his brain enjoyed testing him, making him relive some of the lowest points of his life since the outbreak. Joel woke up panting and desperately needing something to ground him. Originally, he planned on using alcohol and drugs to numb the pain but the way (Y/N) woke up to the near nonexistent sound of Joel Miller sneaking was something that caught him by surprise. Instead of alcohol that night, he took comfort in her, albeit reluctantly and eventually unintentionally.

Now? He had his head buried in the crevice of (Y/N)’s shoulder and neck. His lips moving of their own accord as he mumbled swears between praises and soft noises while gently rocking his hips. His eyes were screwed shut as he was slightly overwhelmed by the sensations. He had lost count of just how many sensations he felt as holding on to his train of thought caused him to disconnect from the moment and disconnection meant missing every tiny noise (Y/N) made. Sex was a far from new concept to Joel but sex with someone he loved with every goddamn fiber of his being, someone who was safe enough to not have to constantly worry about if an infected or a FEDRA agent would kill them. For the first time in a long time he felt safe. He wasn’t living in chaos thanks to Jackson and Tommy for taking the three of them in. He could focus on fixing guitars, carving little sculptures out of wood, or the woman he would one day make his wife and his adopted daughter. 

“God, Joel.” The hand in his hair tightened slightly and in turn he let out a groan as his teeth grazed her shoulder gently taking the skin between his teeth and giving it back just as easily. His pace picked up slightly at the sound of his name in such an intimate way as he kissed the area of skin. 

“I love you.” He mumbled against her skin. The words were honest and from the heart despite the circumstances. (Y/N) processed for a moment. The three words she knew he felt but was unsure he was ever going to utter came out so simply. 

“I love you too, Joel. I have for a while now.” That’s all he needed. The simple reassurance that she felt the same, that she thought the same. He pulled back not too long after looking down at her before pressing a soft kiss to the side of her jaw and then her lips. 

“Don’t you need to finish?” She asked looking between them at just how taut he was. He looked up at her and chuckled through his nose softly. 

“I did.” He assured her before getting off the couch and walking to their shared bedroom for a cloth then headed to the kitchen to wet the cloth and wipe her off. He placed a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh and pulled her on top of him to cuddle, quickly bringing the blanket down with her.

“I love you.” He spoke quietly, pressing a soft kiss to her head. His southern drawl was more obvious than usual. 

“I love you too, Joel.” She spoke before closing her eyes as she listened to Joel’s raised yet steady and calm heartbeat. He was her safe place and more importantly, she was Joel’s.

[saphiccarma]

- Clicker Training Reward

Relationships - Wandanat x Reader

Summary - Natasha and Wanda reward you for being so good.

Warnings: oral, collaring, spit roasting, one use of reader being called puppy, slight finger sucking

Pt.1

You're absolutely dripping, panties soaked through and clinging to your skin in a way that makes you cringe. Wanda's hand is a steady presence on your back, hovering just above your tailbone as she guides you into the house. Door clicking shut, Natasha disappears somewhere, but you hardly notice, eyes trained on Wanda.

The redhead turns to face you, hand sliding up your back to rest at your neck gently. She squeezes, not hard enough to hurt - just enough to make you melt. Your knees grow weak, and legs become shakier, as if they weren't already trembling from how needy you were.

Her fingers are cool against your skin, a soothing balm to the heat running in your veins. You lean into her touch with a soft thigh.

"Wanda," you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

She tightens her grip around your neck in warning, "Try again sweetheart."

"Mommy." The word is a soft whimper as you give her wide eyes, trying to plead with her through just expression alone. But you know that won't work, so you tack on, "Please Mommy, I've been so good. I need you."

The look in her eyes is a familiar one, faux pity while she juts out her lower lip, and amusement. Her other hand lands on your hip, gripping it possessively as she walks you back until you hit the wall. The hand on your neck slips to rest on the front, applying the tiniest bit of pressure to your throat.

"I know you do," she coos, pressing a teasing kiss to your nose, "Just do one more thing for mommy and then she'll play with you, ok? Daddy's getting something but while she does that..." Wanda trails off, pushing you down gently.

You sink to your knees without resistance, hardly caring for the way the wood digs into your skin and place your chin on her thigh. The look you give her can only be described as pure adoration, eyes sparkling with desperation to have your own aches relieved, but also to pleasure your girlfriend.

Without needing a command, you trail your hands along her soft skin, pushing her dress up inch by inch until it's bunched at her hips. The skin that's revealed is a sight that you are lucky to see. A perfect canvas for your teeth.

At first you just press your lips to her thigh softly, inhaling her scent. She smells like strawberry perfume, a fresh bottle she bought yesterday, and vanilla bodywash. It was a combination that led you to tilt your chin, giving you better access to her inner leg and place kisses there. You know better than to tease, but you can't help it when she's so soft and perfect.

There's a tug in your hair, impatient and telling you all you need to know. One hand holding up her dress, you use the other to push her damp panties to the side. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of her clean-shaven cunt, slick coating her folds.

Leaning in, you drag your tongue along the wet skin, moaning softly. You flatten the muscle to press against her clit, a small gasp leaving her lips as her hips jerk into your mouth. She tastes like nectar from the gods, the sweetest thing you'd ever savor.

The small nub pulses against your tongue so you swirl around it, at first small slow circles. Then you go faster as there's a sharp yank to your hair. Your nails dig into her thighs for support, keeping them apart as you eat her out, working with skilled familiarity.

You can hear footsteps, soft and light, approach. Natasha comes up behind Wanda, hands on her hips as she kisses her neck. Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a strap and something dangling from her finger. You aren't given time to ponder it before you're shoved back into Wanda's pussy.

She hisses sharply as you suck, lips curling around the sensitive bundle of nerves and pulling it between your teeth. You don't bite down, but you do drag your teeth over it when you pull away. Diving back in, you bury your face between her folds, lapping up her wetness eagerly.

Her thighs start to tremble and only Natasha's hands are holding her up. With a final flick of your tongue, your chin and lips get coated in her essence. You moan at the taste of it, not letting up in your frantic movements as you clean her up, making sure to get every last drop.

Once you're certain you've licked up all of her cum, you pull back, licking your lips. Natasha's chin rests on her wife's shoulder and she looks down at you as Wanda heaves, catching her breath. After a moment, Wanda looks up, her hand slipping from your hair to your chin.

She swipes at the fluids coating your skin, smearing them further. Her thumb presses against your lower lip, softly commanding entrance, and you clean the digit up eagerly.

Once you've sufficiently cleared her finger of any leftover cum, she pulls back, a small smile on her face. Natasha replaces her spot, and your eyes catch on the leather dangling from her fingers. It's a collar, a sleek black one with a silver name tag hanging from the front.

A singular word is printed onto it, Pet. Your throat goes dry and a fresh flush coats your cheeks. You shift in place, knees scraping against the wooden floor, hands tightening into fists as you stare at the collar. Natasha swings it teasingly.

"We were going to wait for a while longer," she hums, unbuckling it, "But you've been such a good girl, I think you deserve it now."

She takes another step closer, the tip of her strap just inches away from your face as she leans down. Her dress pants are gone and you stare at the tangle of red hair covering her cunt as she fastens the collar around your neck.

It's not heavy, per se, but it weighs you down like a thousand pounds. You feel the weight of its meaning, the implications behind it - throat bopping as you swallow thickly. The name tag jingles and your thighs press together, so so desperate for release.

"Bedroom, strip. On your hands and knees with your ass up like the good puppy you are."

Nodding eagerly, you scramble to your feet, bolting up the stairs without bothering to check if they're following. You fumble with the zipper of your dress, huffing in frustration when it won't come off. Impatient and needy, you struggle out of it, shimmying it down your legs like a child.

What's taking them so long?

Your panties and lace bra join the dress in a crumpled pile on the floor before you scramble onto the bed. Hands and knees resting on the soft sheets, the collar making a light sound as you get into position, you make sure your ass is up as you wait.

Just as you were about to peek over your shoulder to check, the door creaks open and you don't dare to move. You'd been waiting all day, core aching ever since Natasha made you strap warm. Now you were finally about to get fucked and you would not risk ruining it.

The bed dips behind you and Natasha's calloused hands land on your ass. She kneads the soft flesh between the rough pads of her fingers, then slides up the center of your back and pushes you down until you rest on your forearms.

Wanda crawls onto the bed in front of you, taking your head and placing it in her lap. A shiver runs through you at the gesture, a sign that Natasha was not going to be gentle. She rarely was, but if Wanda was being kind you knew you were in for a rough night.

Rocking her hips back forth slowly, the tip of strap drags through your folds. The toy gets coated in your arousal, dripping from it and down your thighs onto the bed. Normally you would be embarrassed at how wet you were, but you couldn't bring yourself to care now.

Hands gripping your waist tightly, Natasha leans down, "You ready for your reward pretty girl?"

You whimper and nod, eyes already shutting as Wanda cards her fingers through your hair. The soft motion is a sharp contrast to the way Natasha snaps her hips forwards, burying the strap to the hilt. A small yelp escapes you, jumping slightly while Wanda holds you down.

ca

Natasha wastes no time, setting a brutal pace as she pounds in and out of you. With each thrust, she yanks your hips back to meet her, flesh slapping against flesh. Wet squelching sounds fill the room, punctuated by your breathy moans and Wanda's soft assurances.

Quick, biting kisses are placed to your back, dragging over your shoulder bones and down your spine. Her tongue leaves a path, hot and dampening your skin as she slides it up your back. Stopping at the base of your neck, just below the collar, Natasha bites down.

One of her hands leaves your hips to glide across your stomach, grabbing your collar and tugging your head back. A pathetic whine leaves you as you're pulled away from Wanda and Natasha laughs lightly, still pounding into you.

"I wanna see your face," Her words are deep, slightly breathless from the relentless pace she sets. Tears prick the corners of your eyes from the stretch and how fast she's going, and you know she would love to see you cry.

Wanda climbs off the bed while Natasha keeps your head tilted back. The tug on the collar cuts off your air slightly, leaving you gasping for breath. Bed creaking, the headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust.

Another strap hovers in front of your face, blurry from the tears stinging your eyes, and Wanda taps it against your lips. Your thighs start to tremble as you whimper, hips jerking back into Natasha's. Her nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave marks.

"Open up."

Eyes glancing up at Wanda for a brief moment, you force your mouth open. She's gentler than Natasha, slowly easing the strap in inch by inch, letting you adjust to it for a second. Gagging as it hits the back of your throat, a single tear slips down your cheek.

Natasha moans and you know she enjoys the sight.

The first couple of Wanda's thrusts are slow, her hand cupping your chin almost gently as she lets you get used to the stimulation of your mouth and cunt being used. Just as your beginning to adjust, Natasha's hand on your hip dips down between your thighs to tease your clit.

You moan around Wanda's strap, and she takes that as a sign to pick up the pace. With each shove of the strap to the back of your throat, you choke and it's hard to breathe. You can hardly take in enough air with Natasha's grip on your collar and your mouth stuffed full of silicone toy.

Tears streak down your face as your thighs tremble and you feel your climax approaching. It coils in your stomach like a spring ready to launch at the slightest touch. Spit dribbles down the side of your chin, leaking down your neck and mingling with your tears.

Wanda releases your chin only to grab your hair, using it as leverage to fuck your mouth faster, harder. It's almost too much. Key word: almost. Both of the women moan above you as you sniffle and choke around the strap, hips jerking and thighs trembling.

The only thing holding you up is Natasha and when she twists your clit between her fingers, the coil in your stomach explodes. Keening around the strap you slouch, orgasm crashing over you. You don't notice it, but you squirt, coating Natasha's thighs in your juices.

They both keep up a brutal pace for a moment longer before slowly, letting you come down panting. Natasha releases the collar around your neck and Wanda pulls out, letting you sag as you heave, trying to catch your breath.

You feel utterly fucked out, core tingling with pleasure and stomach twisting with satisfaction. You whine softly when Natasha removes her strap from your cunt, instantly missing the feeling of being full. She shushes you gently and eases her grip on your hips.

With no support, you slouch, falling face first onto the bed. Your girlfriends chuckle at your blissed out state, a gentle hand running over your hair.

"You did so well," Wanda praises, leaning down to kiss your head.

[meren-mindgames]

A little experiment I had recently. My cute Sub and a lovely friend in the same room.

Taking your Sub, and setting her in front of a trusted friend. She gets to go from a respectable adorable cutie, to a Pathetic, Panting Puppy. Pawing at your leg for attention, pleading for you to pet her. Passing her betwixt the People having a conversation. She doesn’t really understand what is being said, you can take her words from her and leave her helpless. All she has is her whimpering and barking for your attention. Barking for a Treat. Crawling between the People to get them. Letting her get needy and desperate, until she can’t help but grind on your leg. It’s understandable when she has been trapped in her own mind.

Putting her back into her kennel to rest and behave, while being admired. Still withholding her words, she doesn’t need them. She never needs them. All she needs is a choke chain to give a little tug on to catch her attention. All she needs is enough thought to recognize the clicker, and her commands. Nothing further. Clicker Training to keep her Obedient.

Puppy gets to perform, entertain, and amuse People. Decoration ultimately. Enjoy a conversation with a Pretty Pet in the room. Being shown off for all the tricks, and the way her Dignity disappears the moment you drag the Puppy out.

It Feels Good to be Good.

Bark for me, Pet.

[eddiegettingshot]

when eddie comes home he holds buck by the back of the neck and pulls him in for a hug. it takes a while to get resettled but of course buck is there helping out, and every time he finishes tenderly unpacking eddie and chris’s belongings from a box eddie smiles and pats his back and then slides his hand up to squeeze the back of buck’s neck before he says thanks, buck, that’s perfect, you’re making this a lot easier on me. at work when buck gets a real good save or even when he doesn’t eddie reaches up and cuffs the back of his neck and says good job, man, and buck glows. buck gives eddie a ride home or to the store or, you know, just anywhere he needs to go and eddie reaches over from the passenger seat and drags his palm down buck’s nape and says thanks for the ride, buck before he gets out of the car. buck cooks them something at the station or at home and eddie takes the first bite and cuffs buck happily around the back of the neck, he says hey, this is really good, you got it just right. and on and on and on. and then one day buck does something small, like he brings eddie coffee or finishes helping him out with engine maintenance, whatever, and eddie scruffs him lovingly and buck starts eyelash-fluttering and smiling bashfully and he feels like he’s glowing inside before eddie even says anything. and someone is like what was that, that was weird! and eddie’s like, what? nothing. i was just saying thanks. and buck (still tingling in his gut) is like actually you know what, WHAT was that. and he starts doing some questionable psychology research, he’s like, hello reddit, WHY do i want to spend all of my time doing things that help my best friend or make him proud of me or just make him happy i think i’m behaving differently i just can’t stop it makes me feel really good. and the next time he sees eddie he is like hey so, did you use principles of clicker training on me. and condition me into being like this. and eddie is like. hm. well i don’t know maybe i did do that :) awesome. and buck is like oh okay. eddie i love you. and eddie holds him by the nape again and strokes his thumb there and buck already knows he is going to say i love you too and kiss him, as a reward, before eddie does . end scene

[jadedwoman]

Of course you're getting clicker trained Hun, you're a pet aren't you? So don't worry your silly puppy brain and just, speak! Gooood pup *click click* such a good puppy! So eager, now hmm, sit! *click click* very good~ so nice and obedient, it's adorable~ I'll be sleeping soon but I want all my obedient pets to leave lovely asks so I can reply one by one, whether it's obsessing over my tits, my ass, my cock, I, or another alter, will help with your need~ now be a good puppy, and obey *click click*

[followthebluebell]

Hello! Please feel free to ignore, or respond at your leisure - I don’t want to bother you! Just a cat behavior question.

Do you find that you see more progress in terms of improving QOL in highly anxious* cats when they are ‘left alone’ (ie. not doing specific training, just normal feeding and offering human-involved play or pets *only* if the cat solicits it) or when employing a more hands-on approach (training comfort with touch or environment using treat rewards, attempting clicker training, responding to displays of anxiety with treats/removing the stressor if possible, etc)?

* ‘highly anxious’ here meaning cats that remain noticeably anxious or reactive even on daily gabapentin, where nearly any object or sound (famililar stimuli, not just novel) elicits stressed body language and fearfulness and the cat is agitated or appears highly stimulated at all times.

(My personal experience is limited in working with this level of anxiety since I’ve only been working with fosters for about 3 years, and mostly with kittens/more physical medical needs).

So this is very much a case-by-case basis for me, which is why I largely stopped giving advice on how to handle anxiety over the internet. I realized that I could be causing more harm than help.

In general, I think it's more useful to give an anxious cat the tools they need to handle their own anxiety--- ie, a cat that's overgrooming due to anxiety needs to re-learn that there are other ways to reduce anxiety, a cat that's anxious because of understimulation needs to relearn how to play with things, that sort of thing.

Like an anxious cat is always going to have SOMETHING to be anxious over, just like a people do. It's not useful to overwhelm with stimuli; you risk pushing the cat over the threshold and that's a fantastic way to get bitten or you risk pushing them into a shutdown. It's better to figure out what they need to feel comfortable and start from there.

I think Persephone would probably be a good example of the level of anxiety you're describing. For her, I largely left her alone for the first few weeks of acquisition. When she started showing interest in interacting, I rewarded her heavily--- this allowed her to still feel in control of the interactions without overwhelming her. This allowed her to be adopted and gave her a MUCH better QOL overall.

For cats that are more cat-social, I like to introduce them to more confident cats. This gives them a buddy and a sort of social meter. If they're nervous about something, they can look to their buddy like, "yo, hey :( I notice that there is a man wearing a scary hat here???? Is that ok????" and their buddy just goes, ":) i like food yay", so the anxious cat learns that maybe hats aren't THAT scary. If they were really scary, the other cat would ALSO be scared instead of hungry.

Again, it's about meeting the cat's individual requirements, if that makes sense. i think that's far more valuable to the animal in question. I try to meet the cat at their threshold WITHOUT going over it. As they become more comfortable, I try to push the threshold just a little bit further.

So i don't really force a hands-on approach (except for kittens under 12 weeks; they get put into the hoodie pocket and carried around), but I DO consider the hands-on approach 'better' for most cases.

I view medication as an extremely useful tool. It can be used for the cat's entire life and that's fine but, in general, I try to use it as little as possible. If a cat is still showing substantial anxiety on gabapentin, I'd switch medications; there are other options.

You need to keep reasonable goals, I feel, for yourself and the cat. Persephone is never going to be Little Miss Social and that's ok. I just needed to get her to the point where she was pettable, handleable, and able to go into a carrier.

[b1mbodoll]

Hallo its xdiz nonie and like I KNOW I SENT ASKS IN BUT I HAVE NOOOOO MEMORY OF WHAT THEYRE ABOUT BECAUSE I WAS HIGHHHH AND HORNTYYYY all i remember is clicker training IJBOLLL

But also…we should talk about stoner nuggetz too oh my GODDDD and dog!Joo hes such a nasty fucking mutt with a humping problem i love him BAD

pairings: kwak jiseok, lee jooyeon x f! reader

warnings: drugs + hybrids + lowkey degradation + panty sniffing

💌: HIGH N HORNY IS SOOOO FUNNY please, ur so real for that 😭 but that’s when the best ideas come out.. also sorry this is just an idea dump but i hope u like it <3

i see ur stoner! nuggetz…. and i think. they get a little touchy n pervy when they’re high esp if they’re smoking with you :3

i don’t think they’re subtle abt it at all, especially not jooyeon because he’s a bit more Deranged. he has no problem grabbing your wrist n placing your hand between his legs to let you feel how hard he is. i think joo’s definitely a bit of a whiner too… gets all blushy n desperate n begs you to help him out a Little, says ‘s the least you could do since it’s your fault he’s all worked up :(

jiseok however.. he’d probably suggest shotgunning w you when he’s sober and then, when the weed starts to hit him, he wants nothing more than to feel your lips on his. if you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth there’s a 100% chance that his cock is throbbing in his sweats and he Will end up pressing his hips into you, groaning breathily n mumbling your name, trying to kiss you again except he’s a bit clumsy bcs he’s trying to cum

dog hybrid! jooyeon.. anon i need to be ur friend like Now. this is my bible.

dog hybrid! jooyeon is so fucking gross ur so right. he’ll wake you up in the middle of the night with his little barks as his cock drags between your thighs, leaking precum all over them. as soon as you reprimand him with a firm, “bad dog!” his hips still n he makes an even bigger mess, thick ropes of his sticky cum clinging to your skin n dribbling onto the bed.

maybe dog joo with an oral fixation.. digs through your hamper of dirty clothes n starts to drool a little once he finds your freshly worn panties, his tail slowly wagging too <3 at first, he starts off just smelling them, pressing his snout nose into the fabric and inhaling deeply, grinding into your mattress. however, the longer jooyeon sniffs at them, the needier he gets. so can you blame him for licking at the gusset, right where your sweet cunt pressed against it? he does this until you find him n at that point, he’s a little too fucked out for his furry little ears to pick up on the fact that you’re home, n your panties are completely drenched in his drool

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

“The Blues and the Smiles” :) [ Age regressor in Task Force Stalker / The Ghosts Unit ]

You had been with Task Force Stalker for several years now. They knew you as an asset on the field and an altogether good guy off-duty. You were small and quiet. Not standoffish, merely reserved in socialization.

But you had energy. You were constantly moving. A blur on the training grounds, practically feral when fighting. What little spare time you did have was unusually spent slamming your fists into the punching bag to blow off steam or pushing yourself to run just one more lap around the base.

The team had gotten used to it. They knew when you needed space, or when they could help by offering to spar with you. Still, you bounced your leg, cracked your knuckles and jaw, still had trouble remaining in one spot for more than a few minutes. It could be... distracting. Irritating, even. But you just couldn't stop, and the team tried to remember that no matter how much it got on their nerves.

After a grueling day of drills, the team were in the rec room. Merrick puffed on a cigar in his usual armchair. Logan was slumped dramatically across the couch, his head resting on Keegan's muscular thighs, the Sergeant's gloved hand absentmindedly petting through his hair. Kick was playing a game on his computer while Hesh watched over his shoulder. Ajax was doing situps... for some reason.

The TV was on for background noise. It had gotten put on Disney and was now showing an episode of Bluey. Hesh glances up at it. "What are we watching? This is a kid's show. Who has the clicker?"

Logan tosses the remote over. “Here, turn it to—“

“Stand by,” Merrick says quietly. The men all swivel to look at him. He pressed a finger to his lips for quiet, and then subtly nods towards you.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking like a child again, your eyes glued to the screen. You aren’t moving. Aren’t twitching, aren’t fidgeting. You look utterly enthralled as the little blue dog dances across the screen.

“Well, I'll be damned,” mutters Ajax. "He likes cartoons."

You apparently don’t hear them. You’re bobbing your head to the music, a small smile on your face. You rarely smile.

Logan frowns, watching you waggle your feet and hands. "What's he doing?" Hesh glances up. "He's stimming."

"What's stimming?" asks Logan, tilting his head. Sweet, innocent man.

"It's a neurodivergent thing," explains Kick. "I do it, too." "You do?" Logan seems surprised. He glances between you and Kick. "But you don't waggle your hands and feet like that." Kick shrugs. "No, but I tap my foot. Everybody stims differently." "So... is that why Y/n is always moving around?" Logan questions, the pieces seeming to slot into place. "The leg bouncing, the knuckle cracking?" "Drives me insane," Keegan grumbles.

Merrick gives Keegan a warning look. "It's just the way his brain works. Be respectful, Russ." "Sooo..." Logan looks back to where you're happily watching the tv. "Is that also a neurodivergent thing? The cartoons?"

Kick hesitates, his computer game forgotten. "I'm really not sure. Maybe he's just spaced out."

Merrick peers closely at you. "I ain't sure. He looks..." "Child-like," finishes Ajax. "Like, I dunno, a kid, or something." "Maybe he's regressing," suggests Hesh. "Y'know, age regressing. It's a coping mechanism." "I've heard of that." Merrick lights up another cigar, tapping the ash introspectively against a tray set out beside him. "Where a person goes back to a safe headspace from their childhood, eh?" Kicks nods. "I've heard of it, too. I had a therapist who specialized in it once."

"Since when do you go to therapy?" snorts Keegan.

Kick glares defensively at him. "Don't be a jackass, man. I had really bad anxiety--"

A bright, almost bubbly laugh from you cuts him off. The team's heads snap around to look at you.

Logan gives a crooked grin. "I've never seen him so happy. Should we say something?" Merrick shakes his head. "No, he needs this. Let him relax for awhile; it's been a long day for us all."

"Will he remember any of this after he... I dont know, gets normal again?" Logan sits up and shuffles forward a bit on the couch.

"He might, yeah," says Hesh. "It'll probably be fuzzy for him, or he might just wake up in the morning and completely not remember that he went little."

"This won't effect his performance on the field, will it?" asks Keegan suspiciously.

Merrick gives a low chuff. "Russ, can it. Not everything is about shootin' up the Federation." "That's our job," Keegan protests, a bit more vehemently than before. "We're soldiers. Our life is dedicated to training and fighting. The end." His voice gets a bit louder than he intends, and you glance up. Your eyes are unfocused, your expression questioningly. There seems to be an internal struggle to either snap out of your regression or just turn your focus back to Bluey.

Logan elbows Keegan hard in the ribs, glaring at him, then turns his attention back to you. "Hey, bud. You okay?" You give a silent nod. You look so... innocent. You look little. Your hair is a ruffled mess and your hoodie swallows up your slim but muscular frame. The left corner of your lower lip is being suckled in against your top teeth, almost like a pacifier. You don't even realize it.

Logan seems to think over something for a moment, then stands, crossing the room before sitting down beside you. You instantly move to lean against him. The next episode of Bluey starts up.

The team watches the pair of you. You're cuddled up against Logan like a toddler with an older brother. You feel safe. Secure. Loved, even. That's not something you've experienced in a long time.

Logan might not understand all of what regression is, but he realizes that you need to be handled a bit more gently than usual. You're not their rough-and-tumble, tough-as-nails officer he knows and respects right now, you're just a kid. In your own mind, anyway.

"You enjoying the show, buddy?" Logan murmurs, and you give a sleepy nod, your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.

He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair. "I'm glad, bud. You tired, huh?"

"Mm... m'hh," you mumble, your voice slurring with how small you are right now. You snuggle closer. "S'eepy..."

Logan keeps you tucked beside him, practically in his lap. "You can nap if you need to, yeah? Little guys need their rest."

You try to protest, but you're just too exhausted. You lay your head against Logan's chest, your eyes fluttering shut. His hand comes up to pet your short-cropped locks.

"S'alright, bud," he whispers. "Go to sleep. I'll carry you to your bunk later, yeah?

So you do. You let out a soft, shuddering exhale, letting yourself slip into unconsciousness. You're safe with your team. They're all like brothers to you-- a dysfunctional little family of soldiers.

Merrick is watching with an almost paternal look on his face. "He's really little, ain't he?" "Looks like it," replies Hesh.

"Kind of weird." Ajax frowns. "But also sort of nice. He's finally stopped bouncing off the walls. I guess it ain't doin' no harm." "Healthier coping habit than most of us have," laughs Hesh. "Least he ain't a chainsmoker--" He gives a pointed look at Merrick. "--or as completely emotionless as a brick wall." He smirks at Keegan, who flips him the finger.

"He's almost... cute like this." Kick grins, tapping on his computer game. "I've never seen him so chill. I seriously can't remember the last time he slept. Like, at all. I was starting to think he was a vampire or some shit."

Logan chuckles. "Maybe this is exactly what he needed. To just let go, y'know?" Hesh's lips twitch up into a small smile. "Yeah. Maybe it is." "Just let him sleep, men," Merrick orders, leaning back and settling down to have one of his trademark Dad Naps. "He'll be back to being a hardass in the morning."

The team chuckles.

Merrick was probably right. But... you were their hardass. And, apparently, their very little brother.

Comment down below if I should continue this series! This is just based on my own experiences as an age regressor and is probably very OOC for the team.

[feinv]

prompt: (joel miller x anxious!reader) we all know how joel is a veteran when it comes to surviving the cordyceps virus and that it made him turn into a hardened, stoic survivor. but, how would he react to a partner who is anxious all of the time? like, second-guessing every choice and move they made. his partner is almost acts like how a scared kid would, getting spooked and jumping at every small sound in the dark.

(going to ask this anonymously but u can prob guess who this ask came from lol. can be either hbo or game joel ❣️).

game!joel miller x anxious fem!reader. fluff. mentions of panic/anxiety attacks.

a/n. for future reference, i will be writing only for game joel!! pedro is my babygirl, but og joel has corrupted me these last three years…reads like either joels anyway, so you do you. enjoy!💌

ᯓ he would be so patient with you. memorizing what helps you calm down and always asking what can he do for you. he loves you dearly and doesn’t mind one bit looking after you almost every day. :(

ᯓ personal headcanon is that he would do trainings with you. what i mean is, he would close the door and shut the lights, even blindfold you for more effective outcome, and produce random different sounds in the dark. your goal would be to identify what exactly made that sound because whenever you hear anything in the dark your mind by default convinces you it’s a clicker or far worse. he would help you get more acquainted with your surroundings, so even if you suspect it’s a zombified creature, you can quickly locate where exactly they are and how to deal with them!

ᯓ reassurance!! this man would be so supportive it’s insane. when you are having a panic/anxiety attack during clearing out, he is quick to find a safe spot for you two. his calloused palms would take your face in between them and force you to look him into eyes, showing you that he is there with you and you are safe. “you’re fine, babygirl. just breathe. i’m here with you. alright?” enveloping his big arms around your trembling body in a tight and so needed for you hug, his hand gently caressing your back while he coos in your ear as you cry in his chest.

ᯓ it’s too risky to hold your hand during missions because if anything happens he would need his both hands to protect you. but when you are assured the room is clear he would stop for a moment, take your hand in his and softly stroke your wrists before whispering “you okay?” and kissing your forehead <3

[sister-lucifer]

okay masky x hoodie idea

masky is clicker trained. to an embarrassing degree. Brian used to dominate him and they were weirdly kinky in college and now the sound of a clicker drops Masky to his knees ready to suck like the good dog he is

And Hoodie doesn’t even need the actual clicker, just clicking his tongue does it. Masky doesn’t even understand he’s fucking doing it when it happens it’s that ingrained into him

idk im jn love with the master x dog metaphor for Masky in anything ever

there’s no doubt about it, Masky is the best of the two at following orders. Tim’s mind is so tired and weary it’s easy to mold however his master wishes, and that shows through when he’s hardly lucid in the Masky headspace.

Tim and Brian hadn’t spoken in years, but Masky and Hoodie know each other very well. something triggers a memory in Hoodie, maybe the sound of Masky breathing or the smell of his lingering cologne, barely covered by the smell of pine trees and dirt, but it gives him a brief flash of something only Brian should know.

he stares at Masky for a moment, both of them sharing a silence. Masky tilts his head curiously as Hoodie lifts his mask just above his mouth to make sure the sound is clear.

he clicks his tongue twice.

Masky jolts, the physical reaction nearly making Hoodie flinch. Masky drops to his knees a moment after, looking up at his partner as if expecting something, but…neither of them know what.

Hoodie gestures for him to stand again, and he does, though slower than he dropped. silence stretches between them once more, but not for long.

Hoodie clicks again.

even faster this time Masky is down. he gets onto his knees with his hands sitting flat on top of his thighs, clearly awaiting something that’s just barely evading both of their memories.

Hoodie takes a step closer and reaches out, putting a cautious hand on Masky’s head and gingerly running his gloved fingers through his hair. his hand slides down the side of his face to his chin before pulling away. the shape of his jaw is disturbingly familiar.

Hoodie’s eyes trail down Masky’s still body slowly, taking his time. Masky can feel his stare but does nothing; that is, until he feels it stop at his groin.

he follows Hoodie’s gaze down to his lap, eyes widening behind his mask when he sees the obvious hard-on straining against his jeans. he hadn’t even realized.

there’s a flicker of realization between the two of them that there’s more to this than either of them know, but they don’t care. this feels right, and thats all that matters.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

[clovebell]

I need some help y'all, so I'm trying to clicker train my subby tgirl. What are some useful tips or tutorials?

[clickerpunk]

Helped out at the summer clicker training clinic at the barn this weekend. Very stressful, but also so fun seeing people interested in learning to use positive reinforcement. Brought a bunch of targets for people to buy as well, which was cool.

Took Rudi for a spin in the arena after it ended and she got to try the new pedestal 😂 She also loaded into the trailer! Fun weekend, but now i need to recharge my batteries a bit.