#oh to go roadtripping with joel miller | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

highdramas · 2 years ago

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a house in nebraska | j.m.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: language, canon typical sadness, canon typical violence, age gap but it’s not really mentioned, sweet sweet yearning, sexual situations but not explicit (yet hehe)

word count: 4704

summary: by joel’s side, you make your way to the midwest, and find yourself inching closer to a house in nebraska you once called home. you and joel have always been okay keeping your pasts to yourselves, focusing on the now. but a roadtrip stirs up feelings, ones that even you cannot deny any longer.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. this is part of the creature comforts series but can be read on its own! house in nebraska in particular is a two part story. this is set 12 years after the outbreak began. joel is 48 and reader is 31.

you still thought about that house.

in most ways, it was rather unassuming. it wasn’t rundown, nor was it like the house that nancy mcnamara had on the other side of town. you remember that first time you had gone to nancy’s house for a birthday party. it was strange to imagine that people lived that way.

no, your house was simple, if not slightly dated. your parents never got around to modernizing it, and you didn’t want them to. it was beautiful in it’s dated nature. it was your home. more than a house. it was a home.

it’s days like today when you think about that house. sometimes you wonder if it’s still standing. oh, what you wouldn’t give to walk up those steps, to run your hand along the railing of the porch. it was a luxury to have these fantasies. that you knew more than anything.

you run your plate over the lukewarm water and you feel joel’s eyes on your back. sometimes, you wonder if he can read your mind. you wonder if maybe he’s harboring this secret power from you that allows him to know your deepest secrets, the history that you hold near and dear to your heart. you don’t know why it is. why it is you don’t tell him. it would be easy to lay all of it down at his feet, to come apart and know that he wasn’t going to judge you or hurt you for it. feelings are a weakness. longing is a weakness. but joel was never going to stab that soft underbelly. you were confident in that.

but you keep it bottled up anyway. you keep him placated with your smiles and the murmurs that everything’s okay, just tired and you know that he sees right through you but you both know that he’s not going to push it. that’s one thing, of many, that you love about joel. he doesn’t push. and in return, neither do you. not hard, anyway.

you dry your hands off and you settle on the couch beside him. you can tell that there’s something on his mind– his eyes don’t give anything away, and maybe he thinks that you’re the mind reader out of the two of them. “talk to me,” you say with that smile of yours that you pull out of the closet only for him, wear it like it’s your finest gown.

he sighs and leans forward, muscled arms against strong knees. he doesn’t meet your gaze. you wish that he would. “i don’t want to tell you because i know exactly what you’re going to say.”

“well, then at least you won’t be hit with any surprises.”

joel looks at you and you already have a wry smile on your face, and he has to fight the urge to match it. “you’re such a shit, you know that?” his humor dies off and he goes back to examining his hands. “gotta head out west.”

you straighten at that. “oh.” confusion riddles you– what is he not saying? “well, where?”

the looks says everything and you’re opening your mouth but he cuts you off before you can get a word out. “no. no. you’re not comin’.”

“if you’re going to nebraska,” you say, your voice perfectly level. “you’re going to have to chain me to the bed in order to get me to stay put.” you rise from your spot and walk towards your bedroom, rustling around to find your backpack. you don’t even know when he’s leaving and you’re preparing yourself.

he knows next to nothing about where you come from. what your story is. it’s not all that special, all things considered– for someone to be alive means that they have had to endure unthinkable hardship to get to that point. but he knows two things: you’re from nebraska, and you never knew what happened to your family.

“joel,” you say, folding a t shirt and laying it flat in your bag. “i’m coming.” when you look at him, there’s something in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize. a whole different you. “you don’t know the things i did to get to boston. so don’t fight me on this. i won’t be a nuisance.”

“i didn’t think you would be,” he steps closer. “i just don’t want you getting your hopes up. that’s all.”

you swallow and you look at him. there’s no fight on his face– you think he probably gave up this fight the second he decided he was going to tell you. after all, he could’ve up and left with a note and nothing more. hell, he didn’t even owe you a note. you weren’t anything. you were friends. you shared something. but beyond that, there was no reason for him to tell you shit. “joel,” you whisper and you step closer to him and you watch the way his throat bobs, the way his lip twitches. “you of all people know that my hope’s gonna have to be pried from my cold, dead hands.”

“i know,” he says quietly. you turn back to your backpack and then he’s behind you and his hands are on your shoulders. things have never been said so explicitly– what you are and what you aren’t, where the lines are drawn. all you know is sometimes he does this; he touches you and it lights you up with a warmth from the inside out. sometimes, you lie in bed beside one another and your foot draws up his calf and his hand smoothes over your waist and tugs you closer to him. sometimes he gives you his ration cards despite your protests. you will wake and he’s long gone but they rest on the dining table. the dining table where his belongings, meager as they are, mingle with yours.

joel cares. joel cares and he knows you more than anyone else could ever fathom it.

you show your care in different ways. once, on an abandoned vehicle in the qz, you found a texas sticker. you had taken dutiful care in the way you peeled it off. you found an old book and ripped a page from the back and laid the sticker down onto it. when you presented it to joel on september 26th, you could see the emotions pass over his face. sorrow and longing and then something else. a sidelong look at you, one that was mostly curious.

“it’s okay to miss it,” you had said then. “that life.”

you’d seen his reactions when others had made mere references of his life before. they were shut down. they were stopped, right then and there. and while you didn’t like to poke the bear… you wanted him to know. wanted to bestow this one thing. there was nothing else to say in that moment, all there was was you and joel and his arm slowly wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer. there was his lips against your temple and your fist gripping his flannel shirt. and that was all you needed.

but in this moment with him just behind you, hands beginning to rub into your shoulders, you feel it. that deep chasm of need deep within you, the one that you’ve been ignoring. your hand goes and covers his and you wrap his arm around your chest, kissing the skin of his forearm. strong, steady joel. protective joel. while you’ve laid awake and wondered what it is he felt for you, you never had to question if he would protect you. if he would save you when it all boiled down to it. you squeeze his arm and he squeezes you back, a heavy, reassuring weight. “just let me have some hope, joel.”

and he would.

–

you stop at bill and frank’s to do some trading. you’d heard the stories of their compound, but had never experienced it yourself, and there was a twinge in your heart. what was stopping you? what stopped you from moving in next door, earning your keep, being of service in some way? what stopped you and joel from settling? sitting around the table, music playing and eating a meal that was more than jerky and dried fruits, it was hard to remember your reasoning. why you two played by the rulebook that you did.

you’re admiring the house when frank found you. he gives you a smile and gets in the wine cabinet, pulling another fresh bottle. “astounding, isn’t it?”

turning to him, you remember that he was so warm. warm in a different way than joel. not better or worse. just different. “it’s amazing,” you admit. “almost hard to believe that there was a time where we all lived like this. took it for granted.”

he steps into the spot beside you, following your gaze. “i’m lucky. bill and i– we’re lucky.” he looks at you for a long time. you could feel the imprint of his gaze on your cheek. “how long have you been with joel?”

smiling to yourself, you say, “three years.” you pause, examining a painting on the wall. “feels like it’s been forever. he’s aging me. stealing my youth.” it’s a joke, and you give a crooked grin. “no, he’s… he’s made everything easier. much easier.”

frank hums at that. “i don’t want to pry,” he begins slowly, giving you a sidelong look. “but are you…”

feeling your cheeks grow warm, all you can do is shrug. “i’m not sure,” you admit. “but i don’t need to be sure. he’s my best friend.”

he nods his head, as if this answer makes more sense than anything else that you could’ve said. “well, for what it’s worth–” you both look out the window of the house where joel and bill stand, practically mirroring one another. hands on their hips. staring out at the fence. “bill’s my best friend, too.”

frank touches your shoulder and you smile at him. for some reason, his words are reassuring.

–

you end up staying the night. there’s a guest bedroom with an adjoining bathroom and frank says you’re welcome to anything you need while bill scowls. you shower before joel does– and, to be honest, he doesn’t give you an option in that regard. he puts his hands on your shoulders and he walks you into the bathroom, pushing the fluffy towel into your chest with a smile. “you stink,” he says and he does something that’s almost a wink that makes your heart sing.

so you do. you shower and you lather yourself in all of the fine soaps that frank had prepared for you. you think that joel must’ve told him about your dry skin– lotions of every scent line the counters, and you lather yourself in them post-shower. when you come out smelling like lavender and vanilla, joel’s head shoots up from his book. he stares at you for a long, long time. you shiver under his gaze, shifting in the clothes that frank had given you.

for a moment, you feel like you’re playing house.

joel clears his throat and he stands up, approaching you. his big hand goes to the side of your face and his thumb runs over your cheekbone, drags down to your lip. when you shiver this time, it’s much more noticeable, and you can see something flash behind joel’s eyes.

there are things that the two of you have done together. but never this. close– but never this. you’ve dreamed about what it might be like for his lips to brush yours, but you’ve never had the luxury to linger on it too long. you were both fighting, tooth and nail, for your own survival. the survival of each other, for tess, for tommy. a makeshift family if you’ve ever heard of one. but in this house, where the walls have art and the linens are clean, and you feel fresher and more clear headed than you ever have…

“go. shower.” you squeeze his wrist. “you stink.”

he scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head at you. but when he casts his gaze upon you again, when he nods his head and moves into the bathroom, you feel anticipation like you’ve never felt before.

joel takes less time in the shower than you did. but when he emerges, all wet hair and glistening skin, you have to physically stop yourself from standing. he doesn’t wear a shirt but sweatpants hang low on his hips, and every thought has to be written all over your face. he walks up to you slowly and your grip the duvet, but when he stands before you and nudges your legs apart to stand between them, your grip slackens, he takes your hands and he puts them up on his shoulders where you glide them across his tanned skin, lace them behind his neck.

“i’m going to say this once, because i don’t want to waste our time with it,” joel begins. “and i know– i know i’m not good with my words. i don’t know if i ever will be. and i know i’ve got walls up, i know i’m fucked up–” you open your mouth but he shakes his head. “let me finish. i know i’m fucked up. and i don’t know if i can give you everything that the man twelve years ago would’ve. but i am a selfish man, and i want what i can give to be enough. and i want to try and give you more.” he brushes a piece of your hair back. “if that’s what you want.”

“you’re more than i could ask for,” you reassure. your hands go to his face and your thumbs stroke against his cheeks. “so let’s stop wasting our time with talking about what we both know.”

joel pushes you down against the mattress and you pull yourself up the bed, towards the pillows, and he hovers above you. “can’t remember the last time i was in a bed this nice,” he murmurs, and he’s so handsome above you, you don’t know how you managed without it. you’ve slept side by side, limbs tangled, but this…

“me neither,” your needy hands reach out for him and then his brown eyes are level with yours, a hand splayed beside your head, holding himself up. “i don’t want to waste it. do you?”

the smile he wears would’ve belonged to the joel from before. mischievous, almost, a smile that reaches his eyes. “what ideas did you have?”

you open your mouth but then his lips are closing over your pulse point and it’s been so long, it’s been forever, it’s been a lifetime ago since you’ve had such true and real intimacy. you start to shake and you stammer to try and reply and he pulls away, shaking his head, running his hand through your hair. “i’m gonna take care of you,” he says seriously. “you gonna let me take care of you, nebraska?”

with a shaky laugh you nod your head, but that’s not enough for him. “words. give me your words.”

“yes,” you breathe. “please.”

and joel, your unsung hero, stays good to his word. he’s a passionate person, deep in there, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that he would be a good and passionate lover– but it did. it made you giddy, every touch, every drag of his tongue. but nothing was better than the first kiss.

joel makes sure to take care in tipping your face up to him. there were candlesticks lit around the quaint bedroom, illuminating you in a golden glow, and you’d never felt like an angel before– not even before this world had made you a killer. but under his eyes and in this room, you feel the closest you ever have. “so damn pretty,” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “you know that? how pretty you are?”

your foot runs up his leg. “don’t spend much time looking in mirrors anymore.”

“you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he answers for you. one hand goes to the side of your neck and his thumb brushes your pulse and it’s like every single thing in this broken world finally clicks into place with him. and that’s when he does it. that’s when he lowers himself and his lips find yours.

it’s slow. it’s like for the first time since 2003 he has allowed himself to enjoy. he savors you like he savored the meal that bill and frank served you that evening. he drinks you in like their delicious wine, the taste of you better than the heavy red had been on his tongue. a hand slips under your head and caresses, holds you, kisses you like there’s nothing else left to do.

your hands become explorative. across his chest, his stomach, down his spine. he shivers when you hit that sensitive spot just above his tailbone, and it makes you smile against his lips. “like that, huh?” he asks with a laugh. he falls down onto the bed beside you and he tugs you closer, his lips still attached to your jaw. “like knowin’ what you do to me?”

you’re helpless, nodding your head, mind foggy with pleasure. “oh, poor thing,” he coos with another cheeky grin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “i’ll stop bein’ mean.”

“you’re evil,” you say but there’s no bark behind your bite, not when his lips start to move southward, down your chest, pushing up your shirt. your hips begin to raise involuntarily and everything is better than you could ever expect–

the door bursts open. “bill–” joel bellows, rearing back to look at him. you’re not even naked but joel is effortlessly protective, shielding you from his view. but you peek past his arm anyway, and what you see astounds you. bill’s scared. he’s trying to fight it, but you can smell fear like a bloodhound.

“raiders,” bill says and it’s the simplest thing he could’ve said, but it makes you move.

joel is on his feet and you’re tossing him a shirt and he’s tossing you your jacket, you’re moving around each other like you know the exact move the other will make next. and maybe you do. maybe you have memorized the way that he uses his body as a weapon and as a shield.

with guns drawn you help take down raiders. it’s not a fair fight, not with the set up that bill has built and not with you and joel by his side. joel has never had to see you fight. not really, anyway– he’s known of the knife that you keep on you at all times, but bill had tossed you a gun and you knew your way around it and while joel didn’t have time to watch, you could sense it. could feel his eyes lingering for just a moment too long, long enough to risk survival.

and then your gun lowers and your eyes lock and there’s something that passes there, between you.

you don’t know if love is the right way to describe what you feel towards joel. but if it is, then maybe you had just fallen a bit more in love with one another.

–

any mood that existed prior has been shot by the time that you get back into the guest room. with a long, heaving sigh, you start shucking your clothes off. there’s nothing wrong with them– no blood on them, no dirt, no grime, but the mere act of wearing them while you have killed someone makes your skin crawl.

joel exits the room but he returns with two new sets of clothes. he passes one set off to you before he starts changing himself, eyes heavy on one another.

and when you’re both in fresh clothes you inch towards one another and you collapse onto the bed together, and there’s nothing hesitant in the way that he pulls you to him, tugs your body close to his and wrap you up in his dutiful hold until you both drift off into a sleep, one not fueled by pills or booze, but by the safety of one another.

–

bill and frank send you with food (bill begrudgingly, frank happily) and a truck. your end stop is the omaha QZ, outside of which you’ll be meeting with a smuggler who joel has been in contact with since you knew him. but you were a long ways away from nebraska, and it would be many days on the road.

it’s two days in when you find the tape, rustling around through the truck. it was a forgotten thing beneath the passenger seat, and your entire face lights up when you see it. joel glances over at you with a furrowed brow and you lift jeff buckley’s grace. in tandem, you and joel say, “yes.”

mojo pin starts from the top and you find yourself gazing out the window. you prepare yourself for the northeastern beauty to turn into the plains of the midwest, reminding you of a life of before.

you’re crossing into ohio when he asks, “you like this album?”

slowly, you nod your head. “it was all i would listen to,” you say, remembering who you were before. “maybe jeff buckley’s lucky. to have died before all of this started.”

joel stares at you for a long time. “do you really mean that?”

swallowing, you meet his gaze. do you mean it? “no,” you finally say softly. “there are things that i miss. people i miss. but i don’t think i’d be luckier dead.” you huff a laugh and look back out the window. “if i felt that way, it would be a bit silly to live the way i do.”

“and how do you mean?”

“we fight to live,” you say easily. “we fight to survive. we’re not people who want to give up, even if we pretend we are. being alive is having some hope, contrary to what you may believe.”

“never said i didn’t have hope,” joel begins, his voice all gruff.

“joel, please.” you look over at him and you smirk. “i know you. you may fool other people, but you’re not gonna fool me.”

the two of you fall into an easy silence at that point. there’s nothing pointed about what you said to him, and he doesn’t have any fight in him. he doesn’t want to fight with you, he never does. and, besides– despite what he says, he knows that you’re right.

at some point you fall asleep. you wake up to joel’s hand in your hair, his voice slowly coaxing you awake. you wake with a start, snapping up and looking around. “sorry,” you mumble, the last bits of sleep still clinging onto you for dear life. “didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“s’alright,” he mumbles back to you. “would probably good to stop for the night. we can take turns keeping watch.” he smirks. “it’s your turn first.”

you roll your eyes but he turns the car off and reclines his seat and you can’t help but stare at him. how does anyone expect you to be diligent and alert when you get an opportunity to stare at him uninterrupted? when he opens one eye to look at you you lean back and smile at him, shaking your head. “don’t do that,” you murmur, reaching your hand out and touching his hair, somehow soft still despite everything. “get some sleep.”

joel hums. “keep doin’ that,” he says while your hand is working through his hair. “feels good.”

you’re not going to deny joel what feels good. not for one moment.

–

the days pass faster than you were expecting them to. it’s just you and joel and the open road. occasionally you roll down the window and you stick your head out and let the wind rustle your hair, let jeff buckley fill your ears with his beautiful melodies and you pretend like you and joel are two normal people on a normal road trip together. the one thing that you will never be, you pretend you are.

an ominous quiet grows over you when you pass over the nebraska border. when you see that sign.

joel senses it in you instantly. and for a man who says he’s cold, who says he’s fucked up, who says that he doesn’t know if he can be what you need– you don’t feel that when he lays his big hand on your thigh and squeezes. and he doesn’t make a hasty exit with it, either. no, it lingers there. it stays there until your hand goes and lays on top of his, and only then does his hand turn over and he grasps your fingers. laces them with his own, and his thumb draws across the back of your wrist.

when you look over at him, you don’t see a man who’s fucked up. you see a man who’s fighting an eternal, internal battle with himself, to love and let himself be loved. you’ve been there. hell, you’re there now, fighting your own similar battle. but perhaps your armor is weaker, because this touch has melted you down to the bone and made you forget why you wanted to fight in the first place.

the words beg to release from your mouth. i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you so much i’m willing to risk the safety of not loving another soul.

“we’ll go wherever you need,” he speaks up. “and then we’ll go to omaha.”

with a curt nod of your head, you pull the map out of the glove compartment and you scour it. you see your teeny tiny hometown, and you circle it, passing it back to joel.

instantly, you recognize the way that he takes a turn, towards your home. towards your old life.

it’s in the stirred silence that you say, “they call seward the fourth of july city,” you smile a little bit at the memories. memories of fireworks and the smell of a grill and celebrating a patriotism and nationalism that you would resent every day after september 26th, 2003. “my friends and i used to joke about that city part. seward was barely a town, let alone a city.”

joel watches you intently. you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “i lost my virginity on the fourth of july.” there’s something glassy behind your eyes. “one year before the outbreak. i was eighteen– all my friends joked that i was a late bloomer, but i didn’t care. my dad was a preacher and i always got teased because i was the cliche. the rebellious, preacher’s daughter. but that night…” your words drift and you suck in a big breath, watching as dusk overtakes the night ahead of you, casting joel in pretty purple hues. “he wasn’t a bad boy. he was kind. and he took care of me.”

“he was in my senior year english class. i was taking ap lit– didn’t even take the ap test. anyway– he had kind brown eyes, and it was his first time, too. we went into one of the cornfields in his truck after a big fire party. there were always the biggest parties on fourth of july, but i just wanted to be with him.” you pause and look out the windshield and his thumb is still a warm feeling over the pulse of your wrist. “we kept seeing each other that summer. but then i went to college and so did he and… well, the rest happened. i don’t know what happened to him. but i like to believe that he’s somewhere out there and when he starts getting nostalgic, he tells his…” you look at joel. “whoever his you is, and he smiles a little. i just hope that.”

he squeezes your wrist, once more, before he lets go to put both hands on the wheel. he pulls off and you recognize that he’s pulling into the parking lot of a boarded up church, and god if that isn’t hilariously ironic. “thank you,” he says after you’re parked, looking right into your eyes. “i hope that, too.”

hope. what a funny thing.

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