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SO MUCH TO LOSE CHAPTER 25: MY ONLY - PART TWO

PART ONE HERE

rating: 18+

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for being on this journey with me. I hope you will continue to read my other works (we all know I ain’t stopping anytime soon) and I hope you continue to fall in love with the written word across fandoms, across mediums, across languages. I hope you continue to build a community as supportive and creative and lovely as this one and I hope you have the most wonderful, restorative and amazing holiday season.

all my love, emma

p.s. If my story meant something to you and you can afford it, my ko-fi is here. I spent over a year crafting this and I don't make money from my stories (yet! one day right?!) so if you want to send a little financial love my way (and only if you can afford it) I'd appreciate it. If not, comments, re-blogs and general good vibes are gratefully received.

PART TWO

The day is chilled but the sun is shining brightly. Maria and Tommy are seated outside on their porch wearing flannels with thick blankets over their legs. You’re standing on the front lawn, your feet planted in the cold grass, hunched over with your arms open wide.

“One…two…three…go!”

Douglas squeals a laugh before streaking towards you on his chubby legs. You grin and take the squirming toddler into your arms, spinning him around eagerly along the front lawn. Douglas loves it when you come over because you always bring treats. You also love to play airplane which is just lifting him up and tossing him a few inches in the air before catching him.

“Plane!”

“Once more,” you insist with a breathless laugh, “I’m getting tired!”

He shrieks with delight as you toss him up in the air, catching him under his armpits and spinning him onto the ground.

He stands abruptly, his tiny fists opening and closing as he reaches up to you making faint grunting noises that you know mean ‘again!’.

“Nope, that was the last one,” you say, hauling him into your arms and perching him on your hip.

He sticks out his lower lip dramatically in a pout before his eyes fill with crocodile tears and a plaintive cry sounds.

“Looks like someone needs a nap,” Tommy tuts, taking him from your arms as you come to the porch.

You and Maria remain on the porch, you breathless and she looking serenely out at the calm street. She shifts in her chair before her voice rings out.

“So you and Joel are friends, huh?”

“What?”

Your eyes blow wide as you glance over at her. She’s wearing a Cheshire grin.

“I heard from a little birdie that you were at their place last week for dinner.”

Has it only been a week? It feels like years since you last saw Joel and Ellie. You’ve been avoiding them both, still wrestling with your decision to leave in the middle of everything.

“Ellie told you I’m assuming?”

“She sure did,” Maria nods. “Came the next morning to tell me and Tommy. She sounded like she was announcing a fucking parade, so loud and excited.”

You wince at the thought of Ellie streaming over here to announce something that never should have happened. You should have left when she did.

“Oh yeah,” you say, fighting to keep your voice neutral. “It was nice to hang out again.

“Sure,” Maria says grinning. “Nice.”

Her smirk drops when she sees the tense way you hold yourself, your eyes on your lap. She turns her concerned eyes onto you, a hand moving to tap your wrist.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

At first you don’t want to answer her.

“I… I don’t know how to move past stuff with Joel,” you finally explain gently. “Sometimes I think I want to see him again. But then I’ll remember something shitty he said or did and it’s like I’m back at page one.”

“I wanna say something cliché like your heart will tell you, but the heart can be a bitch sometimes,” Maria tells you flatly, causing you to huff a surprised laugh. “Has he apologized?”

“Over and over,” you nod.

“And has he been respectful?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like spending time with him?”

You exhale slowly, watching your fingers twist in your lap. It feels weird to be talking to Maria about all of this. You lick your dry lips, cheeks puffing as you exhale.

“Yeah. I really do. He’s changed a lot, but, in a good way, I mean.” You blink rapidly. “He’s better to be around.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Maria nods. “Gotta hand it to him. Can’t be easy for a guy like Joel to give up control and get so vulnerable.”

You quietly digest this. You were so upset the other night that you didn’t think about how the old Joel would have handled this.

He would have come to your house in the middle of the night, he would have insisted you talk.

But now? Now he gives you your space. He hasn’t tried to intrude on your life once.

“You forgive him?” Maria poses this question tentatively.

A moment or two pass as you consider this.

“He’s not the same guy as last year,” you finally offer.

Maria is solemn as she continues to gaze back at you.

“The truth is you need to learn to trust him,” she explains gently. “I’m not saying forget everything that happened. But don’t fixate on it if you can if he apologized and meant it. You have to trust in what Joel says. Trust that he’s not that guy anymore.”

You’re still quiet, unsure what to say.

“Or don’t,” she says firmly. “It’s totally your decision.”

///

"I think I'm done," your mom announces at the doorframe. "Gonna do one final sweep."

Her hands are stemmed on her hips and she's grinning proudly if she casts her eyes around the room. She wears old clothes and a bandana around her head, her face sweaty from cleaning all morning.

She's been moving things out of your home all week and into her new place near town. It's a small duplex next to her newest friend Shanna, a widow of eighteen years. The two met playing cards and are often seen at the bison or having coffee together.

You look at her expressive eyes and for a moment you can imagine the child she once was. A bit of Charlie, a bit of you, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"You know I should get you some plants for inside," she muses as you sit on your heels, checking her drawers for forgotten items. "Could really make a difference in here."

"This is gonna be storage mom. I don't see how a plant is gonna help anything," you laugh.

"Still," she says in a tone verging on petulant.

Her comment is hardly surprising considering your mom has found her niche in cultivating plants in the greenhouse. She seems better after every shift, a rosy tinge to her cheeks, a lift in her voice. You had a lush garden when you were growing up so it's safe to say she feels right at home.

And while you're so glad that she's making Jackson her true home, you're sad to see her go, thinking of how lonely this place will be without her.

You like the sound of other feet moving along the stairs, of another person making coffee or listening to the record player your mom brought home with her one day.

You insisted she take it with her, not wanting her to feel lonesome. But a part of you wishes you had one of your own.

You survived so much on your own that it seems so silly to think about being lonely.

"Gonna start loading the boxes into the wagon," she tells you, preparing to move into the next room.

"Mom, wait, what about your clothes?"

"I got everything."

"Not from here," you chide as you tug the bottom drawer open.

It looks bare but when you peered closer this morning you’d seen a bit of fabric. You dig around for a moment before producing a lone green sweater with an embroidered collar.

"This was hidden in the back," you tell her holding it up for her to see. "Keep or donate?"

"Keep!" You're mom says with mock horror. "Jenny made that for me!"

She's snatches it from your outstretched hand and goes marching into the kitchen with determination. You hear her moving through the house whistling to herself and setting up boxes at the front door.

You peek inside the drawer once more, satisfied. You're about to close it when something blocks the drawer from closing all the way. You sweep your hand to the back, your fingertips grazing what feels like wool.

"Mom, you still have stuff in here," you shout with an amused roll of your eyes. She's been so focused on getting the new place ready that she's so scattered today.

You reach inside to pull out what you assume is another sweater, confused when it unravels to reveal it's a scarf. A scarf you'd forgotten, assumed lost in the move from your old place to the new. But as soon as you see it, the snagged loops on one end, the tight knitted design; it all comes back to you.

This is your scarf.

You look at the worn item, rolling your fingers along the familiar ridges and loose threads. This scarf is unmistakable, familiar and when you raise it to your nose it smells of outdoors and the lingering scent of your soap.

How did your mom get it?

Your mom comes to the door, responding to your earlier call. You shift, turning when you hear her footsteps over the creaking floor.

"Mom, why was this in your drawer?" You ask, holding the scarf aloft as you straighten and stand.

Your mom is holding a box of dishcloths, but when she sees what you’ve got in your hand she drops it. She follows it, kneeling beside it and shoving socks and shirt back into it with an agitated look on her face.

“Mom?”

She sighs, eyes scanning the ground as if she’s trying to remember. She gives you a lopsided shrug, reaching for a pair of oven mitts.

"Why was it buried beneath all your clothes?"

"Red’s not my color."

She’s acting cagey, avoiding your eyes as she stands with the box, placing it on the dresser.

“Mom.”

"Oh, uh. I brought it from the QZ," she tells you in a quick mutter. "Used to get real cold there."

Even if it weren't for the fact that you know it was certainty that the scarf is yours, your mother's strange behavior would have immediately tipped you off.

"You didn't get it at the QZ mom. You got it here."

"No I didn't."

"Mom this is mine. I've had it for years. I assumed I lost it."

She pauses and you can see the tick in her cheek as she clenches her jaw.

"Then I must have found it when I was cleaning up," she says with a determined nod of her head.

It's almost believable. A passable excuse as to why it would be here. And yet your mom still can't meet your eyes and that tells you everything you need to know.

"Mom are you lying?"

"No I'm not lying," your mom says forcing a laugh. You take a step nearer, your hand still clutching the scarf tightly.

"Tell me the truth."

She looks so small standing there at the threshold of the door, like she's shrinking into herself.

"I'm sorry," she finally says softly, her eyes glassy. "I just... I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I just... I can't," your mom says again with a plead in her tone.

You can see the anxiety in her face at your accusation but that doesn't stop you from asking again and again.

"I need to know why you have it mom."

“It’s not my place to say,” she tells you in a sharp voice you’ve never heard from her.

"Mom, you have to-"

"Just stop!"

The sharpness of her reply sends you backwards a step. She's always been a funny yet sensitive woman. Never raised her voice never raised a hand to you or Charlie.

Your mom huffs anxiously before grabbing the box from dresser and straightening. You can’t figure out why she’s playing this game.

She moves past you quickly, her hands clutching at the sides of the box. You know that she just wants a breather, a chance to collect your thoughts but you're not letting her get away with that.

You stride after her not willing to let her leave until your curiosity is sated. You slide between she and the front door, arms crossed when she complains.

"I need to go."

Your mom stares you down, her eyes going like tunnels that suck you in. You don't like the shadow that crosses her features.

“You’re keeping things from me,” you say with a wavering voice.

“And you’re not?”

You’re shocked at the challenge in her tone.

“What are you talking about?”

"I think we're both guilty of keeping secrets, honey." Her voice is low and measured, clipped at the ends.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the way you live in this house."

"Huh?"

“Why didn’t you move me into that room down the hall from you?” Your mother suddenly asks you, pointing to the stairs. You feel struck dumb by this diversion.

“What? B-because I thought you’d want privacy.”

“Is privacy why that extra room upstairs is empty? Like it’s waiting for someone to come fill it?”

You stand stricken, your eyes wide. You can’t reply to her – how could she know? How could she possibly know your vision of a bedroom for Ellie? How?

Her voice isn’t accusatory, but it slices through the air regardless.

“Is privacy why you got that big bed upstairs? One that you only sleep on one half of, like someone else should be sharing it with you?”

“Mom-“

“Honey, I don’t want to tell you what to do. Lord knows you’re a grown woman, you have a whole life here. But if there is a family out there you want, why the fuck aren’t you doing something about it?”

How does she know about Joel and you? How could she? Jennifer and Luke? Maria and Tommy? Who told her?

You stand there feeling stupidly vulnerable, fear and irritation mixing in your belly. But it's sadness that trumps them all and you feel your lower lip trembling.

“Because I’m scared.”

She softens towards you immediately, her gaze limpid as she watches her daughters overflow with tears.

“I know,” she says quickly. “I know you are honey.”

You watch the creases in her forehead pull together as she pulls you into her arms, her heart rabbit-ing under your ear. She rocks you back and forth, her voice thick.

Just as when you were a child you feel the safety of her arms and the sobs start up. You drench her shoulder with salty tears as she murmurs your name in that loving way she always did.

"You have nothing to be scared of, honey," your mom soothes, rubbing your back as she holds you against her. "You're so strong and you've overcome so many fears. Look at you, surviving the Raiders, starting a whole new life. What do you have to be afraid of?"

You can't say it out loud; you can't commit your fears to the air. Instead you bury your face in her collar, letting her hold you until the sobs subside.

///

The next evening you lay on your couch humming to yourself as you flip through one of Jennifer's hardbacks, cringing at some of the violence in the murder scenes.

"Jesus, Jennifer," you mutter to yourself when another body washes on shore for the detective to find. "Find a Nora Roberts would you?"

You lower the book, tenting it over your stomach. You thought you'd feel the empty of the house more acutely, but in fact you're strangely relaxed.

Moving the last of your mom's things this morning felt cathartic. And even though you couldn't admit out loud your fear of moving forward with Joel, her words do bring you comfort.

You look at the red scarf hanging over the hook by the door. The Bright color catches your eye every so often, stirring something in your mind that you can't quite grasp.

"Look at you, surviving the Raiders, starting a whole new life. What do you have to be afraid of?"

The crimson of the wool turns bright, a beacon as the words repeat.

Surviving the Raiders.

That night, that horrible night when Joel found you. When he brought you to get checked on by the medical staff, when he took you home.

But you didn't have your scarf when you came back did you? You can't remember, that night is a blur of bloodshed and horror. But it's only logical that Joel would have had it last.

You throw yourself from the couch with your heart hammering. You grab hold of the scarf as you go sailing into the fall night.

Everything falls away for you, the thunder of your heart, the pounding of your feet as you begin to walk quickly. The chill settles over you, blowing over your heated cheeks.

Why would Joel give your mom your scarf? They've barely spoken since you got here. You've never seen them interact outside of the introduction you brokered between them.

The house on Rancher Street pulls into view as you steal towards the door, your eyes narrowed. The street is empty, the sun long set and so no one sees you draw to the door and knock loudly.

When someone doesn't answer right away you continue to pound away on the wood.

"Hold the fuck on," grumbles a muffled voice behind the door.

Joel unlocks and tugs the door open brutally, a scowl on his face. It disappears the second he realizes it's you and you watch his breath catch in his chest.

"What's wrong?" He manages to get out, taking a step towards you. "What's goin' on?"

He sees your furrowed brow, noticing belatedly that you hold the scarf on your hand.

You see his neck bob as he swallows, trying to swallow that creature that lives in your chest. The one that leaps and snaps it's jaws excitedly when Joel is around.

"How did my mom get my scarf, Joel?” You ask him with a trembling voice. "“Why won’t my mom tell me who gave it to her?”

"She was supposed to say anythin’," Joel scowls.

"Why not?"

Joel doesn't say anything, but you watch as a flush creeps up his lean neck. He shifts from foot to foot, staying silent.

“Someone gave it to her,” you say as you search his gaze.

"So? Someone gave your mom a scarf. What's the big-"

"Because this is my scarf, Joel. The one I was wearing that horrible night with the Raiders."

He cringes, eyes squeezed closed for a moment. It's clear the memory pains him.

"I want honesty," you tell him firmly. "We're friends, Joel. We tell each other the truth."

"Come in," Joel says when he notices a couple walking by, their heads turned in your direction at the noise. The last thing either of you want is an audience.

You walk in, suddenly become aware that you might have woken Ellie from the garage and you cringe.

“Is Ellie-“

“At Cat’s for a sleepover,” he replies smoothly. “You wanna drink?"

"Water is fine."

Several minutes later the two of you sit with a glass in hand, yours full of chilled water and Joel's full of an amber colored liquid you assume is whiskey.

Joel's foot bobs anxiously as he takes the first sip of his drink, his eyes skimming from the floor to you and then back again, waiting for you to speak.

"I want answers," you prompt him gently. The scarf remains folded over your thighs and you smooth your hand over it. Joel watches this.

"And you deserve ‘em," Joel acknowledges with a weak little smile.

You sit patiently taking a sip of your water, your spine rigid as you wait for him to explain. Joel takes a weary breath, leaning back against the worn cushion of his couch. He looks like he might be sick.

"So uh, after Christmas we were, you know, we weren't talking. And I was going nuts, I mean I couldn't stop thinking about-" he edits himself. "I knew I'd hurt you really bad. I felt fucking terrible, actually and I needed to focus on something. A project, I guess to keep me from spiraling."

You find yourself drawn in by his mellow voice with its hint of twang when he gets to certain words.

"Heather, she's this lady I go to for therapy," he adds for your benefit, "she said that you were very clear with your boundaries and that I couldn't force my affection on you."

"Smart lady."

Joel gives a crooked grin, nodding.

"Yeah. She is. So when I found your mama I told her that the deal was I'd bring her back to Jackson city, but she couldn't tell you it was me." He gauges your expression, brows buckling. "I was worried if you knew it was me you'd think I was doing it just to get you back."

"Wasn't that the reason?"

Joel shakes his head. "No."

"So then why did you do it?"

"Because I wanted you to be happy again," he says so softly you almost have to tilt forward to catch it. "And I knew it couldn't be me that did it anymore. So I went searching for someone who could."

"How did you find her?"

"You talked about finding your mama for so long," Joel says in a broken rasp. "Said how you radioed to the QZ's. So I did the same. Spent a weeks tryin’ my luck until I got a hit back from the Bo."

“How could you find her when I couldn’t?”

“They know me over there. I’ve got connections. Not the kind of people you would have known,” Joel explains. “I had a hunch of where she might be and it took a couple weeks but the hunch was right."

You sit unblinking, confused as to how you never suspected. You were just so happy that your Mom was here that you never gave a second thought as to how she made it.

"I didn't know what her health was like or if she had a horse or if she even wanted to leave." Joel scratches at his jaw, remembering. "So I told Ellie I had some extended patrol stuff and I took off to Denver. Took me two days because I had to stay off the main roads with Midnight."

You imagine Joel riding through the chilled wind, his gaze steady and his features stony. You can imagine his focus as he rode to an unknown QZ on nothing more than a hunch.

"There must have been a ton of women with her description," you say. "And everyone gives fake names nowadays for safety."

“I just had a feelin’ it was her.”

Joel rode two days on a feeling just to find your mom.

"Arthur did me up a sketch based on the photo you gave him for yours." Joel looks uneasy. "I thought if I had a photo it'd be easier to find her when I got there. I gave it to my contact and I found her a couple days later. Your mama liked to lay low in there. When she heard people were searchin’ for her she made sure to stay off the grid."

“Why? What did she do?”

“Helped smugglers. She was good at findin’ folks in need of smuggled items.”

Your cookies and milk gardening mom helped smugglers? The thought is so farfetched that it makes you want to laugh in disbelief. But then you think of the way she easily converses with everyone, how she seems so bold in a new world. She knows people that much is for certain.

"How did she know you were telling the truth?" You ask him, surprised you're mom would go along with Joel on his word alone. “How did she know this wasn’t just a chance to rob her or something?”

Joel exhales softly through his nose, tongue lodged in his cheek as he internally debates.

“Just a sec.”

With slow footfalls he goes to his jacket hung up by the front door. He locates the right pocket, hand stuffing inside before pulling out a small piece of paper.

He brings it back to you with a tentative look on his face, handing it to you and taking his seat back on the couch. The paper is worn, creased deeply from being folded and unfolded so often.

You open it with trembling fingers, eyes widening as you stare back at your own face done in pencil. You’re sitting at a table, smiling gently. Your face is radiant, your eyes bright as you smile out at the audience.

"I don't... How..."

"I asked Arthur for it," Joel whispers to the ground in shame. "I said it was for finding your mama but I kept it after."

You don’t know when Arthur managed to make this but it takes your breath away.

“At first your mama was just as suspicious as all get out,” Joel acknowledges. “Told me that I was tryin’ to fleece her or worse, kill her for her weapons. S’pretty common over there. But when I showed her the picture she just… softened. She started sobbing right there in the alley.”

Your eyes feel glassy and you blink them at the image in your mind. You can picture Joel standing there, holding her as she sobbed against his chest in disbelief.

“I told her where you were and what the plan was. She just kept thankin’ me over and over. I helped her packed her stuff in ten minutes and then we were gone.”

“Ten minutes?” You ask in awe.

“Just enough time to get some food and water, some belongings and she was insisting we not lose daylight.” Joel smiles crookedly at you. "I shoulda known any woman related to you would be a tough cookie. She wanted to ride through the night our first day out."

You can't help but huff a faint laugh, thinking that it sounds exactly like your mom.

“We camped out halfway back and she couldn’t stop tellin’ me about you. How you loved to help her bake, how you decorated your bedroom with band posters, how you were certain you’d marry Ewan McGregor when you grew up.”

“Oh Jesus,” you burst out in a giggle, covering your face. “It’s because he could sing! I was in love with Moulin Rouge!”

“That’s what she said,” Joel chuckles back at you. “She told me how the house always smelled like fancy candles and how you were grumpy when you had to mow the lawn.” His face grows somber. “She told me what life was like with you and Charlie and your dad…”

“Did you tell her…about…?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I did. I never would have but she asked.” Joel is solemn. “She said she had a feeling this whole time. She thought she was all alone in the world. It was a rough day.”

He spends a long while telling you about their journey back, about how tough your Mom is, how that first night she was cold but insisted she was fine until Joel forced her to take the scarf he had in his bag. This draws your attention, your legs folding up under you on the couch. But he’s already launching into another part of his story.

“She didn’t wanna keep it a secret you know,” he tells you tentatively. “I asked her to.”

“Did you tell her what happened between us?”

“I mean, I left out certain details,” Joel says with a flush to his cheeks, “but I told her the gist. Told her that I lost you because I was a fuckin’ idiot.”

You want to ask Joel more, but right now you’re overwhelmed with emotion and you feel like this is a good stopping point for the evening, telling Joel as much. You’ve received your answer and while it makes you feel dizzy with information, you feel satisfied.

“Thanks for answering everything. I think I’m gonna head out.”

“Of course.”

Joel stands when you do, following you to the front door. He can see the way you fight to keep focused how your eyes are far away as you lapse into thought. Your mind goes over something she said that first day she came to you.

"There was another guy traveling to a different settlement. I joined him for part of the way."

Joel was the guy. Joel brought her home to you. And he did it without wanting any thanks or glory. He did it to make you happy again.

You stop at the door, the scarf still in your hands and you’re overcome with the need for one final answer.

“Why did you have my scarf in the first place?”

A pause and then Joel’s voice is a husky murmur from behind you.

"It was the only part I had left of you.”

He kept it after that night, a talisman of sorts. All those months you hated him, ignored him, despised his presence he was here with a secret part of you. You turn slowly, seeing how Joel seems braced for your words, like he knows what’s coming.

“You really hurt me Joel,” you say with a tremor in your voice.

Joel stands there looking devastated. “You’re right.”

“And I didn’t deserve it,” you continue hotly.

“No. No you did not.”

“How do I know you wouldn’t do it again?” You sniffle. “How do I know you won’t just flip a switch and turn back into an asshole?”

Joel feels the wind go out from him at this question, a fear he never considered now popping up.

“I mean, I’ve gone to counseling and my therapist Heather says I’ve come a long way,” Joel says. His voice is scratchy. “But I guess that doesn’t really prove anything about the future.”

He doesn’t want to promise roses and perfection, he can’t guarantee anything, and he’s never keeping secrets from you again as long as he lives.

"I don't ever wanna lie to you again," Joel admits after a moment’s pause. "So I can't promise I won't have bad days. I can't promise I'll be perfect. But I can promise that I’ll keep workin’ on myself. And I can promise that I'll never be the reason you're in pain again. Never. I swear on my life."

He speaks with a determination that matches the force of his gaze. He's serious, he's sincere and you feel it.

No, you can't predict the future but you think of the last year and you can admit the many steps he's taken. You've seen his attitude change, the warmth that he's starting to exude.

"Okay," you say with a nod.

What else is there to say? You believe him. This version of Joel would never hurt you on purpose. Never. You know that. You trust that.

You trust Joel.

The gradual realization comes on as you both stand there in silence before Joel needs to share something.

"You know last year on patrols when you said you wanted to be someone's only?" Joel asks you, eyes burning into yours.

You nod, recalling that snowy night with you both on the couch wrapped in blankets, sharing a flask of whiskey back and forth before a fire.

"I don't need love. Wouldn't know what to do with it if I had it. I just wanna be someone's only."

Joel swallows, his voice coming out a cracked rasp.

"Well you're my only and all I wanna be is yours."

The moment feels charged with something you cannot name. A feeling that moves past love, something that feels sacred and real.

There is an inevitability in the moment. Like you were always meant to meet him here with your red scarf in hand. Always meant to cross paths with him, lives stitched together.

The months of animosity fall from your shoulders, the hesitation in you quickly melting away. Your feet move before your brain reacts, as if your body can no longer deny its need for him. You can't hold yourself back anymore.

You rush into his arms, wrapping him around the neck and breathing his name as he squeezes you against his chest in surprise.

“Come home with me,” you whisper through tears. “Come home.”

///

Joel can't understand why you're leading him back to your house, your hand in his, fingers laced tightly, but he’s not about to question it.

You keep sneaking glances at him, childish in your obvious delight. He feels a stupid smile splitting his face every time he catches it, his hand squeezing yours.

The brisk fall evening has you feeling giddy as you and Joel make your way hand-in-hand through the sleepy neighborhoods. This isn’t how you saw the night going, but right now it feels so right.

It's not long before the two of you are at your place and you drop his hand. Joel immediately misses the contact. He watches your hair bounce behind you as you make your way to the front door, pushing inside.

"Shoes off," you throw over your shoulder as yours are slipped off, "I just swept."

"Yes ma'am," Joel grins, toeing off his boots and leaving them at the door.

And now he steps over the threshold of the home he hasn’t stopped thinking about. The home he’s pictured you in with memories of stolen glances. The day he helped you with your sign, the day he came to see you for a walk. All little snapshots he’s pieced together when he imagines you here.

"I wanted to give you a tour," you tell him in a way Joel immediately recognizes as nervous. He moves his eyes from your warm furnishings and sees the way you twist your thumb with your other thumb and forefinger.

You're worried he doesn't want to be here.

"I'd love one," he enthuses. "Been wondering how it looked since you moved in."

He's not lying, he has been endlessly curious since construction began. Catching snippets of information from Tommy over dinner, watching Kevin and Luke carting lumber and tools in a large wagon, overhearing comments on how the place was coming along at the bison. And now he's here seeing the fruits of such labor.

And you, you look so fucking proud as you guide him along, pointing out the fireplace that barely needed any fixing, the wallpaper that came off really easy.

You’re almost prancing as you lead him to the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to tell him that you just made muffins this morning and he's welcome to have some. He doesn't want to tell you that his stomach is in eager knots at being allowed into your sanctum so he politely declines.

"I had so much help from everyone," you acknowledge. "Tommy, Kevin and Jennifer did all the building. Hank actually helped with the landscaping this summer. I couldn't believe what a difference he made."

Joel knows he should be upset or even jealous that so many people had a hand in creating this with you. But how can he be?

Joel's chest is glowing warm as you guide him around the kitchen, pointing out things and giving little anecdotes; how the framed baking items from Arthur and Cherry.

Joel keeps murmuring "mhm" when you pause but he doesn't even know what you're talking about. He can't tear his eyes from your profile, from the happy way your eyes squint when you smile or the way you motion excitedly with your hands.

You're beaming from head to toe, magnificently in your element and Joel can only stare in awe of you.

"I have my own little herb garden," you tell him proudly motioning to it on the windowsill. "My mom got it started for me.”

Joel smiles with a nod. He’s always liked your mom from the get-go. No nonsense, funny and wickedly smart, just like her daughter. He can see so much of you in her and he wishes he could run over to her place now and thank her for creating you, for bringing you into the world.

"Luke did the cabinets," you say with a tender smile. "Turns out he's pretty good at it. And Cherry did a lot of the woodwork you see on the arches."

You didn't mean for this experience to be a test for Joel, but you can’t deny you do find yourself gauging his reaction to the news that he's surrounded in a home he didn't rebuild for you himself.

"He did a damn fine job," Joel says with a tight nod.

You exhale lightly, relief sliding down your spine. You show him the rest of the kitchen, the bakery, the bedroom downstairs that holds storage.

"I still need to build something in here to organize everything," you tell him pointing at the haphazardly stacked flour and sugar sacks, the mismatched dish towels and pots. "Right now I kinda just throw everything in here."

Joel nods, not saying anything, but in his mind he's already calculating the best built in needed for such a space. You could fit an office in here too if you wanted. But only if you ask.

Come upstairs," you tell him, a few fingertips grazing the crook of his arm. Joel's body breaks into goosebumps at the contact and he nods, following you.

He doesn't know why, he's certainly not expecting to go to bed with you tonight. Perhaps it’s the intimacy of being allowed into your home.

"This way," you murmur, urging him to follow you with a curl of your fingers.

The stairs don't creak like they did the first time he saw the place, when he kissed you against the wall of this very house against its peeling wallpaper, when you claimed each other.

Now the walls are scrubbed clean, repainted with a soft butter color that gives vibrancy to the old house. His hand slides along the banister, impressed at the smooth finish and he pauses, wondering how they got it so perfect.

Wood wax? Linseed oil?

You stand at the top of the stairs, amused at the way Joel takes his time inspecting everything. He catches you watching him and he ducks his head a little embarrassed before jogging the rest of the way up the stairs.

You tilt your head to the open door to the right of the stairs. He goes behind you, standing at the threshold of the room. He looks over your head, curious to find the space completely empty.

"I thought this could be Ellie's room," you tell him with a nervous glance up at him. "I thought she could put her desk under the window, it's perfect for light. And her bed could go to the left there. But, well whatever she wants."

Joel looks into the room in awe, seeing the vision you have for it. Like a phantom image he can see Ellie working hunched over her desk, laying on her bed reading, laughing as you brush her hair. He sees it all.

You take his hand again and Joel doesn't hesitate to clutch it tightly. Wordlessly you guide him down the hall, pointing out the bathroom, the linen closet, the portions of wood that have been replaced.

Joel feels a pang at the knowledge he couldn't help you with this. He would have made sure every part of him existed in this house with you. But that is rightfully his penance, he supposes, all those months without you.

You push open the door at the far end of the hall, eyes flicking up to his as he views your bedroom for the first time.

The bed is large, the blankets and pillows plush. Dual side tables are on each end holding mismatched lamps. A large closet stands on the far side, a faded rug on the floor. Despite its large size it feels cozy and welcoming.

"And I thought this could be our bedroom," you say nervously, finishing the tour.

Your heart pitter patters as you say this and you watch as Joel takes in what you've said, his dark eyes dragging from your bedroom back to your upturned face.

"Our bedroom?"

"If you want it to be."

His stomach swoops at your words. Joel is shell shocked, his fingers gripping the edge of the door to ground him.

"My mom asked me why I've been keeping that room at the other end of the hall empty," you confess to him in a hush when he doesn't reply right away, "and why this bedroom is set up for two people."

Joel's gaze searches yours, noticing the way your eyes have become glossy.

"I couldn’t tell her that it’s because I imagined us living here together as a family," you whisper thickly, not able to find your voice above that volume.

Joel peels his hand from the doorframe, his body turning to fully face you. He tilts his head, capturing your eyes.

"And... Do you still imagine that?"

"Yeah," you nod, lips quivering as a tear slides down the front of your cheek. Your eyes dart between his, anxious once more.

"What do you think about that?"

The words fall from your lips just as his crash into them. His fingers are suddenly at your jaw, holding you there so that he can show you everything he feels in this touch.

You break apart, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you tightly against him. You're both laughing lightly at the passionate exchange before your hands are sliding to his cheeks, rubbing. You stare into his face, his beloved face with all its masculine glory.

Joel stares back, swimming in the beauty of your eyes as you regard him. You're so strong, so beautiful, so independent. A moment of self reflection has Joel tensing up under your fingertips, trying to look away from you as he winces. You force his eyes to yours with a gentle nudge of your fingers.

"What?"

"You don't need me anymore," Joel says and his voice is ragged at the edges. "Maybe you never did."

You move your fingers to his stumbled jaw, urging him to look at you. His rounded eyes meet yours as you speak softly.

"Maybe not. But I want you."

You've always watched Joel's eyes when you were with him before, marveling at how the glossy black would overtake the chocolate brown. You noted how the ends of his long eyelashes were a faint blonde in the sunlight. You mapped the lines at the corner of his eyes.

But tonight you look deeper and see eternity in them. The steady promise of more than this moment. The unspoken voice that begs and promises forever in the same breath.

Your hands move to cup his cheek in a move that is nothing to do with possession and everything to do with adoration.

"I love you, Joel," you tell him plainly. There's no frills to it, no tease or coy twirl to your words. It's straight forward, raw and left there at his feet.

You don't look away from him when you say it as you normally would with such an overwhelmingly emotional confession. There will be no more hiding from each other.

And because of this steady eye contact you see how his eyes grow glassy. You see the quick blink as if he's afraid to miss even a millisecond of you. And now two fat crystalline tears escape like traitors down the side of his cheek.

For a moment he can't speak. His jaw quivers and his lips twitch as he tries to swallow the anguish building in his throat. You wait patiently, your thumb rubbing his cheek as you continue to hold his face.

"I love you so much," he tells you as if it's the first time. He can't stop blinking furiously, as if it will fan away the tears that are continuing to coat his cheeks. "I've loved you for so long. I-I-"

The ugly sob he's been trying to stifle escapes now, cracked and tremulous into the air. In shame he buries his face in your neck, clinging to you with his arms around you, palms at your shoulder blades.

"I never stopped," he says in shaking jolts as he fights to stop more tears. "I never stopped thinkin’ about you."

"Neither did I," you admit, your own hot tears silent. They begin dripping onto the back of his neck, disappearing into his curls at the nape. "I wanted to forget you but I couldn't."

You hold each other in the quiet of the bedroom, both rocking against one another. And suddenly Joel pulls back from you so that his hands can cup your damp cheeks.

"I'll never hurt you again," he swears ardently.

"I know you won’t," you tell him, nodding your head, barely able to because of his large hands. And you do know because you know Joel.

And now his head dips and you inhale as the plush warmth of his lips slot between your own. The kiss is sweet, slow and his hands slide down your ribs to circle your waist.

Your arms crook around his neck, face tilting to deepen the kiss. Had it always felt this perfect? Or is it only now that there is nothing but love between the two of you?

"So does that mean you'll move in?" You ask him when the two of you break apart, needing to lighten the intensity of this moment. "I mean, if Ellie wants to too."

"Of course she will," he promises with a smile that makes your insides tremble. "You know how much she talks about you? Living with you'd be her dream... And mine."

When you beam up at him Joel thinks he might faint. He's dreamed of this for so long, ached for your company and desired your sweet nature. And now you're here and you're accepting his love and he feels fresh tears starting.

You stare up at him with your eyes glassy and soft. The kind of look he prayed he'd see in you again

"I love you," he says again because he can. He says your name in a reverent whisper. "I love you so fuckin' much."

Your fingertips slowly move up his chest, forefinger dragging along the pebbled flesh of his neck before curling around the collar of his shirt.

"Show me?"

You ask him this quietly with a small hitch to the corner of your mouth. One that has Joel's body thrumming with arousal.

His mouth meets yours in a bruising kiss. He slouches slightly to grip you by the back of your thighs and hoists you into his arms, his mouth still devouring yours as he walks you both to the bed.

Yeah, he'll show you.

He'll show you for hours how much he loves you. He'll happily repent with his mouth between your thighs for all the times he was a fucking idiot. He'll worship your body the way he should have been from the start, slow and intentional.

He perches on the edge of the mattress, holding you there over his thighs. He wants a moment to gaze at you, to revel in your presence heavy in his lap, eyes hooded with matching desire.

"You're the only one I've ever wanted like this," he tells you with honesty. "Not just in bed, but in my life. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever met."

You preen under these words. The normally recalcitrant Joel Miller pouring words of affection and devotion over you like flower petals off the fullest branch in spring.

"Biggest heart," he continues as his lips come to press against your neck, "Creative and smart and talented." His tongue comes to swipe against the ticking pulse at your neck. "And you're so fucking sweet."

You don't know if he means in disposition or taste, but you find you don't really care. Not right now. You can only whine softly because it feels so good to hear these things but you're still both so dressed.

Your fingers come to his flannel, urging the buttons open but your hands are trembling in want. Joel takes over, kissing you as he shrugs the flannel from his shoulders, wishing he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt as well.

You stare at the broad frame of his body, a half smile on your face. You remember this body so well, like it’s etched on the inside of your lids.

“I need to feel you, Joel,” you murmur against the notch between his collarbones, just above the neck of the t-shirt.

Joel growls, almost tearing his t-shirt off over his head. Your arms go around his bare torso, mouth kissing his collarbone softly. He's so warm, so firm.

He urges you both onto your backs against the soft mattress, kicking off his jeans and boxers as he goes. You take the time to trace the sharp planes and slopes of his broad body, the strength of his arms and the way his body looks so powerful when he’s naked, his cock jutting.

Joel looks at your face bathed in the gentle light of the moon through his window. His heart thumps heavily behind his ribs at every point of contact.

A beat as he looks at your smile.

A beat as he strokes the flesh of your cheek, causing your eyes to close.

A beat as he leans forward and presses feather light kisses to your eyelids. He feels them flutter under his lips and his own eyes close as he savors the sensation.

And finally a tremulous beat as he whispers "I love you," against your mouth and you reply in kind.

Every inch of your body is explored with his hands or fingers or mouth. Nibbling at the side of your neck, groaning when you make a stilted moaning sound. Licking over the same spot, hoping he didn't mark you but secretly wanting the world to see his claim on you. But not in dark possession, in pride of you being his.

His fingers curl under your panties and you lift your hips to help him divest you of them. They join his boxers on the floor. He runs his hands along your bare thighs, eyes tracing the path over your exposed body and he sighs in desire.

An insecure part of your mind wonders if he'll still desire you the same way now that it's not forbidden. Will his fervor die off after tonight?

As if he can sense this he takes his time dismantling your anxieties, urging you to lay back and relax as he tends to your bare flesh. That you're the most stunning woman he's ever seen. That he's never loved anyone the way he loves you.

You bask in the sweetness of his words, letting them surround you like the sun on your body. Joel watches the serenity cross your features and he feels himself swell with pride.

You reach for him and he immediately acquiesces, tumbling into your arms and kissing you deeply. The two of you are bare and the warmth of your skin against each other puts you into a frenzy.

Your hips begin to roll against his, desperately seeking his cock where you want him most. But Joel doesn’t want to rush this. He gently urges your arm back, hand smoothing down your shoulder, your collar, and your breasts. As if he’s becoming reacquainted with the body that never left his mind.

His fingers wander along the slope of your belly before traversing to the crease of your thigh. He hears as you open yourself to him, thighs spreading widely.

Your thighs widen and Joel begins to tease your outer lips with his fingers, lightly grazing. The sensation causes goose bumps to rise all over your body, your nipples jutting.

He moves his mouth over one, sucking and nibbling just as two finger slide into your core. You gasp and Joel can’t help marveling at how warm and wet you are. The sensation so familiar, so welcoming, so safe.

He wraps one arm under your neck, his mouth moving back to kiss you. Your breathing is loud and Joel is groaning into your mouth as his fingers curl within you.

He continues pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, building you up in a languid lazy way. He feels your thighs tighten and release over and over, your pelvis tilting to better meet his touch.

You want to cry. Not because you’re upset, not because you’re overcome emotionally, but because it feels so good. The months of your body missing his coming back in full force.

He can’t stop watching your body respond to him, your nipples hard and breasts heaving as you get closer to release. He tears his eyes from your saddling brows only to watch his fingers growing wetter and wetter with each pump.

You’re so perfect.

He strokes and taps and pumps faster. Your throat is exposed as your head tilts back, a low moan escaping you as a shiver of pleasure goes through your middle. He can’t help but lean forward, dragging his lips against that soft place behind your ear.

“I love how you sound when you’re close,” Joel groans.

You give a breathless smile, wanting to say something back but struck dumb as he begins to thrust and curl his fingers, his hot breath on your cheek.

Your thighs are shaking, your lower belly tensing with the approaching wave of pleasure. Joel can feel it, has mapped your body and its all flooding back to him as he keeps the tempo of his thrusting fingers steady.

“Go ahead and come baby,” Joel whispers against your jaw. “I wanna make you feel good.”

At the sound of that rasp in your ear, your voice goes into a stuttering cry of his name, your back arching aggressively off the bed. Joel feels your cunt clench and flutter against his fingers, his mouth hinged open as he watches you shatter for him.

“Just like that, baby, just like that.”

You cry out his name again, your hands fisting into the sheets as he wrings the orgasm from you, slowly and with a deep voice that urges you on. After a few moments with your body pliant you blink your eyes open.

Joel’s thumb is at your hip, rubbing there as he smiles down at you. He’s looking at you with desire and devotion in equal measure.

"You have no idea how much I missed that,” he tells you huskily.

"I have some idea," you giggle, feeling so free with him, so delightfully light, like your love for one another shone a warm yellow light and chased the darkness away.

He kisses your lips, savoring them before moving to your jaw, then your neck, a lazy map down your body. He does this taking his time, listening for every hitch of your breath, every whimper and moan.

Joel's eyes slide open to see you gazing at him down the length of your body. Your eyes are pitched black and hooded with lust, your chest rising quickly up and down.

His hands look so broad and rough against your skin, urging you to open for him so he can move his mouth to your core.

"Please lemme taste you," he begs, his breath hot against your inner thigh. "Please, baby, I've been dreamin’ of it."

His body squirms, trying to slot his broad shoulders between your legs. He’s shifting further downwards but you stop him with a hand at his shoulder, gripping loosely. Your fingers are weak from being curled into the sheets, but he stops regardless.

"Next time," you promise him with a breathless little sigh, "right now I need to feel you."

He nods in understanding, pressing a full-lipped kiss just above your core. Your body trembles as he begins to crawl up the length of your body, his eyes trained on yours.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to enter you. You're tired of waiting. Still smiling Joel tilts back and reaches down between your legs, stroking up the lips of your cunt to find you coating his long fingers with your arousal. You mewl at the contact, whispering his name in a tortured moan.

You watch him grip his cock by the base before slowly dragging himself between the seam of your cunt, watching as your lips quiver with need. You’re still wet and sticky from your previous release and Joel feels heady from the sight and feel of it.

You squirm in the bed, whining as Joel grins proudly to himself, rubbing the head of his hard cock gently against your clit. You hiss his name, biting your lower lip and Joel knows if he continues teasing you he’s going to finish far too quickly.

To think he wasted even a moment of this intimacy with you causes anguish to nudge up next to the overwhelming ecstasy of being in bed with you.

You reach for him, fingers sailing through the night air until they make contact with his chest. There they slide over his flesh until they wrap around his shoulders. He plants his forearms on either side of you, sinking you both into the mattress. Joel smiles at you, that dimpled sincere smile and you think you might die from joy

"I missed you," you whisper.

"Same here," he replies.

Joel can't focus on anything over the tumultuous beating of his heart as he gazes down at you. And it's not your nudity that entrances him the most; it's the open, unguarded way you lay there waiting for him.

"I wanna give you everything," you tell him honestly.

The trust that flows between you both is like an invisible string that he feels tug when you utter this. His hand tilts, his fingers moving a few stray hairs from your face. Your sweet, beloved face.

"I'll take whatever you want to give me," he replies hoarsely. "And I'll give you whatever you want."

“I want you, Joel.”

That burning feeling is there at the back of his eyes again.

Don't start cryin' again, Christ, Miller.

Joel watches you notch him at your entrance and with a hitch of his breath he slowly sinks into you, eyes on your face the entire time. He refuses to waste a second more not existing in the moment with you.

He's not even halfway in when he feels you tense. He stops immediately, thumb rubbing your cheekbone anxiously.

"You okay?"

"Yes," you reply in a sibilant whisper. "It just...feels so fucking good, Joel."

You hear the sound of his smile before you even open your eyes to affirm it.

"I'm gonna keep making you feel good, baby," he says against your cheek, pushing his lips there. "You want that?"

"Yes... Yes," you groan, mouth finding his as your hips begin to roll.

There's no fight for dominance on either side. Just the meeting of equals both desiring to give the other pleasure.

His hands slide under your back, holding against your shoulder blades for purchase, body so tightly pressed to his you feel the drum roll of his heartbeat.

He makes love to you slowly and gently, pushing his desire into you deeply as you grip onto the back of his neck with one hand, the other tight around his shoulder. Your legs are pushed wide by the broad of his body and your breasts bounce with each thrust of him.

“More,” you whisper, your hips rising to meet his. “I wanna feel you everywhere.”

His body moves against yours a little firmer, nudging inside you more. Like he's making a home for himself within you, marking you in a completely different way.

He pulls out slowly, the tip teasing your clit before he sinks back into you, giving a throaty moan at the sweet clench of your cunt around him.

“Fuck!” you cry out at the sensation, your body tingling. “Yes, fuck, just like that.”

Joel smiles against your neck, grunting as he starts to go faster. He thrusts into you quicker and harder and before you can roll your hips once more to meet his your crest is starting out of nowhere.

Your forehead meets his, your mouth open in a silent scream as you jolt under him. Your hands are wrapping around his forearm, fingers digging in and leaving small crescents as you feel him start to fuck you into the mattress.

The pleasure between your legs is building as Joel continues to draw himself out and then bury himself to the hilt, his eyes on your face, gauging every expression

“You gonna come for me again?”

“Yes,” you whisper, brows saddling. “Fuck, yeah I-I-“

You don’t have time to formulate your next thought because a white strip of bliss slices through you, making you hiccup a gasp as your cunt spasms around Joel’s thick and thrusting member.

"You're so fucking good," Joel is rambling, hips slapping against yours as he feels you release around him. "So fucking good, baby. Gonna make me come."

Your eyes crack open, desperate not to miss a second of Joel's gaze. You can't help but grin up at him, your pupil’s heart shaped.

"On me," you whisper raggedly, you're body pliant. "I wanna feel you on my skin."

You want him on your flesh; you want to feel every part of him become yours. You want to melt into each other, to feel his stuttered heartbeat echoed within your own ribs, to be one in the deepest possible way.

He can't stop moaning your name over and over even as he reluctantly pulls from you, even as his hand strokes furiously and his eyes never leave yours. And it morphs into the same three words over and over until he begins to spill himself onto your belly.

"I love you I love you I love you-"

Those three words become a mantra as you whimper and arch, ready and desirous of him, kissing the gold forearm beside your head.

"Joel, please."

Your voice plaintive and needy for him makes his spine tingle and he coats your belly in pearlescent ropes until he's gasping for air, one hand still planted beside your head.

"So beautiful," he grits out, his body trembling from his release as he gazes at himself decorating your flesh. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He collapses next to you in the bed, pulling you into his arms and kissing you fiercely. You both stay like this for hours, touching and kissing until he washes you both up with a warm washcloth.

He snuggles into bed behind you, pulling your back against his front on the side of the bed you’d always reserved just for him. The thought comes to both of you from the ether of bliss as you drift off to sleep.

Home. You feel like home.

///

When you first wake up you do so slowly with your eyes in slits and hand groping for the warm form of Joel beside you. You immediately tense when you're fingers touch to find an empty bed.

It was a dream. It was a fucking dream.

Joel was never here. You never found the scarf. You never told him how you feel. It was all a desperate fantasy you concocted.

Anguish like an ocean wave crashes over you before it forces you into the fetal position. Your brows begin saddling as you're swept out into unforgiving and unkind waters.

It felt so real. It felt so perfect. How could it have been-

"I was made for lovin' you baby, you were made for lovin’ me..."

A dulcet voice singing softly carries through the quiet home before the clattering of pans drifts up the stairs.

Is it fantasy? Desperate ghosts you've created? You don't care, you throw off your blanket and pull on your robe. You move so quickly you trip down the last two steps off the stairs, sending you careening towards the kitchen.

Your eyes blink in order to adjust to the bright light casting the tall figure in silhouette. You take a step towards it, momentarily terrified that this is a phantom, an apparition.

He's standing in front of the stove, the sun streaming in from the window in front of him. On the counter is a small stack of pancakes. His shoulders move under his t-shirt as he flips one in the pan.

Your hand goes to the wall, holding yourself up. You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a cracked gasp.

At the sound Joel turns around with a smile waiting.

"Mornin', thought it was time someone did some cooking for you for a change," Joel says huskily.

His grin is sleepy and his hair tousled, but his lips curve down when he sees the anguished look on your face.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Without pause he slides the pancakes from the strove top, moving the pan off the element.

You stay supported by the wall, your hands trembling as you watch him approach.

"I thought you were gone... I thought it was a dream."

Joel's face goes soft all over and he closes the distance in two long strides, pulling you into his arms so fiercely your feet momentarily come off the ground.

"I'm never leavin'," he promises you, his voice muffled by your hair. "You never have to worry about that ever again. I won't leave unless you want me to."

You pull back and gaze up at him, your fingers coming to curl around his jaw, thumbs tracing along his warm skin.

"I never want you to leave," you confess, though it's so apparent in the way you focus on him. You press your cheek to his chest. "Never."

"You say that now but you haven't seen my clothes on the floor or dirty dishes in the sink," Joel teases gently against your temple. "Haven't heard me snoring when I have a cold."

You smile to yourself, knowing full well that you'll cherish dirty dishes mixing with yours and the sight of he and Ellie's laundry hanging side by side along with your own.

Before you can tell him just that, Joel's gently urges your face up so that his mouth can lower against yours. His lips are always so soft and so warm and promise you everything you've ever wanted from him.

You melt; your entire body pliant as he tastes you, still in awe of everything that has happened in the last ten hours.

He's never going to fuck this up. He's never going to be the reason you cry. He's going to be the man you and Ellie deserve.

Your kisses turn more insistent, one calf coming to curl around the back of his knee as you crook your arms around his neck. Your tongue dabs his, a whisper of a sigh exchanged at the contact.

Joel knows that pancakes are waiting and the coffee brewing, but it doesn't stop his hands from frantically pulling at your robe's sash.

Your body is naked under the fabric, brought to light as he unties the sash and his hands greedily slide against your bare flesh. Goosebumps rise under his touch and your nipples are already hard.

You're so responsive to him. Will he ever stop being in awe of the way you melt under his touch? His mouth trails to the corner of your lips, pushing your robe off your shoulders until it pools at your feet.

You go to cover your naked form in the bright morning light, showing all your flaws. Joel shakes his head, gently tugging your arms from your body.

"Please don't hide," he whispers as he continues kissing down your neck, licking at the pulse under your jaw, his hands squeezing your breasts as you moan into his mouth. "Never hide from me."

You make a little whining noise when his fingertips begin to pluck and twist your nipples gently, pushing your chest into his big hands.

"Fuck, I love that sound," he murmurs against your collar.

His mouth travels down the valley of your breasts, his hands still cupping them, thumbs grazing against your straining nubs. Your own hands are weak from pleasure, head tilting back as you try valiantly to hold onto his t-shirt.

You whimper when he makes his way to his knees, his mouth never leaving your body. His hands slide over your thighs, over and over, lulling you as his lips trail downward.

He kisses your inner thigh, glancing up to see your eyes closed, giving into the sensation. The sight makes him grin before he urges one of your thighs over his shoulder, opening you to him.

You watch this through lowered lids, lips parted as you watch Joel's face. His eyes are shut and he kisses your hips with a peaceful look, his strong nose brushing against your inner thigh.

"Been dying to taste you again," he rumbles.

Your face is warm with shy excitement when you glance down to watch his mouth dipping lower.

"Joel," you coo, hands in his curls, your back arching, desperate for his mouth at your core.

His broad palms slide over your hips to hold you in place against the wall. Inhaling, his lips graze along your silky inner thigh. And then right there in the kitchen, bathed in warm morning light, Joel takes his time and finishes what he started the other night.

He groans as you fall apart under his ministrations, your hips rolling lazily against his mouth, your cry of his name a slurred chant as you crest.

He watches up your body, needing to see the exact moment you release, struck to find you already gazing down at him with starry eyes.

"I'm so close," you utter shakily, the last word two-toned as you come. Your body twitches and Joel groans, lapping between your legs as your stomach tightens.

"That's my girl," he growls, licking at you as you continue to cry his name.

Your hands are fists on his shoulders, your body finally slowing as you come down from your high. When you finally finish he kisses back up your body, leaving a glossy trail like a map of desire along your skin. He stands upright again, cupping your face and kissing you gently.

"I love you."

Then he helps you into your robe, tying up the sash and kissing you again. When you grin up at him he feels his heart give a tug at that open, joyful look in your eyes. The same one he saw at the lake that day.

He leads you to the table with his hand around yours, setting up pancakes and syrup in front of you. He kisses the top of your head and then moves to get you a cup of tea and him a coffee. You slice up your pancakes, savoring the sticky syrup as you take your first bite.

"Oh that's good," you hum.

"Yeah?" He smiles when he returns to sit across from you, his coffee and your tea steaming. "I'm no baker but I do okay with pancakes."

You grin at him, watching him start to dig into his own pile. You feel dreamy and unreal having him here with you in your kitchen, eating breakfast. His eyes meet yours and they don't dart away.

You grin at him, your hair wild from sleep and your face blotchy from where his facial hair rasped against your soft skin. You're the most perfect thing he's ever seen in his life.

He thinks about your offer to move in, of the way he can already imagine the memories to be made. How your home is filled with touches of everyone you love and how you allowed Joel here before anyone else. Back when it was just good bones.

He doesn't want to waste another moment not being with you.

"Was just thinkin' we could tell Ellie today about us and movin' in," Joel asks tentatively. "How do you feel about that?"

"Fine by me," you tell him with a toothy grin, your body flushed with delight. Truth be told you already brought out fresh sheets, ready for Ellie to spend the night on the couch until her bed was brought here.

"Then after that I thought we'd tell Maria and Tommy?" Joel's dark eyes search yours as you pop another sweet bite into your mouth. "Then Jennifer and Luke and whoever else you want to tell."

He's making it clear to you that he has no desire to hide this relationship. That unlike before when your coupling was hidden away, he wants this announced loudly. You're touched by this and yet you hesitate.

"Could we wait?" You ask gently, one hand reaching to run along his forearm. "Could it just be us for a little while longer?"

Joel can see the tension in your face, concerned that he'll be upset that you want to keep the two of you in a small cocoon a while longer. You just want to exist with him before the world intrudes with its loud ways.

You want it quiet just a little longer.

As Joel said, he'll give you everything and he meant that. He takes your free hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and kissing your knuckles reverently. He doesn't look away from you.

"Anythin' you want."

You're convinced your face will break for how wide your smile is. For the first time in so long your life feels how it was always meant to: quiet and peaceful.

"I'm really glad you're here," you whisper to him.

His hand snakes across the table to grip yours and his voice is thick.

"Me too, baby."

You move your hand to his cheek, marveling at how this same face you started out hating is now the dearest face to you in the world. He holds your hand there with his own, his eyes glossy the longer the two of you gaze at one another without speaking.

In that quiet morning you come to realize that you were right before. This moment, this life you're starting with Joel is a dream.

A dream come true.

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whataboutcloneclub · 14 days ago

Text

Healing Touch | Chapter 3: Love is a battlefield

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.

Warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, mentions of torture and kidnapping. Blood. Nightmare and PTSD. Alex “Havok” Summers being an ass, does that count as a warning?

Masterlist

Charles caught wind of one of Stryker’s bases. While the Sergeant in question was long gone, his plans were carried on by his followers, and some mutants were still being experimented on. That’s how you found yourself in one of the team’s missions. It wasn’t your first, but you still got nervous and you doubted that would ever change.

Ororo flew the X-Jet to the destination while the rest of you got ready, making sure your intercoms worked.

There weren’t many things that scared Logan, but flying was one of the few. You remembered being a bit surprised by this when you went on your first mission. Now you made a note to always sit next to him so you could help him.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, leaning in closer so others wouldn’t hear you. “You look a little bit… green.”

Logan grumbled.

“I think my breakfast didn’t sit right with me.” He lied.

You smiled and offered him your hand.

“Let me help…”

Logan took your hand and he instantly felt better. You took away both his nausea and his anxiety with just one touch. Logan closed his eyes in relief and rested his head back on the seat.

“Better?” You asked.

“Mhmm… You’re a miracle worker.” He said. Just as you tried to pull your hand away, Logan tightened his grip. “We still have a long way to go. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” He reasoned and you felt your face getting warm. Your hand stayed in his for the rest of the flight.

When the jet landed, everyone took their positions. The stronger X-Men would descend first and clear up the path, taking down any threat. Logan, Scott, Hank and others like Havok and Bobby were part of this group. Then came the second group: Jean and Ororo would free the mutants that were being experimented on. And finally, the last group: you and Kurt were there to get the mutants out safely.

Of course, the first one to get out of the jet was Logan. Not only he couldn’t wait to get out of there, but he was always ready to go head first into a fight. You knew he could heal quickly from any wound, you’ve seen it happen yourself, but that didn’t make you worry about him any less. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to get your head in the game. You had to stay focused in case anyone needed you.

The first group went into the base, clearing it from any soldiers and mutants that worked for Striker. Once there was a clear path, the rest of you made your move. The place was a maze, but thanks to Jean’s powers, she could sense where the prisoners were, and she knew where to go.

It didn’t take long before you found a big room filled with cages.

“Oh god…” Ororo said in despair when she saw kids trapped in those cages.

Jean quickly got to work: using her power she moved the inner parts of the locks and opened them.

One by one you started getting the kids out.

Some of them had gone through literal torture and were wounded or in pain, so you got to work right away, healing them while Kurt took the healthy ones to the jet.

“Place is clear, we got them all.” Jean said as Kurt took the last child.

“My turn.” Ororo said, her eyes turning white. She raised her hands and a could formed on the roof. A lightning bolt struck the controller next to the cages and destroyed it completely. “No mutant will ever be kept here against their will.” She said.

“Angel,” You heard Scott calling through the coms. “Alex got shot, he needs your help.” He said.

“Where is he?” You asked as you picked up your pace.

“We already took him to the jet.”

Rushing back to the X-Jet you saw Scott and Logan standing by the ramp, waiting for you and keeping watch if necessary. Inside the jet, laying on the floor, was Scott’s brother Alex, with a massive blood stain on his suit.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” The young mutant said through a strained voice. “If I had known this is what it would take to get your attention, I would’ve gotten shot a long time ago.” He joked. It was no secret that Alex had been flirting with you since you arrived to the mansion.

“That’s not funny.” You said before placing your hands on his wound and healing him.

“I agree.” Scott grumbled to his brother.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” Alex said with a shrug. When you pulled your hands away, the bullet wound was gone. “You’re a godsend, aren’t you?” He smiled.

“I bet you say that to all girls.” You joked.

“Only to the pretty ones.” Alex winked and you scoffed.

“Watch it, Havok.” Logan said. “Or I’ll give you another hole for her to heal.” He threatened before turning around and walking back to his seat.

“Fine by me!” Alex said before getting up.

Logan sat down and crossed his arms on his chest, feeling a heaviness in his stomach that made him sick.

It wasn’t a new, unknown sensation. He knew what this feeling was, the very same he felt every time he saw Jean with Scott: it was jealousy. What he didn’t know was why. Why was he feeling this way?

First Scott with Jean, and Alex with you. What was up with the Summer brothers that always annoyed him? He didn’t have any claim over you -to be fair, he didn’t have a claim on Jean either- but it still bothered him.

Logan told himself he just didn’t like the way Alex acted around you because you were too shy for that time of interaction, when the flirting was so on the nose.

The jet took off and Logan finally snapped out of his thoughts. The seat next to him was empty and he quickly got worried. Looking across the jet he expected to see you with Alex, but instead he found you sitting with the children you just rescued. There was a little girl sitting on your lap, your arms wrapped around her as you soothed her.

Something in Logan softened.

The kids were in good hands.

When the X-Jet finally landed, everyone got off and started guiding the children to the mansion. Logan stayed behind to smoke. After lighting his cigar, he looked at the lighter you gifted him, his thumb caressing the initials you had engraved on it.

“J.L.H.”

“Hey, Howlett!” He heard someone call. Looking over his shoulder he saw Havok approaching him and he couldn’t help but groan.

“What do you want?”

“If you’re not gonna make a move already, then stop hogging her.” Havok said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked.

Havok simply arched an eyebrow.

“First my brother, now me. What, you’re gonna hate our dad for marrying our mom too?”

“The fuck did you just say?” Logan snapped.

“I’m just saying, step aside. She’s a good person, she deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. It’s just hard to get close to her with you lurking around.”

Logan couldn’t deny Alex was right about that. You were a good person, and you did deserve all that. It just irritated him to think that person could be another Summers boy.

“I’m not lurking around, I’m just making sure you don’t creep her out.” Logan mumbled. “I’m her friend. If she’s not interested in you, then that’s her decision.” He said before putting his cigar in his lips and walking away. If this conversation continued, Logan worried it might end with him stabbing the other man.

Logan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he worried sometimes you would find someone to date and would start spending less time with him. He didn’t care that he didn't have many friends, just a handful of loyal ones was enough. But you? You were the one friend he didn’t want to lose. Or to share with other people. You were the only one who seemed to understand what he was going through with Jean. He never figured out who was the guy you told him about -to anyone else it would’ve been obvious it was him- but at least he knew you understood him.

Was it selfish of him to wish you wouldn’t have someone else to spend your time with? Absolutely! But no one ever said he was a saint.

Logan was a selfish man, an imperfect, rought around the edges, too fucked up by the world type of man. Why were you friends with him? He didn’t know, but he was glad.

“Fucking Havok.” He mumbled, annoyed for letting the other mutant get to his head.

Maybe it was time to stop lying to himself. As much as he loved Jean, he was growing fond of you, in more than just a friendly way. You were kind, beautiful, smart, selfless and you put up with his crap.

But after Jean, Logan wasn’t ready to open his heart to someone else. The disappointment was too big, he doubted he could go through that again.

The sun came down and the new kids were settling in. It would take them some time to adjust, but at least now they were safe.

Some of them were so young they hadn’t even shown their powers. They were just assumed to be mutants because of their parents. The fact that people would experiment on children, trying to trigger their mutations for their own gain, made your heart ache.

You were lost in thoughts, jaw clenched and fingers digging on your thighs when Logan found you that night. You were sitting on the couch, there was a movie playing on the TV but you weren’t paying any attention to it.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here? It’s late…” He said, sitting down next to you. You quickly wiped away some unshed tears and shook your head.

“Can’t sleep.” You mumbled. “Today was tough.”

Logan nodded.

“I know. But you did very well out there, bub.” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You were amazing in the mission, and look at all the kids you helped today.”

You sighed and leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. There was something so comforting about being with him. While most people feared him and saw him as a threat, you saw him as your protector.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Just what, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him and the sadness in your eyes and the quiver in your lips felt like a punch to his guts.

“Why do people do this, Logan? Why do humans hunt mutants down? Especially children…” You closed your eyes and sighed. “They say we’re monsters, yet they’re the ones doing monstrous things.”

Logan pulled you closer and rubbed your arm up and down.

“Because they're afraid of us. People are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

You pursed your lips and hummed.

“That’s not an excuse to hurt children.”

“No, it’s not. But people are fucked up, and they do fucked up things.”

“I guess there’s no point in asking these questions. All we can do is help as many people as we can.” You said.

“You’re already doing a lot.” He reassured him.

“Wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked softly.

Logan raised his eyebrows.

“You sure you don’t want to go to bed? It’s late…”

“Are YOU going to sleep?” You asked, knowing he rarely ever slept himself. When he didn’t reply you chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” You said before picking up the remote control.

But you fell asleep almost instantly. Safely tucked against Logan’s side and under his arm, you couldn’t help but relax, and the exhaustion from that day finally got to you.

There was no better place in the world to fall asleep on: by his side.

Logan stayed awake a bit longer. First he tried to focus on the movie, but eventually moved on to watching you. He never had the opportunity of looking at you so closely before. Now he could see every freckle on your face, every little eyelash on your eyelids, the rise and fall of your chest with every breath.

There was a little tug in his chest.

Have you always been this beautiful?

Logan wasn’t blind, he noticed your beauty when he saw you for the first time, dancing with Charles in his office. Your kindness and selflessness also added to your appeal. Having grown closer to you and spending time together, Logan had no doubt in his mind that you were one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet.

But this was different. This was the kind of beauty that had his fingers itching to touch you, to run the pads down your cheek and across your lips. His hand flexed as he tried to stop himself. Instead he tilted his head and pressed his lips against your forehead. Your shampoo’s scent filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You mumbled in your sleep and nuzzled his shoulder, making him freeze. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he stayed as still as he could.

The needles piercing his bones caused excruciating pain. His muscles twitched, his heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping through his body. There was nowhere to go, he was locked in the glass box filled with water, machinery attached to him. He could hear Stryker’s voice, though it was muffled by the water.

“Logan?”

He turned his head but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The machines around him lit a red light, warning signs flashing on the screens.

“Logan.”

The adamantium filled his body, causing him to scream against his airmask. His body convulsed in the box pulling away from the needles, tearing everything off of him.

“Wake up.”

Logan jumped from the box, glass shattering and scattering everywhere. He screamed out of pain and confusion as Stryker’s men rushed to him with their guns.

SNIKT!

“LOGAN!”

Logan snapped out of his dream and found himself back in the mansion, back on the couch where he fell asleep.

And what he saw was horrible.

You were kneeling above him while his claws were deep inside your chest. Blood ran down his hands and arms as he held you up, basically impaled by his claws.

His pained mumbles and thrashing against the couch had woken you up. You tried to wake him up by shaking his shoulder gently and calling out his name. Never in a million years you would’ve guessed he would hurt you.

“Lo- Logan.” You cried, blood dripping from your mouth. Logan quickly retracted his claws, and when he did you slumped forward, landing on top of him. He lifted you up, his panic finally making its presence known.

“No! No no no no no no!” He turned you over and laid you on the couch. “Fuck, no! Please! Please don’t!”

“It’s okay.” You managed to say before taking his hand. But he wouldn’t listen.

“Hank! Jean! Anyone! Please, help!” He cried.

“Logan, look. Look at me.” You said before placing a hand on his face and forcing him to look at you.

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m so sorry, Angel!”

“Logan, stop.” You said taking his other hand. “I’ll be okay. I’m healing already.”

Other X-Men started filling the room in a panic.

“What happened?” Jean asked.

“Who did this? Are we under attack?” Scott said following closely behind.

“Keep pressure on the wound.” Suddenly Hank stood next to Logan and pushed him away to press his hands on your chest. “Ororo, go to the lab and get two units of O negative ready.”

“Stop. Stop!” You said pushing his hands away and sitting up on the couch. “Don’t waste it.” You said and lifted your shirt. Right underneath your bra were three claw marks. You had to wipe the blood away before Hank could see the marks looked like old scars. “It’s over.” You said. “I’m fine. I’m fine…” You looked around the room, confused. “Where’s Logan?”

He was gone.

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