#tw missed miscarriage

[pidgwin]

i wonder if i will ever stop counting. the days and weeks and months and years since the miscarriage, the due date, the scan. will i ever stop counting how old you would be if you made it to my arms? if counting your age is the only honour i can give you, i will do it forever.

[heireign]

meta question : how did her mother's death impact how she viewed her father ?

send me character development questions. ( @sinworn )

first, i don't think there's ever really any blame in regards to it when it comes to viserys purely because it's ? as a child the circumstances of it would have been so absurdly normalized that the only real red flags about it that would have impacted her views on him from it would have been the implications around the court that ' perhaps aemma had been bedded too young', and that being the reason for why she had the complications with her pregnancies that she did which, she may or may not have overheard at court - and if she did, i don't think at the time she would've entirely understood the implications of what that even meant. and there is also the likelihood she would not have even heard it at all unless she walked into a room unannounced or around a corridor to people discussing it, or it was being spoken about when she was believed to have been out of earshot -- i don't really believe that anyone would have purposefully said that infront of her, so it would have needed to have been something she accidentally overheard if she'd heard it at all.

i do believe she would have heard him call her his great joy, but that a brother was a brother, because he was said to have said often, which means she was more then likely in his presence to hear it at least once. the fact that he loves her was never a question, the fact that he valued and cherished her was never a question, but there's a precursor of feeling not quite enough that stems from the fact her parents doted on her as a child - how she was treated by them was not affected by the fact she wasn't a son, but the fact she wasn't quite the child they needed meant that her mother suffered, and above all she would have noticed how the pregnancies and subsequent losses continued to wear on her mother and how they affected her mother. she was effectively being treated as his heir, but she could never occupy that space, and that meant that viserys only had daemon as a successor, and no son to succeed him. and like the fact a girl could not succeed her father would have been wholly normal then, too. she would not have felt slighted for the throne as much as she would have felt wholly helpless that she could not help her parents who were struggling to fill this space and she was ? thinking that if only she had been born a son, maybe they would have been able to stop with trying with how badly her mother was being affected, with her as the heir and daemon as the spare. this is important because it's what largely impacts her feelings toward him when her mother dies and she's made his heir.

she's eight when aemma dies. he becomes infinitely more important in regards to her feelings of inner security and stability - because at that point he is the only parent that she has left. then she's made his heir and she's ? confused and a bit frustrated, and more then a little overwhelmed because it seems so completely pointless all of a sudden; because if she was worthy of being his heir now, she could have well been then, and then she would still have her mother. she doesn't even know how to want it at first because actually being content she had the position would feel too much as if she were celebrating a tragedy, that she was glad to have profited off of such a devastating loss and like, she wants to make him proud in turn. she doesn't want aemma to be remembered as someone who failed in her duties as a wife and queen. and if she's the heir, and if she actually somehow gets to sit her father's throne, then she won't have been. she would have given him a successor even if she wasn't male.

but like, it also incidentally changes the relatively close relationship she had with her father and makes it one that is two-fold. now she's not just his daughter, she's his heir. it makes things very stiff between the two of them for a while as she settles into the role. she's less inclined to display vulnerability around him due to fearing that he might find it too much for her, and take it. they can't quite talk as they used to due to the fact she's afraid that whatever she might say to him might make him upset and take it from her too - and after he remarries and begins to sire children with alicent her fear of being replaced personally manifests itself in a drive for her position - and this is because this is something she can actually tackle, and solidify her place in, and prove her worth in a way she has always struggled with personally because she has always been loved, but she's never been particularly useful in regarding to filling the place she now occupies. i think her proving that she is is her best attempts to both give her mother a legacy to be proud of ( one that speaks of not just success but actually something historic in her being the first queen regnant ) and solidify those anxieties with her father that she might be set aside in a personal sense, because for a while the notion of her being replaced in her position would have felt more then a little like an inevitability and less like something that may or may not happen. the security and comfort she would have derived from him as her only surviving parent rises and then it plummets again when she's made heir because she doesn't know how else to regain control of a very overwhelming situation that people are now looking at her in a whole different way because of. and there’s this whole new facet to their relationship that’s serious and scary and important and it’s nothing she wants and now it’s everything she wants because of what it could mean for her mother.

[ashesrebirthed-a]

"Holy fuck, Lottie." It's the first time Jackie's seen her since Shauna beat the shit out her. And it wasn't as if Lottie'd looked any better then - but she's still completely fucked up now, face swollen, eyes drooping and bloody. How is she even alive?

Dropping to her knees next to the injured girl, Jackie's hands tremble when she brushes a stray strand of hair out of Lottie's face. "Shit. This was - this was all Shauna?"

Shauna, who'd clutched her dead fucking baby to her chest and looked at Jackie like she'd been the one to kill him. Who'd stared her dead in the eye and thrown her own words back at her in some twisted fucking echo: Don't pretend like this isn't exactly what you wanted the whole time. Who'd cried out for her in the meat shed - wailed like a keening animal until it made Jackie sob noiselessly too, hidden just outside and desperately trying to keep Shauna from hearing a single sound - yet nearly tore her head off any time they so much as existed in the same space.

Who'd nearly killed Lottie.

Shauna hated Jackie, so she'd nearly fucking killed Lottie. That could have been Jackie. That would have been Jackie, if not now then eventually, if Lottie hadn't stepped in.

But while that might have calmed Shauna down for now, shit for the rest of them only got worse. The card draw. Nat. Fucking Javi. All that crap Misty spouted after, about how Lottie's pleased with the wilderness' choice. Yeah, maybe the Charlotte Matthews she'd once known had gone completely off the fucking rails out here - at Jackie's expense, more than once - but after the girl had nearly fucking died for her... Jackie would believe that one when she heard it for herself.

Which is exactly what she's here to find out. Lottie looks just about anything but pleased right now, but Jackie has to know for sure. Has to hear Lottie say it, one way or another. "Why did you let her do this to you? Why did you let any of them - ? I don't even know what to - I mean, fuck, you probably saved my fucking life, but - they killed Javi because of you. Shit, he was just a fucking kid, Lottie!" Is Jackie worth his life? Is Lottie? Is Nat?

Nat is. Natalie fucking Scatorccio is worth all of them combined. The only one who'd come out to bring her in from the freezing cold, the only one to try and try and try to keep them all alive, the only fucking good thing left in this hell. The rest of them, though... Jackie isn't so sure any more. // @healiotrope + plotted starter!

[jokerislandgirl32]

Infertility, miscarriage, and infant loss is a difficult topic for many prospective parents to face. Bella Lambert's song Missing Pieces was written to share her and her husband's personal struggle with infertility, something I, and I know many others, can relate to.

This song is about hope, and I hope to all who struggle with infertility/miscarriage/infant loss that you can hold onto that hope, no matter how bleak it may seem.

It’s hard, but I’ve finally brought myself to a point that I can acknowledge that hope again. The daughter that I share with my f/o Zach Varmitech would have turned 2 today, and while we miss her dearly, we hold onto the hope that one day she will have siblings who will love her and happily declare that they have a big sister waiting to met them in heaven.

Happy Birthday, Alexandria Rinella Varmitech 💜🦋🖤

[kruxton]

just remembered a hurt/comfort fic of a haikyuu rarepair i read like two three years ago and im. Crying again

[mismagieus]

We’ve been over this before here on my blog, but…

I don’t want kids…for a MULTITUDE of reasons. However, every time I see my old friends (who I don’t talk to anymore) get pregnant and have babies, it’s like a knife to the chest. Some of them had babies years ago; some of them are just now starting. And I know I should be happy for them, but it’s just so harrowing for me…based on the fact that I got pregnant by someone I was deeply in love with at the time, and then had a painful miscarriage. I can never see women with babies and not get irrationally upset. And I don’t even want kids!!! I know I couldn’t handle it and that I’m not cut out for it at all, and it doesn’t even appeal to me! So wtf. I wish it didn’t still haunt me.

[joellesolo]

TW: miscarriage.

Today is the four year anniversary of finding out the baby I had been carrying for sixteen weeks was no longer alive, and hadn’t been for about three weeks (even though I was still having all the pregnancy symptoms).

Even though I’ve since had my double rainbow baby, I still struggle with this day. My mom told me to ‘turn it into something positive’ which is absolute bullshit. Just let me grieve, jesus. I’m allowed to be sad.

[daisies-in-confusion]

I don’t care who knows but it kills me to keep having to say it out loud

[heyclickadee]

Finally got around to reading through Never Whistle At Night. It’s a great anthology! “White Hills” was so sad; “Quantum,” “The Ones Who Killed Us,” and, “Collections,” were brutal (“Collections” especially made my skin crawl); and “Scariest. Story. Ever.” was probably my favorite of the bunch.

[pidgwin]

I went through my basket of baby things for the first time since packing it after my miscarriage 15 months ago. I could only bear to part with a few things, a couple of baby grows and a few books. Only a few small things, and yet they mean so much. I will keep the rest for whenever I am lucky enough to get pregnant again. Oh, my heart

[haunted-house-heart]

i never got the chance to meet you, travis, but i miss you. i hope you know how loved you are.

[briarlily]

.

[exactlyyoungchaos]

Loss of my Life.

Husband Simon X Reader.

My first time writing here!!! Please don't mind the mistakes as I'm writing this at 5 in the morning. enjoy!!!

TW: loss of a relationship, hurt, angst, little comfort, cursing, trauma(loss of family, mention of miscarriage), "its not you, its me bullshit" let me know if i missed something!

You used be a medic working with TF141 for years before you retired. that's how you met your now husband Simon Riley. he was the most loving, attentive and responsible partner you could've asked for, he was ghost to everyone but not you, never you. But something's changed recently.

ever since his last mission eight months ago, he's been detached, not talking to you properly, coming home extremely late and drunk. he hasn't even touched you since he came back and its saying something for a guy who used to be attached to your hips whenever he could.

you tried talking to him, tried asking what's wrong but you always got the same answer, " you're thinkin too much lovie, nothings wrong."

but you know your husband so you start digging, and that's the biggest mistake you have made.

you found a note in his vest pocket, where he keeps his wedding ring during missions that read " be safe and come back to me" in a handwriting you knew by heart but it wasn't yours.

it was of his childhood best friend. she was in the special forces as well, and recently worked with Simon's team on the last mission.

you knew then and there, the reason of the detachment, the curt responses. your husband was in love with the woman he told you not to worry about.

your eyes blur with the realization that the life you once knew is soon going to come to an end, the man you're in love with , who's ring you have been wearing for years is not yours anymore or maybe he never was.

you sat there in your closet, tears streaming down your face, gut wrenching sobs coming out of you mouth. he isn't home, like usual so there is no one to witness the loss of your life.

your brain conjure up all the good times you had with him but now all of it is tainted by the realization that none of it was true.

you remember every time you caught both of them looking at each other, the friendly adoration in Simon's eyes now looked like longing, with his hands still around your waist.

every time he said to you "you're the love of my life" with his lips on yours, was he wishing it was her? all these years, you were so in love, so blinded by the rose tinted glasses you had over your eyes that you never saw it?

you sat there for hours, mulling over your whole life. how the one person you thought was yours forever was never yours. so you got up, eyes hollow, bloodshot and puffy, your form trembling. you put the note back where it was and go lay on your bed.

you stare at the wall for hours, around three am, your front door opened and closed. you felt him as he walked in the bedroom and slipped under the sheets next to you.

for the first time in weeks, he put his arms around your waist and pulled you towards himself, " you awake love?" he murmured in your neck.

all that came out of your mouth was, " Am I not enough?" in a rough whisper.

his arms tense around you, he knows that you know. before he could say something, you turn to face him, still in his arms.

you look at his face, and trace his scars with your fingers as tears fell from your eyes on your pillow.

his expression is tortured, " Its not what you-" but you cut him off with a soft shush and a finger on his lips. the lips you called home for as long as you remember.

you don't want him to lie to you anymore so you smile, the same smile Simon has witnessed when you lost your whole family in an accident as he stood next to your shaking form during the funeral, the same smile you gave him when you had a miscarriage as he stood next to you on the hospital bed holding your hand, grieving with you.

his heart was breaking, he was cursing himself for doing this to you. but you don't blame him, you haven't said anything to him except "will you hold me for the last time? please?" and you bury your face in his chest, taking in his scent for the last time. feeling his erratic heartbeat for the last time.

Simon's hand tightened around you, he doesn't want to let you go. the only good thing that happened to him. he destroyed you, like he always does to anything he touches.

he knows he cant fix this, nothing he could say would fix this. so he held you, with all his might, for the last time.

part 2?

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[girlrotterr]

Ultraviolence pt.3

farm!ellie x fem!reader TW!: references to alcohol and substance abuse, along with instances of emotional and verbal abuse. Mentions of miscarriage and PTSD. a/n: the final chapterr!! so internally grateful for all the support this series received. I appreciate you angels & send all my love

read part 1! read part 2!

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully.

‘We both knew the risks. You didn't force me to come with you. We made that decision together," you said, trying to reason with her.

She shot you a glare, her eyes red and filled with anger. "Don't make fucking excuses."

The room turned cold. She wiped away her tears with a rough motion, revealing a hardness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I lost everything. All those people I killed, all the pain I caused, and for what? Nothing. Revenge didn't bring them back. It just left me with a trail of fucking corpses."

You reached out to touch her shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort, but she shrugged it off. 

"Don't fucking touch me. I don't need your pity," Ellie snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The warmth that once existed between you had disintegrated, leaving only a cold, bitter residue. She stood up abruptly, storming out of the kitchen. You stood there for a moment, feeling the sharp sting of Ellie's words. For one final time.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself and followed after her into the living room. Ellie took a seat on the couch, retrieving a cigarette from her pocket. Her hands trembled as she attempted to calm herself. With puffy eyes, she avoided your gaze, her eyes darting away from yours.

"Ellie, I can't stay here like this. I can't watch you destroy yourself," you said, your voice steady "If you won't let me help, if you won't let anyone in, then I can't be a part of this. I can't keep trying to fix something that you're determined to break."

Ellie turned to face you, anger simmering in her eyes, a huge shift from the vulnerability she had shown moments ago. "So that's it, huh? You're going to leave?"

"It's not about leaving," you replied, meeting her gaze. "I’ve realized that I can't force you to change. I can't make you confront the past if you're not willing to face it yourself."

Her jaw tightened. 

"I can't do it anymore, Ellie!" you continued, your voice with frustration. "I can't stand by and watch you destroy everything, including our family. The constant anger, the distance, it's not fair to him, it's not fair to me."

A flicker of anxiety passed through Ellie's eyes, so quick you almost missed it. But it was there, a crack in her facade. 

"I found a place," you confessed, "Maria.. helped me. It's a small house.” 

Ellie clenched her fist tighter, her nails practically piercing right through her skin. "You can't just take him away from me."

"I'm saving what's left of our family." you shot back, "He deserves a stable environment, one where he doesn't have to-."

Ellie suddenly got up, her eyes begging, yet her body language was saying something entirely different. Trembling, her fists clenched, and her gaze locked onto you with worry. No, it wasn't just worry—it was raw, genuine fear. The very fear she dreaded most was happening right before her eyes. You were leaving. Taking your son with you, and leaving her behind. Ellie's hands quivered, her nails digging so deeply into her palms that they burned. 

Her breathing came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to calm herself. "Please,.." she whispered, "Don't…leave..me"

"Ellie..." Your voice quivered, torn between your own fear and wanting to comfort her.

But she wasn't finished. With desperation, she took a step closer, her voice trembling as she continued, "You can't do this. p-please, don't take him away from me. I-I..need you both. I can't... I can't do this alone."

You felt a lump form in your throat. 

"We’re leaving." you finally said, your voice remaining firm. 

Desperation and anger flashed in Ellie's eyes. "No, no, no!" she cried out, her voice turning into a panicked plea. "You can't just abandon me. I-Iwon't let you."

Ellie bolted towards the stairs, her footsteps hard against the wooden steps. Panic rushed through you, followed behind her, fearing what she might do next. As you reached the top of the staircase, you saw Ellie rushing towards your child's room.

"Ellie, stop!" you shouted, your heart racing.

But she ignored you, flinging open the door to your child's room. Panic and confusion gripped you as you chased after her. 

"Ellie, please!" you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation.

She turned to face you, desperation on her face. "If you leave, I'm taking him with me. I won't let you take him away!"

Your heart thumped in your chest as Ellie's trembling hands reached for your child. In a flash, she scooped him into her arms, holding him protectively against her chest. His innocent eyes widened in confusion, fear surrounding him.

"No! Ellie, stop it!" you cried out, reaching out to her.

But she clutched him tighter, her voice trembling. "No! n-not yet.. It's too soon! I... I haven't... I haven't..."

The realization struck you. Ellie’s words trailed off. She was lost in a moment of painful memory. She was thinking of Joel. The wounds of their relationship still raw and unhealed. Your child in her arms was a symbol, a fragile connection to the past that haunted her.

"Ellie..." Your voice softened, the weight of her grief finally making sense."It's not him. He's safe. You're safe."

Tears welled up in Ellie's eyes as she clung to your child, her shaking grip. "I... I couldn't save him. I couldn't save him..."

The weight of her words settled in the room, and you finally understood the depth of her pain. It wasn't just about you leaving; it was the fear of losing the people she cared about, a fear rooted so far deep in the scars of her past.

Your child, looked up at Ellie with innocent eyes. "What's wrong mommy ?" the small voice asked. 

Ellie's gaze shifted to him, pain and guilt plastered on her face. She couldn't find the words to answer, her throat tightening.

"Mommy, why are you sad?" he continued, he needed to know what was wrong. He couldn’t stand to see Ellie like this. 

Ellie's breath hitched, pulling the child even closer to her chest. The room seemed to trap her, the walls closing in as if they were tightening, her grip on your child's arms remained. As if he was her only form of escape. 

"I..I won’t.." Ellie mumbled, almost to herself, her voice strained.

Your child’s worry grew, he turned to look at you, needing an answer. You knew you had to do something, but what?

"Ellie, please, just listen to me," you pleaded, taking slow steps towards her.

"g-get away!" she yelled, holding onto your child even tighter, her hands clenching around his small arms.

"ow!" he yelped, a sudden pain in his voice.

Your heart raced with a surge of panic. You didn’t want him to be involved in this.

"please, just let him go, and we can talk about thi-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Ellie yelled, her voice vibrating throughout the entire room.

Your child's eyes began to water, his anxiety growing with each passing second. He didn't know what to think or do. 

"m..mommy, i-it hurts.." he hiccuped, looking up at Ellie with stained cheeks, tears streaming down like rivers.

Ellie's mind was in complete disarray, buzzing with countless thoughts that raced with chaos. Her hands shook, her body unable to find stillness. Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to gather herself. Adrenaline surged through her veins, her breaths coming in heavy uneven gasps. She couldn't focus on anything anymore; all her senses were useless. 

A ringing began to buzz in her ears, her eyes frantically scanning the room, catching a glimpse of you, your lips moving as you tried to speak to her. But the ringing was so unbearable, drowning out any sound.

"ELLIE!" your voice pierced right through it. 

───

“ELLIE!” 

Ellie snapped her neck towards the shout of her name, eyes widening as she took in the sight before her.

There you stood, hands trembling, your shirt drenched in blood, the crimson liquid slowly seeping onto the damp grass. Your eyes were wide, on the verge of bursting. filled with an overflow of tears. Your legs shook, threatening to give way at any moment, knees weakened by the sharp pain from the blade lodged in your lower stomach, Your throat felt strained, as if ellie’s name was all you could speak. 

Frantically, Ellie ran towards you, her heart pounding against her chest. With each step, she stumbled, her breath quickening.

no..No..NO!! 

As Ellie reached you, a rush of tears burst from your eyes, your face covered in salty droplets that slid down your quivering lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Ellie exclaimed in panic, her hands moving frantically as she tried to figure out what to do. "H-Here, baby, lay down," she urged, her voice trembling as she tried to stay strong. 

Ellie gently guided you to lie down, your entire body ached with anguish, trembling as you grunted in pain, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Not wanting to attract any attention. 

You were completely surrounded by the WLF. 

You sank into the damp grass, the earth stained with blood, the sharp scent of iron filling the air. Ellie knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she stared down at you.

"I need something to stop the bleeding," she muttered to herself, her eyes darting around.

"s-stay with me, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling with fear. With swift movements, she tore fabric from her own shirt, clutching it tightly in her shaking hands.

"I'm going to t-take it out... okay?" she said nervously, her gaze fixated on your stomach.

You weakly reached for Ellie's, your own hands completely bloodied from clutching your abdomen. Ellie looked at you, her eyes watering, her gaze filled with terror.

"I got you." she said, leaning forward and placing a kiss on your forehead. The softness of her pink lips being the only warm sensation your body felt. You closed your eyes, hiccuping as silent sobs shook your body. 

You nodded weakly, unable to utter a single word. The pain was too overwhelming, threatening to consume you if you let out even a whimper.

Ellie nodded back, a gesture of readiness. She placed her right hand on your stomach, shaking uncontrollably as she made contact with your cold skin. 

You brought the side of your hand up to your mouth, pressing your teeth into it to suppress the agony.

Ellie reached for the handle of the blade, her hand hesitating as if she were afraid of the very object she needed to hold. Her heart sank as she drew closer to it, her hands finally gripping around it with a shaky grip.

She knew what she was about to do. Pulling out the blade meant unleashing a flow of blood, a sign that your baby's life would be lost along with it. It meant she would have to endure yet another loss of someone she deeply loved.

Ellie's mind raced, her breath quickening with every passing thought. Tears streamed down her face, her chest rising rapidly with the weight of the decision before her. Her lips quivered as she bit down on her bottom lip. 

What she would give to be the one to die instead. 

The baby she could've raised.

Her hand tightened around the knife.

The baby she had dreamed of carrying.

Swiftly, Ellie pulled the blade, the sharp "shling!" sound muffling your groans as blood began to pour out.

The baby she would've killed for.

Urgently, Ellie applied the torn cloth to your wound, her hands working quickly despite their shaking. She pressed down firmly, trying to control the flow of blood as best as she could.

You clenched your teeth, suppressing the cries of pain that wanted to escape your lips. Every movement sent waves of agony through your body, but you gritted your teeth and endured. Your face was completely drenched in tears and snot. 

You had lost everything—the future you had daydreamed about.

Ellie's arms shook as she patched you up, her body convulsing with sobs, her bottom lip bitten to muffle them. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto your skin.

"Ellie.." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. 

───

"Ellie.." you repeated.

You stood before her, your presence causing her eyes to flicker as if what was before her was unreal. Ellie's gaze dropped to your child, his head resting gently against her chest. For a moment, it seemed she had disappeared entirely, lost in a memory. 

"I..." Ellie began, her voice choked as she looked back up at you, tears glistening in her eyes. "I can't keep running from it.." 

"I need to face it.” Ellie continued, her tone serious. "For you, for our child... for myself. I need to change, to become someone you can rely on, someone worthy of your love."

Your heart pounded, each beat a flicker of hope. You realized in that moment, the true reason you couldn't fully accept Ellie's presence this morning. Despite her being in bed with you after months of being absent, she remained unrecognizable. She wasn't the woman you had fallen for, the woman who once held a place in your heart. 

"I'll.. find you again, I promise," Ellie said finally, her voice firm. "No matter what it takes, I'll find my way back to you."

Finally. 

Ellie's words created something, a belief that maybe, just maybe, things could change for the better.

With tear-filled eyes, you gently squeezed her hand.

— 

Tommy’s truck sat parked in the driveway, hauling boxes filled with you and your child’s belongings. With a heavy sigh, you struggled to carry one of the larger boxes towards the truck.

“That’s a heavy one, let me get it for ya,” Tommy offered, stepping forward to take it.

“Thank you,” you replied gratefully

“No problem,” he responded with a chuckle, making his way towards the truck. 

As Tommy loaded the remaining boxes, you took a moment to glance around the mostly-empty house. Most of its decorations had been packed away, leaving the space feeling a bit bare., Ellie’s belongings being the only ones untouched. 

"Mama! Mama!" Your child's voice yelled, filled with excitement as he raced towards you. "I checked the whole house and no more boxes!"

You smiled proudly at him. "Thank you, honey," you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair as he giggled happily.

You had explained to him that you were moving into a new home, and that Ellie wouldn't be joining you right away. Instead, she would stay at the farmhouse, protecting it from monsters until she was sure it was safe. Only then would she come to live with you. It was the easiest way to explain the situation to him, and he had undoubtedly understood.

"Hey," Ellie called out as she walked outside 

"Hey," you greeted, offering her a warm smile. "We're all ready to go."

She nodded softly, her gaze shifting to your child. "Did you secure the house?"

Your child giggled, rushing towards Ellie and embracing her tight hug before doing a playful salute. "All clear!"

Ellie chuckled, ruffling your child's hair playfully. "Good job, kiddo."

"Alright, everything's packed and ready to roll," Tommy announced, clasping his hands together. "Oh, but uh, mind if I use yer bathroom real quick?"

Ellie nodded, gesturing towards the house. "Door to your left."

"Gotcha," Tommy replied, hurrying inside.

Ellie approached you, her steps hesitant. She reached for your hand, her touch gentle as she caressed it softly with her thumb. The sensation of your skin against hers stirred something deep within her, a longing she hadn't realized she harbored so intensely.

"I..." Ellie hesitated. She wanted to say the words, those three simple words that held so much. But she knew she didn't have the right to utter them, not yet. She had to prove herself, show you that she was worthy of saying them, and that you could believe in them too.

As you gazed into her eyes, you saw her determination. It was a silent promise, to do whatever it took to earn back your trust and love. 

"make us..believe again," you said, meeting her gaze. 

Ellie nodded firmly.

You offered Ellie a final smile before lifting your child into your arms. "Take care, Els,"

"Take care, Mommy! Keep the monsters away!" your child chimed in.

"I will," Ellie replied, her voice filled with reassurance as she waved goodbye to both of you while you walked towards the truck.

Tommy emerged from the house, embracing Ellie before stepping back and shaking her hand firmly. "Be safe," he said.

"Don't worry," Ellie responded, feeling the paper Tommy slipped into her hand. "I am."

With a firm nod, Tommy walked away towards the truck, getting inside and starting the engine. As the truck began to move, Ellie waved goodbye, your child's head poking out of the window as he waved back. The truck slowly but surely disappeared into the distance,.

Ellie lowered her hand from waving goodbye, clutching the paper tightly in her grasp. With heavy steps, she entered the house, shutting the door behind her with a loud thud. Throwing the folded paper onto the kitchen table, she quickly ascended the stairs to your old shared bedroom.

Opening the door, Ellie headed directly for the closet, rummaging through it until her fingers found the familiar grip of her shotgun—the same one she had drunkenly tried finding that one night. Gotcha.

Snatching up her packed backpack, Ellie hurried back downstairs, clutching her shotgun firmly. At the kitchen table, she placed her bag on its surface, extracting shotgun shells and loading them into the weapon. Placing the gun on the table before unfolding the paper.

A tourist map of Seattle.

Ellie's lips curled into a smirk as she scanned the map thoroughly. "Huh, you’re still there," she muttered, eagerness coursing through her veins.

Stuffing the map into her pocket and slinging her backpack over her shoulders, Ellie grabbed her shotgun once more. With ease, she cocked the weapon, the familiar click echoing.

She was truly going to face her past.

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l five

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: You and Ellie have a talk outside your house in the middle of the night and you discover her secret; Joel asks you one more time to tell him to back off and you don’t comply.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) mention of reader’s injuries from the previous chapter (very minimal use of color description, i try to keep it was vague as possible), mentions of domestic violence, talk of possible infertility, pregnancy loss, reader describes her miscarriage (mention of cramping/bleeding), infedility. SMUT. fingering, oral sex (f receiving).

Word Count: 7.5k

You stare up blankly into the pitch black darkness of your bedroom—at Luke’s request, you’d drawn the linen curtains over the window, keeping out the moonlight so it wouldn’t disturb his slumber. Unable to see the hour on your watch, you can’t be too sure as to what time it is, but you’re fairly certain it’s well past the middle of the night, possibly even past the earlier hours of the morning. The harder that you try forcing yourself to fall asleep, the more you find yourself tossing and turning under the covers in frustration. It’s beginning to break what little sanity you have left and eventually, you realize it’s better just to give up on sleep altogether.

Luke is laying beside you, although he’d rolled over onto his side with his back to you. He had gone straight to bed after dinner while you’d been washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen and you couldn’t have been more grateful. You often have very little choice but to fulfill your wifely duties in the bedroom, but lately, Luke had been so tired that he hadn’t even bothered with you, and for that, you’d also been grateful. You had grown to loathe whenever he touched you, it disgusted you whenever he would kiss you or put his hands on you in an intimate manner—you couldn’t even stand it when he so much as breathed in your direction.

Being careful not to wake him, you swing your legs over the side of the mattress and climb out of bed, quietly padding your way over into the bathroom. Closing the door, you flip on the lights and take a look at yourself in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging on the wall above the porcelain sink. You begin to silently inspect your reflection, silently praying that you’d somehow made it through another incident with Luke unscathed. Though your face still stings, thankfully no mark from the blow had been left behind—the same can’t be said for your upper arm. Your skin is blemished, soft flesh tender and irritated from the iron grip he’d had on you earlier in the kitchen. It’s splotched, and the harder you stare at it, the easier it is to make out the shape of his fingerprints, an injury you can’t exactly blame on running into the door or an accidental kick from a horse.

It would be hell having to wear a shirt with longer sleeves to cover yourself up in this heat while working outside in the paddock and inside the stables—the mere thought of it alone makes you sweat. Either that or you can hide away at home for a few days until the marks heal, or at least start to fade. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d have to pretend to be sick and miss your work duties long enough for an injury to heal.

You take the thin, cotton gray robe hanging from a hook on the bathroom door and tug it on over your sleepwear before turning off the lights and stepping out of the bathroom. Brushing past your bed, you slip out of the bedroom. You’re careful to be quiet as you swiftly make your way downstairs and dip out through the front door and onto the porch. During the day, the weather is scorching, but evenings aren’t quite as bad—you wrap the billowy fabric of your robe around yourself as you sink down, taking a seat on the top step of the porch.

“Fuck,” you mutter softly.

Covering your face with both hands, you shake your head as you will yourself to keep it together—you fail at holding back the incoming tears. You curse again, angry at yourself for crying over Luke. Bastard doesn’t deserve a single tear, and yet, the number of them you’d shed over him in the last couple of years would be enough to power the hydroelectric dam outside the town’s walls.

You lift a hand to your mouth and muffle your sobs, but one or two slip out into the silence of the night. Not that it matters, because no one’s around to hear them. Besides the patrolmen working the wall on the opposite end of the settlement, everyone is at home, fast asleep in their beds. No one in their right mind was up at this hour if they didn’t have to be. Or so you’d thought.

The familiar sound of Ellie’s voice saying your name startles you, prompting you to let out a loud, audible gasp as your head snaps up and whips to the side. Instinctively, you reach up and quickly, almost furiously, wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your robe. “Ellie?” you say her name in a confused, questioning manner as she approaches. Though your voice is thick with your emotions, your concern for her is still evident in your tone. “What are you doing outside at this time of night? What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”

“I couldn’t really sleep, so I decided to take a stroll. Wanted to get some fresh air,” she says. She draws closer to you and in the soft, dim glow of the porch light, she notices the tear stains that streak the sides of your face. “You know, I thought I heard someone crying and for a minute, I could’ve sworn I was losing my fucking shit or something. But I guess not.” Pausing, she shoves her hands into the packets of her plaid pajama pants. “You okay? And before you lie to me and say that you’re fine, just know that I’m not blind and I’m as hell not fucking stupid, either.”

You could have laughed—you actually almost do.

The girl’s too smart for her own good.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Ellie asks, gesturing with a nod of her head to the spot beside you.  

You nod and as she sits down, your hand wraps itself around your sore arm. It’s not like she can see it through the sleeve of your robe, but it’s a force of habit. Hiding this, concealing that—covering it all up.

It’s wired into your brain.

Ellie pulls her hands out of her pockets and brings one of them onto your bare knee in a soft, light slap. “Alright, princess. Fess up.” She’d pinned you with that nickname since the night she had seen you in a dress at the party. Nudging your side with her elbow, she continues to say, “Talk to me. What happened?”

“Ellie—” You abruptly stop, realizing it’s a waste of breath trying to convince her that nothing is wrong. You’d gotten to know just how stubborn that she could be. Exhaling a sigh of defeat, you confess, “I had a fight with Luke.”

“What did he do?”

Perplexed, you turn and raise an eyebrow at her. Ellie still hadn’t had the chance to meet Luke, and after what he’d said about her, you had every intention of keeping it that way—you want him to stay far, far away from her. Still, her assumption about him being the one at fault catches you off guard. It makes you wonder just how observant the teenager really is and whether or not she has any preconceived notions about your marriage. “What makes you think that it was him? How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

Ellie scoffs, “Please. What on earth could little miss perfect possibly do wrong?”

Another one of her silly nicknames for you.

Unable to help yourself, you crack a small smile.

You release a breathy little laugh and feel another tear slide down the side of your face. Reaching up, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. “I’m not perfect, Ellie. I’m far from it, actually,” you tell her, quietly. “I haven’t always been the best wife—definitely not a perfect one, that’s for damn sure. You might not believe me, but I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in the past, and those mistakes really caused a rift between us that we were never quite able to repair.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Aw, come on. What could you have done that was so fucking terrible?”

You sigh.

“When my father got sick, I let myself drift away. I just had so much on my plate between learning how to take care of the horses and looking after my father as his health deteriorated. It was so overwhelming and I just—I shut Luke out.” You don’t have the slightest clue as to why you’re confessing any of this to a fifteen year old, but it eases the heaviness, lifts a weight that you’d been carrying on your shoulders for far, far too long. “I neglected him, Ellie. I neglected him, and I neglected my marriage.” Your voice breaks off into a trembling whisper, prompting her to nudge you with her elbow once more. Though she hadn’t said anything, it was her way of encouraging you to let it out and god only knew that you needed to get the guilt off your chest and out into the open. Luke is an awful man and you don’t want to justify the terrible things he’s done to you, but you still feel partially responsible for how badly things had fallen apart, how they began crumbling long before the first time he’d ever put his hands on you. “I know Luke never forgave me for that, Ellie. In fact, I would say he fucking hates me for it.”

“Your dad was fucking dying! You had to learn how to be a veterinarian in what—a year or two?” Ellie sounds angry and it doesn’t surprise you. You know she’s grown to love you over the last couple of months—you two spend more time with one another than with anyone else and have become incredibly close. Ellie takes a moment to calm herself down before asking, “How long have you and Luke been married to each other, anyway?”

“For about a few years now. We’ve been together since I got to Jackson,” you explain. “A few months after we met, we exchanged vows in the old church that’s just up the road.”

Ellie brings her knees up and hugs them against her chest. “Can I ask you something? It’s really fucking personal, though.” She notices the amused look you toss at her and rolls her eyes. “More personal than what I’ve asked you up until now.”

“Depends. How personal are we talking?” Though you’re mostly joking, part of you is worried about what’s going to come out of the brazen teenager’s mouth. 

“How come you and Luke don’t have any kids?”

Your eyes fall down to your hands, which you’re subconsciously wringing together anxiously in your lap. “I don’t know, Ellie.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Exactly that. I don’t know.” You shrug and feel her lean against you as you elaborate on it a little further. “Once we’d realized that Jackson was just about as safe and secure as we could hope for, we tried starting a family. We wanted to have children like the other couples here in the community, but it never happened for us. I did get pregnant once. It was right before my dad got sick. I miscarried just a couple of days after taking one of those home pregnancy tests. I had just told Maria about the positive result—I was at her place when I started cramping, and then I started bleeding a little bit. Luke said it was normal for some women to experience that, but the next morning, I used the bathroom and—” You trail off, letting her piece together the last piece of the puzzle.

“Shit, I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright,” you reassure her, not wanting her to feel bad for having asked. “Anyway, after a couple of months, we decided to try for another baby, but I never got pregnant again.” Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the expression on her face and beat her to the punch. “And before you ask me, we don’t know who the problem is. It could be me, it could be Luke—it could be both of us for all we know. But without proper medical testing, there’s no way we can know for sure what’s going on. It’s something that we’re probably never going to figure out.”

For a moment, Ellie’s silent. 

You can feel she’s itching to ask another question, tell that it’s right there on the tip of her tongue.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her. “It’s okay.”

“Are you happy with Luke?”

You hadn’t known what to expect.

But you certainly hadn’t expected that.  

Maybe you should have. 

Masking the shock on your expression, you turn to her and say, “He’s my husband, Ellie.”

She blinks. “You didn’t answer the question.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you, and you quickly clamp it shut.

She’d stumped you. Hard.

After a minute, Ellie laughs, “Well, your silence answered the question a hell of a lot better than you fucking did, princess.” She sees you wring your hands together again and her grin fades. She speaks again, her tone going serious. “I don’t get it. If you’re not happy with him, then why not leave and find someone you can actually be happy with?”

“Ellie—”

“Come on, I see how all the men around here look at you,” she scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Elle, please,” you sigh in exasperation. “That’s not true.”

She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and peers at you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I know Joel’s definitely got a thing for you—he’s got a thing for you big time.”

You stiffen beside her. 

Fuck. 

“And I know you’ve got a thing for him too.” Ellie’s eyes glimmer mischievously, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smirk as she watches the color drain from your face.

Say something, you silently urge yourself. Anything. 

“Ellie, I’m married,” you manage to stammer out.

Ellie snorts and shoots you a knowing look. “Listen, princess. It’s like I told you. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid. I know something happened between you two in Ranger’s stall right before me and Dina walked in.”

Again, she has you at a complete loss for words.

“So,” she prompts. “Who kissed who first?”

“Fuck,” you mumble. Embarrassed, you drop your head into your hands, unable to look at her. “I can’t even imagine what you must think of me—”

She touches your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Surprised, you lift your head and turn to meet her gaze. 

“I think you’re someone who just wants to be happy,” she states. “And for some fucking reason I don’t think I will ever understand, I’m guessing that Joel makes you happy?”

“I like him a lot, Ellie. Since the moment I first saw him back during the winter, there was something that drew me to him,” you admit, feeling your cheeks grow warm. After a minute, you squint at her and chuckle. “You probably find that pretty weird, don’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Really fucking weird,” Ellie replies, causing you to laugh again. “Joel’s a different breed, man. Joel is—well, Joel is Joel. I didn’t see that asshole crack a smile until weeks after I first met him. We come here and not only do you have smiling—you got him to fucking dance at a party in front of a bunch of people. You might not think anything of it, but if you knew the Joel that I met a year ago, the Joel who hated the whole world and every motherfucker in it, you’d be shocked.”

You blurt the question before you can stop yourself. “How exactly did you and Joel wind up together, anyway?”

Ellie’s eyes widen slightly. “Um, I met him back in the Boston QZ.”

Suddenly, she seems nervous. Afraid, even.  

Whatever secrets Ellie carries, she can’t speak of them—and you respect that.

“It’s okay,” you assure her, shaking your head. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, alright?”

She nibbles the inside of her cheek. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you—I do. I haven’t been able to tell anyone and it’s been weighing down on me for months now. It’s the reason I can’t fucking sleep at night. It’s on my mind almost all day, every fucking day,” she confesses with an exhausted sigh. “I know if there’s one person that I can trust to tell, it’s gonna be you and only you.”

Patiently, you wait for her to make her choice.

Ellie sighs again.

“If I do tell you, I need you to promise me a couple things—the first is that you won’t fucking freak out on me.”

“I won’t freak out on you,” you swear. 

“And the second is that you can’t tell Romeo that I told you anything about what I’m about to tell you, no matter what,” she warns you. “Got it?”

“Oh, please don’t call him that,” you mutter with a small shake of your head. She narrows her eyes at you and you hold your hands up. “Don’t worry, Ellie. Whatever we talk about tonight, it stays between the two of us. I promise.”

“Okay.” Ellie inhales a deep breath, then exhales it slowly before she lifts her arm. Slowly, she peels back the sleeve of her shirt and holds her arm out for you to see.

“Ellie,” you gasp her name softly. Taking it into your hands, your eyes glaze over what appears to be a large, healed bite wound. After a moment, you look back up at her in complete disbelief. “Is this from—?”

She nods. “Yeah. I got bit a year ago, but I never got sick.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I’m immune.” Ellie withdraws her arm, tugging her sleeve back down into place. That’s when she finally begins to tell you the entire story, beginning to end. She spends the next hour sparing absolutely no details as she recounts each and every one of the events from the abandoned mall in the Boston QZ right down to the Firefly hospital in Salt Lake City.

She tells you about her best friend, Riley. She tells you about Marlene and the Fireflies. She tells you about Joel and his former smuggling partner, Tess, and how Marlene had entrusted them to smuggle Ellie out of Boston. She tells you all about how she and Joel had spent several months traveling on foot halfway across the country to get her to where she needed to be. Losses, near fatal injuries, failures—Ellie spills it all right into your lap, leaving you speechless.

“Joel told me there’s a bunch more people like me who are immune. He said they’ve stopped looking for a cure.” Ellie’s eyes glaze over with tears, but she furiously blinks them back. “I shouldn’t even be here. I should be dead. But I’m not. I’m living in an actual fucking town, living a decent life. I’m going to fucking parties when I should really be dead.”

Finally, you find your voice.

“Ellie, don’t say that,” you say, softly. “That’s not true.”

“It is. I should be fucking dead, just like Riley. Like Tess. Like Sam—”

You turn, angling your body towards hers. You want to reassure her—but you don’t want to dismiss her feelings, either. “Ellie, I can’t even imagine how you must feel after everything you’ve been through, so I won’t sit here and pretend that I can.” Lifting your hands, you take her face between your palms and hold it gingerly, your thumb brushing a stray tear that had slipped and rolled down her cheek. “But if you’re still alive, it’s for a reason.”

“I thought I had a reason,” she mumbles. “But it’s gone now. I thought I had a purpose, but turns out I fucking don’t. My immunity, it means nothing. It meant nothing, all the fucking shit that I had to go through, that Joel had to go through—it was all for fucking nothing.”

Dropping your hands from her face, you place an arm around her and pull her close. “It might not have worked out the way you wanted it to and for that, I’m sorry,” you say, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I know nothing I say is going to make what you’re feeling just go away. But one thing is for sure, Ellie. You don’t deserve to be dead. None of what happened out there is on you. None of it is your fault. You shouldn’t feel guilty because you’re still alive. It’s like I told you—if you’re still here, it’s for a reason.”

She sniffs. “Maybe the reason is being a thorn in your side.”

Grinning, you reach up and lightly pinch her flushed cheek, prompting her to laugh and slap your hand away. “For the record, you could never be a thorn in my side, Ellie. Not even if you tried.” You wait until her giggles subside before adding, “And just so you know, you have my word about this staying between the two of us.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear it,” you promise her with confidence. 

She flashes you a tiny, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence settles over the both of you. You take in the sounds of the night—crickets chirping, owls cooing, and you can even hear a coyote howling in the distance.

“It’s pretty late,” you say, breaking it a few minutes later when you realize how long she’d been out of bed. “You should get home now.” You stand up and hold a hand out to her, helping her up to her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you to the door.”

You walk her back over to her and Joel’s unit and stand at the foot of the porch with her.

“Hey.” Ellie turns to you. “Is it alright if I like—give you a hug or something?”

Her request takes you by slight surprise, but you nod. “Of course.”

She hesitates, at first. But then she takes a step towards you and slips her arms around your waist.

As you wrap your own around her shoulders, it suddenly dawns on you that Ellie hadn’t asked for a hug because she needed one—but because she realized that you needed one.

A minute or two passes and Ellie doesn’t let you go.

An emotional lump rises to the back of your throat and you bury your face into her soft brown hair, warm tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall.

“Ellie,” you croak her name, trying to warn her. 

“It’s okay,” she assures you. She rests her head on your chest over your heartbeat. She hears it pounding, feels it thrumming against her cheekbone.

She holds you tightly and you finally break, choking a sob into her hair. As your body shudders in her arms, she squeezes you harder, almost as if she’s trying to somehow hug your pain away.

For the first time in two years, you’re finally allowing yourself to cry in front of someone else—for the first time in two years, you don’t feel completely alone.

Suddenly, the front door of the house swings open in such an aggressive manner that it startles you apart from one another.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel breathes, letting out a sigh of relief as he descends the porch steps. “Ellie, what the hell are you doin’ out of bed at two o’ clock in the goddamn mornin’? I went to check up on you and you were gone! Scared the fuckn’ shit outta me—” He stops abruptly when he finally realizes she’s not alone. He steps closer and even in the darkness, he sees the tears you’re trying to wipe away. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. “Sorry, Joel. She was with me. We were just at my house talking out on my front porch and we lost track of time—”

He cuts you off. “Why are you cryin’?”

Ellie’s eyes helplessly bounce between the two of you.

“Joel, it’s nothing. I promise it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Joel turns to Ellie. “Go inside and get to bed. Go on now.”

“But Joel—”

He pins her with a stern look and she sighs. She gives you one more hug, a quick one, before disappearing inside the house, closing the door behind her.

“C’mere darlin’,” Joel murmurs, taking your hand in his. He leads you up the steps of his porch. The light is off, but the moon and stars light up the night sky bright enough that you’re able to make out the concern written all over his face. Joel keeps your hand in his own as he guides you to sit down on the porch swing he’d built and hung for Ellie. He sits down beside you. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you fib again. 

“Really?” He hums. “‘Cause those tears are tellin’ me a whole different story.”

You can’t help but wonder if Ellie had always been stubborn—or if she’d picked it up from Joel. The latter wouldn’t surprise you.

“I had a fight with Luke. It was on my mind and I couldn’t sleep, so I stepped outside to try and clear my head a little bit,” you explain to him, keeping everything as vague as possible. “I was sitting on my porch—Ellie couldn’t sleep either and was taking a walk when she saw me. She noticed I’d been crying and offered to keep me company for a while.”

“You had a fight with Luke,” he repeats.

“Joel—”

“Why did you two fight? He do somethin’ to you?”

You sigh. “He said something to me he knew would hit a nerve,” you tell him, hoping it’s enough of an explanation for him. “I got upset and said something stupid to him that I really shouldn’t have and we got into an argument.”

Joel squeezes your hand, momentarily hesitating.

You’re almost afraid to ask, but you do anyway. “What?”

“Are you happy with him?”

You stare at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t think I stuttered, peach. I asked if you’re happy with him.”

Pulling your hand out of Joel’s, you stand up and walk over to the wooden railing that circles his porch. You look across the road, fixing your eyes on the front door of a neighboring house.

When Ellie had asked you that question, it’d been fairly innocent.

But now that it’s Joel asking you, it’s different.

You hear the sound of his footsteps coming up behind you and swallow harshly. Slowly, you turn around to face him, though you hadn’t realized he had been so close. Your eyes meet his chest, clad in the same navy blue shirt he’d been wearing when you had dropped off your father’s guitar.

Nervously, they flicker up to meet his. “Luke is my husband, Joel.”

Joel echoes Ellie’s words. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Like father, like daughter. 

“We’re fine, Joel. Our marriage is fine. Alright?”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Still didn’t answer the question.”

“What does it matter to you?” you challenge him. You’re certain you know the answer to your own question. Still, part of you, the part that lacks all common sense, wants to hear it from his own mouth. You need to hear it from him. 

“I think you know why, darlin’.” He takes a step closer. He’s now standing so close that his chest touches yours.

“Joel—” You stop, unsure of what to say.

“Tell me to back off,” Joel utters the same words he’d said to you back at the stables. He leans down, inching closer and closer to you. “Please. I need you to tell me to back off right now before I do somethin’ stupid.”

You try to oblige—you really, really try to do what he’s asking of you. But you can’t.

You don’t want to.

Your heart pounds and you can hear the roar of your own blood rushing in your ears as the adrenaline shoots through your veins.

He hasn’t even touched you yet. 

“Please,” Joel nearly pleads. “Tell me to back off.”

“I can’t,” you admit, sounding as weak as you feel. “I can’t do that, Joel.”

“Why not?”

“I think you know why,” you reply, parroting his own words back to him.

He inches closer and your breaths fall from your lips in tiny, pathetic little pants. Your chest heaves as you try to steady them, but it’s useless. There’s no masking the effect he has on you, no hiding how he’s making you feel.

Joel gingerly takes the side of your face and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Baby.”

It’s ironic. Just hours ago, Luke had struck you there in a painful slap and now here is Joel, holding it so softly and so gently in his hand. His touch is comforting, it’s soothing—somehow you already know it has the power to heal the wounds you thought you’d have to live with for the rest of your life.

His other hand moves to your hip and he pulls you in even closer to him. He leans in and presses his lips to yours lightly, carefully, as if he’s testing the waters before allowing himself to take the plunge into the deep end. The moment he feels you melt right into his hands, his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, silently asking you permission for more.

Eager, your mouth parts for him and he backs you into the wooden railing as he kisses you deeper, with fervor. Your hands slide up his chest, past his wide shoulders, and tangle themselves in his soft, graying curls.

Groaning, Joel tears his mouth away from yours and pins you between himself and the railing, his lips meeting the sensitive flesh of your neck and latching on in desperation. He pushes your robe off your shoulders and it falls to the ground with a soft thud. Your breath catches in your throat as his warm, calloused hands slide up the hem of your shirt and up the length of your sides, his fingers gliding across your smooth skin.

“Joel,” you faintly whimper his name, your hands falling back down onto his shoulders. You grasp them, holding on as if you’re holding onto dear life itself.

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel those hands roam and explore the entirety of your body, touching every last inch of skin you have to offer him. Your mind wanders even further and you wonder how your name would sound rolling off of his tongue while he’s buried inside of you, making you his own.

“You really ain’t gonna tell me to back off,” he mumbles the realization into the hollow of your neck. Inhaling deeply, he commits your scent to memory—the sweet, subtle, fragrance of homemade milk and honey bath soap blends together with the delicate lavender from the calming salve you smother yourself in every night before bed. 

“No,” you exhale the world shakily. “I’m not. Because I don’t want you to back off.”

Joel pushes one of his hands further up your shirt, cupping one of your breasts and eliciting another whimper as he kneads the soft mound of flesh, a thumb brushing over your hard nipple. His other hand moves around your waist and he holds you close as his teeth scrape across your collarbone, nipping at it lightly.

He silently reminds himself to be careful not to leave behind marks. He can’t send you home to your husband covered in evidence.

Withdrawing his hand from underneath your shirt, he drags it down to the waistband of your thin, cotton blue shorts. His index finger skims along the elastic. 

“Joel,” you mewl his name into his chest, thighs clenching together as the arousal pools between them, drenching your panties.

Surely he has to know what he’s doing to you by now.

“What is it, my little peach?” he asks, humming against your collarbone. “What do you what?”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders in a silent plea.

“Y’gotta tell me what you want, baby,” Joel murmurs quietly. “Ain’t doin’ anythin’ unless you tell me you want me to. Use your words, sweet girl.”

“Touch me, Joel. Please, I need you to touch me. I need you to fucking touch me,” you beg him in a low, husky voice you don’t even recognize.

Slotting his lips against yours, he does as you ask him and slips his hand down the front of your bottoms. He groans into the kiss the second he makes contact with your heat. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he curses quietly, his eyes snapping open and meeting yours in the moonlight. “Baby, you’re soakin’ wet. This all for me, sweetheart?”

You exhale sharply as he drags his index finger along your entrance—it’s then followed by a loud, audible gasp when he pushes it into your throbbing cunt.

“Joel,” you moan, prompting him to quickly cover your mouth with his once again, swallowing the noise. 

After a moment, Joel pulls away slightly and warns, “Can’t be too loud, darlin’. Kid can’t see us, but I’m willin’ to bet she’s got her ear pressed against the door tryin’ to eavesdrop. Gonna need you to be a real good girl and stay quiet for me, alright?”

You nod, biting down on your lip.

“Good.” He pushes a second finger into your pussy, relishing in how deliciously tight you feel around his digits. He can only imagine how heavenly you would feel wrapped around something else of his.

You sink your teeth harder into your lip and swallow back a moan as he curls his fingers inside of you in an upward, come hither motion, brushing against a spot in your body you didn’t even know existed. Joel withdraws them ever so slightly, then thrusts them back into you, intensifying the flames deep in your lower belly.

“Fuck, peach. Gotta fuckin’ taste you, darlin’,” he mutters as he pulls his hand away from you and takes a step backwards, giving himself enough space to sink down onto his knees.

Realizing what he means, you open your eyes and quickly stop him, pulling him back up his feet. “Joel. Wait.”

He frowns—had you changed your mind? 

“What’s the matter?”

“No one’s ever—I’ve never had anyone do that to me before.” Blazing heat scorches your cheeks as you make the admission.

Joel scoffs in disbelief. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

Embarrassed, you shake your head. “No. I’m not.”

He leans forward and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, making you shiver as he whispers lustfully, “Will you let me make you feel good, sweetheart?”

Your insecurities make you hesitate—but your need for him is bigger than your fears, it’s bigger than the anxieties that stem from your lack of experience. Pulling away, you meet his gaze and nod. “Please.”

Joel drops down to one knee in front of you. He hooks his fingers underneath the elastic band of your shorts and slides them down your legs along with your cotton panties. He carefully frees one of your ankles from the articles of clothing and proceeds to drape your leg over his shoulder. He peppers a trail of soft kisses along the inside of your thigh, his beard scratching at the tender flesh there. As he draws closer and closer to where where he’s aching to be, the tip of his nose brushes lightly against your cunt and he groans your name quietly underneath his breath. He’s already intoxicated—if the scent of your sex is this fucking sweet, he’s willing to bet his life that the taste of you is going to be something beyond his wildest imagination.

You don’t trust yourself not to collapse on top of him. Reaching behind yourself, you grip the railing and your fingers claw at the wood, running the risk of painful splinters. But you don’t even think about that. You can’t think about anything except Joel Miller being on his knees in front of you.

He glances up at you and asks, “You sure ‘bout this, baby?”

“Yes,” you reply, already breathless. “I’m sure.”

He spreads your legs further and moves his head to the apex of your thighs, his mouth, hungry and searing, meeting your cunt. Nose buried in tufts of damp, silky soft curls, Joel slips his tongue between your glistening folds, flattening it out as he slowly drags it forward, savoring the taste of your slick. One of your hands abandons the railing and buries itself into his hair, your fingernails lighty scraping at his scalp. Your knee shakes and you fight to keep yourself upright, but with the way Joel’s ravishing your pussy, it’s only a matter of time before he brings you down. He moans into you, devours you like a man starved—a man who wouldn’t dare leave any part of you not licked, not sucked, not kissed. He swallows everything you have to offer him, drinks it down like it’s water.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, hearing the audible slurping coming from underneath you. It’s a sheer pleasure you’ve never experienced before—a pleasure you didn’t even know was possible. You’d never been touched like this before. Tasted like this before. 

Joel wraps his lips around your clit, taking extra care to give plenty of his attention to the swollen bundle of nerves as he slides two thick fingers into your pussy, stretching your walls.

“Fuck—Joel,” you whisper, willing yourself not to be too loud. He begins thrusting them in and out of you, gradually increasing his pace until the squelching sound of him finger fucking you breaks the calm, quiet silence of the night. All the while, his mouth remains latched onto your clit. Combined with the strokes of his fingers, the way they hit that soft, sensitive spongy spot inside your cunt, you’re approaching a release you’ve only ever give yourself when you were home alone. “God, that feels so fucking good, Joel. Don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop—”

And he doesn’t.

As desperate as you are, his own desperation tops it.

You’re dripping around his fingers, wetness slowly trickling down the palm of his hand, dribbling down to his wrist. Joel keeps his pace, but his tongue flattens over your clit in firm, broad strokes. He lifts his other arm and hooks it around your trembling thigh, holding you firmly in place as your body involuntarily tries squirming away from him. He keeps you right where he needs you, his face still buried in your cunt.

The pressure that’s been building between your hips nears its peak—there isn’t a single part of you that isn’t aching for that sweet, sweet release. “Joel, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m so fucking close.”

He tears his mouth away from you and looks up, whispering, “C’mon, baby. C’mon. Come for me,” he whispers hoarsely. “Wanna feel this sweet little pussy squeeze my fingers.”

You sink your teeth hard into your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying out his name. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, feels different than the orgasms you’d give yourself, better than the orgasms you would give yourself—after coming on his fingers, coming on your own won’t ever be the same. The muscles in your stomach tense, and then an explosion follows, sending you tumbling over the edge as you fall apart right in the palm of his hand. He slows his pace as he helps you right through the tumultuous wave of pleasure that crashes over you.

Unable to hold yourself steady any longer, you feel the leg that’s supporting your weight buckle and if it wasn’t for Joel’s hands flying to your hips, you would have collapsed to the floor.

“S’alright baby, I got you,” he reassures as he holds you up. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Joel feathers his last few kisses on the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of burning fire behind in his wake. He then pulls your underwear and shorts up your legs back into place before rising to his feet with a small, labored grunt. Taking you in his arms, he pulls your body flush against his as he kisses you, allowing you to get a taste of yourself on his lips. It’s foreign but intoxicating, and it makes you drip for him all over again.

As he holds you even closer, you feel his cock brush against your hip and you moan. You squeeze an arm between your bodies and eagerly cup him in the palm of your hand through his gray sweatpants, eliciting a groan from him as he licks into your mouth. He’s hard for you and all you want is to see him, taste him, feel him. 

Breaking away from his embrace, you start to sink down to your knees when his hands catch your shoulders and pull you back up to your feet.

“You ain’t gotta do that,” he whispers, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear. “You don’t owe me anythin’ back, alright?”

“I know I don’t, but I want to,” you insist, batting your eyelashes. Tugging your lip between your teeth, you give him an innocent face that almost makes him come on on the spot. “I really, really want to.”

Joel takes your hands in his. “I believe you, peach. I do. But tonight, all I wanted—all I needed was to take care of you. Make you feel good. That’s it. We can worry ‘bout me another night.”

Another night. It takes you a minute to realize what he means. 

He wants to keep seeing you. Like this.

In secret. In the dead of night, when nobody else is around.

You glance up at him, lips parted slightly in surprise. Then, your eyes flicker down to your hands, still in his, your stomach sinking when your wedding band gleams in the moonlight, garnering your attention. It’s not because you feel guilty, but rather, it’s only a frustrating reminder that you belong to Luke. He would never set you free, not in this lifetime. He’d rather see you six feet under the ground than allow you to end your marriage.

Stolen moments and clandestine meetings in the middle of the night were all you could ever have with Joel Miller.

The man you’re falling for too hard, too fast.

Joel’s thinking the same. He’s not an idiot. He knows that you’re not happy in your marriage, but even so, there’s not a chance in hell Luke’s going to be willing to let you go—much less to be with another man. He remembers the night at the party, the way Luke held you possessively, marked his territory and made it known you’re his. Not his wife, but his property.

He hooks an index finger underneath your chin, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. “Need to ask you somethin’ and I’m gonna need you to be real honest with me, darlin’. Alright?”

Nervously, you nod. “Okay,” you reply, tentatively. “What is it?”

“He ever hurt you, sweet girl?”

A chill runs down the length of your spine. In the steadiest voice you can muster, you ask, “What are you talking about, Joel?”

He clocks the way you stiffen, feels your discomfort. “Luke. He ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Your throat goes dry like sandpaper.

Does he know something? 

No, that’s impossible. 

He’d only ever seen you with Luke once.

“No, of course not,” you lie to him, furiously shaking your head. “We do fight a lot, but he’s never gotten physical with me.”

Suspicious, Joel peers at you. “You tellin’ me the truth, peach?”

No, I’m not! I’m trapped in a fucking nightmare of a marriage and I can’t do anything about it.

You want to take him by his shirt, curl it in your fists and shout it in his face. There isn’t a single part of you that doesn’t want to confess everything to him, tell him about the hell Luke’s been putting you through since your father passed away. But you know better than that. You know that if Joel ever finds out, he’ll go straight to Tommy and Maria

Or worse.

He’ll go straight to Luke himself.

After everything Ellie had told you about him from their journey across the country, you now have a clear idea of just what Joel Miller is capable of, the lengths he would go to just to protect the people he cares about.

“I am,” you finally answer, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m telling the truth. I swear.”

You can see it. Feel it. 

Joel doesn’t believe you.

Without an admission, though, he doesn’t have much choice but to nod his head, accepting the lie. “Alright.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you mumble, taking your hands out of his. You place them on his chest and look up at him through the thickness of your eyelashes. “We might not always get a lot of alone time together, Joel. So what little time we do get together, I don’t want to waste a single second of it by talking about him. Okay?”

Joel wraps his arms around your waist. “Okay,” he agrees with another nod. 

Something tells him that you’re protecting Luke and he doesn’t know why. 

But there is one thing that he does know. 

If he ever catches wind of what Luke is doing to you behind closed door, Joel’s going to fucking kill him.