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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that.

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two.

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet.

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office.

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists.

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.”

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits.

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid.

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month.

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts.

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old.

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time.

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30.

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits.

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you.

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand.

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty.

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking.

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse.

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep.

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place.

"Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself.

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake.

He’s just another customer.

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy.

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible.

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it.

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back.

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it.

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it.

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night.

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it.

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented.

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell.

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright.

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you.

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer.

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it. Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You.

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore.

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip.

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello.

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that?

Jesus.

No.

He’s just a customer.

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything.

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back.

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan.

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet.

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever.

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone.

But you don’t call or text.

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager.

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type.

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock.

Fuck.

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except –

Somethings wrong.

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off.

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight.

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that.

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect.

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two.

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern.

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you.

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you.

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one.

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need.

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response.

Rip off the fucking bandaid man.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his.

“Ki–”

Fuck it.

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more.

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal.

Fuck. Yes.

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More.

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away.

Please, he pleads to himself silently.

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing.

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again.

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste.

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life.

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him.

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare.

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him.

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you.

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept.

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat.

He wants more.

And something tells him you do, too.

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel's POV

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runnning-outof-time · 2 months

Text

Change His Ways | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Tommy falls for a woman out of his reach and does whatever it takes to get closer to her.

Warnings: Tommy’s certainly not canon here, language, smoking, religious themes (Tommy goes to church)

Word Count: 4025

A/N: I dusted this WIP off because I was itching to keep writing after I finished my celebration blurbs. The idea has Tommy ooc, but it was one that I just had to write down while reading a book - I’ll share a bit more about it down below for those who are interested (it’s based on a true story). Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

Tommy's world stopped the second he saw her. She was in Polly's main room, gathering her cleaning supplies as he stepped into the home. He watched from the doorway as she tried, but failed, to take them all into her arms, the bucket and broom falling to the ground. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Gray," she quickly apologized to the woman standing next to the fireplace for the commotion, crouching down to - try and - gather it once more. Polly didn't say anything, only watching on as the younger woman struggled.

"Let me help you, miss," Tommy spoke up, balancing the cigarette he was smoking between his lips before he stepped over to her, leaning down to grab the stick of the broom before she could.

"Oh, thank you, mister," she smiled over at him, her (y/e/c) eyes instantly mesmerizing Tommy. He almost forgot what he was doing.

"Where do these need to go?" he asked after clearing his throat and pulling himself from his thoughts.

"Just outside. My father's picking me up," she responded, smiling over at him gratefully. He felt like she had knocked the wind out of him.

"Alright then," he nodded, standing in time with her and taking a bucket from her full hands so that she'd have less to carry. He then let her lead him out to where an older looking farm-typed truck was waiting. The man sitting in the driver's seat just glared at Tommy, who ignored his presence altogether. "Should be it," he remarked as he sat the broom and bucket into the back of the truck.

"Thank you, really," the woman smiled at him.

"You're welcome," Tommy nodded politely before she got in the truck and he walked back up the path to his aunt's house. Polly was standing in the entryway with her arms crossed when Tommy re-entered the house. "What, Pol?" he questioned, brushing past her into the main room.

"She's a good woman, Thomas," she heeded a warning. A warning that Tommy disregarded completely.

Tommy showed up at Polly's every day for a week until he figured out what times the unnamed, beautiful woman was present at the house. And each time she was, he would help her with the things that she needed to carry out to her father's truck.

He didn't quite get to his destination today because the very person he was looking forward to seeing was walking along the sidewalk about three blocks from his aunt's house. He slowed down his car with his brow furrowed, and bent his head down to look at her. "All ok?" he asked after he watched her take a few more struggled steps. "Your father coming to pick you up?"

"Not today," she shook her head, the tone of her voice showing how much she was struggling to keep everything in her arms. "He's been held up at the farm."

Tommy was out of his car the second he heard her answer. He walked around the side of it with a quickened pace before he took the bigger cleaning supplies from her arms. "I can take you home," he offered, already opening the back door of his car before she gave him an answer to set the supplies he'd taken inside.

"Oh I can't bother you like that," she tried to decline his offer politely, but Tommy didn't want to hear it.

"I insist," he stressed, his eyebrows raised slightly to show his seriousness. He held his eyes on her and saw her weary expression form into a smile. She nodded her head in agreement before he opened the passenger's side door for her to get into the car. Once she was in, he shut the door and walked back around to the driver's side.

"Do you have a name, sir?" she asked him almost immediately after he'd sat in the front seat, "because I feel like I should know the name of the man that has so kindly offered me a ride."

"It's Thomas Shelby," he said, clearing his throat before adding: "you can call me Tommy though."

The woman smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you, officially, Tommy. Thank you for driving me home," she spoke politely. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," she added, her cheeks heating up slightly when she realized that she hadn't formally introduced herself to him.

"It's nice to officially meet you as well, (Y/N)," he couldn't help but smile as he tried her name out for himself, "and there's no need to thank me...the pleasure's all mine here," he concluded his sentence by turning his car back on and pulling away from the sidewalk so that he could take her home.

There was an older man leaning up against the side of a rusted farm truck as Tommy pulled into the driveway that (Y/N) said was hers. He looked rather intimidating standing there, and if Tommy wasn't in the line of work that he was, he definitely would have been put off by him.

"Hi, daddy," (Y/N) smiled as she got out of the car so that she could grab her supplies from the back. She was too slow, however, because Tommy already had it in his hands.

"Where do you want this?" he asked her.

"Just by the shed over there," she answered as she motioned to said shed, "I can place them where they need to go later." Tommy nodded and then walked the short distance so that he could rest the supplies against the wall of the shed. "Thank you, Tommy," she sent him a bright smile once he'd finished.

"You're welcome," he nodded, deciding that being paid in her smiles would be better than any lump sum of money he could ever receive.

"You Thomas Shelby?" (Y/N)'s father then came into the situation, his voice making Tommy's expression go serious as he turned to face the older man.

"I am," he nodded, extending his hand.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" her father got right to the point, glancing at the hand but not shaking it.

Tommy found himself feeling like a young boy again, and it made him wonder just how interested he was in (Y/N) for him to be feeling like this. "I brought her home. She was struggling with carrying the supplies," he explained himself.

The older man looked Tommy up and down before nodding slightly. "Ok," was all he said before he turned and started to walk over to one of the barns on the property.

"Thank you, Tommy," (Y/N) sent him another smile, pulling him out of the confused stupor that was brought on by the previous conversation. "I hope you make it home safely."

"You're welcome, (Y/N)," he responded, loving how her name sounded coming from his mouth. He then returned her wave before he walked to his car and got into it, backing down the driveway and away from the beautiful woman who was standing and watching him leave.

"I think you're a bloody idiot for coming up with that idea," Polly spoke her mind after Tommy had finished explaining to her where he'd gone a few days ago.

"That's why I'm doing it properly," Tommy tried to work a different angle.

"Properly or not, the (Y/L/N)'s are a God-fearing family, and I can't remember the last time you stepped into a church with the intent of speaking to the Maker," she remarked, quirking an eyebrow in his direction. Tommy sighed in response, shaking his head as he brought the cigarette back up to his mouth. He and Polly then stared at each other for a few moments before the woman sighed and hung her head, "but you'll still give it a try anyway," she stated in defeat, knowing just by his glance alone that her nephew's mind was made up.

Tommy cleared his throat as he stood from the chair in Polly's living room. He grabbed his coat and pulled it over his shoulders so that he was ready to leave the house. Polly tried to call after him, but he wasn't listening to her words as he opened the door and exited the dwelling. After getting in the car and starting its engine, he began driving to (Y/N)'s house with the full intention of winning her father over.

"You cannot court my daughter," (Y/N)'s father spoke firmly from where he sat across from Tommy in the front room.

"She's a very lovely woman, and I will be a gentleman to her," he tried to sway the older man, laying on the Shelby charm in full force, "all I am asking is for a date with her." If only his family could hear him now.

"If you want to see my daughter, you'll see her at church," her father decided, nodding his head once to show his decision was final.

"Mr. (Y/L/N)..."

"Save it, Shelby," the older man cut Tommy off, standing to leave the conversation. Tommy watched him walk, knowing there was nothing more that could be done. He also stood, showing himself out. He looked to the farmhouse after opening the door to his car and saw (Y/N) standing in one of the second floor windows. A sigh escaped his lips. He knew what to do.

Tommy met the (Y/L/N)'s at their church that Sunday. No one bothered to question how he knew where they worshiped, and he was thankful that he didn't need to explain.

They all sat in the same pew, Tommy to the right of (Y/N), of course, while her father sat on her left. He didn't listen much to the sermons, or participate in singing along with the choir.

He did, however, try to get even closer to (Y/N). After a few glances down, he slowly inched his hand closer to her lap. At first he attempted to take hold of her hand. She moved it away the second she felt his fingers brush hers. But she didn't look his way though, still focused on what the preacher was saying. So he let his hand stay there. Instead of holding hers, he flipped his palm down and draped his fingers over the curve of her thigh.

His hand had just started to warm from her body heat when he felt a sharp, but silent, smack land on the back of it. It made him remove his hand and quickly look her way. She was still looking straight ahead. Tommy kept his eyes on her, his brows furrowed. He was sure that he hadn't imagined that; she'd just smacked him.

The feeling of his eyes on her made (Y/N) glance to her right. She knew he wouldn't look away until he addressed her. But her father would instantly know that her attention had been taken off of the message being told. Ever-so-slowly, she leaned closer to Tommy, getting close enough so that he could hear her whisper. "There should be no touching in the Lord's house. It's considered blasphemy."

Tommy couldn't respond because she sat straight again the second she finished speaking. He took one last look at her before looking straight again, his hand resting on his thigh once again.

Tommy continued going to church with (Y/N) and her family every Sunday, and eventually they got into a routine of him walking her back home.

Every Sunday, they'd stop at the beginning of her dirt driveway, and she'd thank him with a kiss on his cheek. They'd then say their goodbyes and she'd begin walking to her house. Tommy would stay and watch, waiting until she was on her porch before he left.

This Sunday was different. (Y/N) was unusually quiet on the way home. The walk that was normally filled with her sweet laughter and entertaining stories was now overruled by silence.

They stopped at the end of her driveway, and (Y/N) turned so that she could face him. Tommy's eyes were immediately on her, and he noticed that she was looking at the ground. "I won't be in church next Sunday," she finally spoke, playing with her fingers in hopes it'd give her something to focus on. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes then, seeing that he was looking out at the fields for a moment. Thinking now'd be the best time to say goodbye, she lifted her head and leaned in to press her lips to his cheek.

Tommy turned to talk to her at that same moment, and he was met with the most rewarding accident he'd ever been given in his life when his lips met hers. The kiss was soft, quick, and innocent. Too quick for his liking.

(Y/N) pulled back with a gasp the second she realized what was happening. She looked at him then, her eyes now opened wide; looking as if she'd just seen a ghost, or a horrible crime be committed. I've fucked this up, Tommy thought to himself, the breath caught in his throat. The worst part about it was that he didn't quite know what to say that could make the situation better.

So he just stared at (Y/N), watching as her eyes searched his for what seemed like eternity. Then, after what felt like forever, (Y/N) leaned in and pressed her lips to his again. She kissed him more soundly this time, and he took hold of her waist to make sure that she wouldn't leave him too soon. When she eventually moved to pull back, he let her, keeping his eyes closed when she stayed close and rested her forehead against his.

"Why?" he asked once their breathing had returned to normal.

"Huh?" she was clearly confused by his sudden question, and she finally pulled back to look at him once more, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Why won't you be there, love?" he asked with a soft laugh, squeezing her waist softly as he remembered that he was still holding onto her.

Realization struck her and her confusion melted into a sheepish smile, remembering what they were talking about before the kiss happened. "My family and I are traveling to see my grandparents. We'll go to the service at their church since we'll be staying through the weekend," she explained the reason behind her initial statement.

"Should I find you there?" he asked her then, wondering if he could still make things work. He'd been seeing her every Sunday for a month and a half now, and he'd be lying if he said that he didn't look forward to it every week.

"There's no need for that, Tommy," she giggled, her stomach filling with butterflies at the sweetness of his voice. "I'll be home before you know it."

"Then I'll be waiting," he nodded, showing his sincerity as he squeezed her waist once more, his actions making her smile. His eyes flitted down to her lips then, their closeness and inviting nature becoming paramount in his mind again. "Can I?" he asked permission before doing anything, something he never could have imagined himself doing weeks ago.

"Please do," she smiled at him, her hands finding his collar as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers once more.

"Fuck," Tommy huffed, pressing his fingers to his eyes in frustration.

"So what do we do, Tom?" Arthur asked his brother, clasping his peaked cap in his hands. "He's there. He's for the taking. We could just..."

"No," Tommy cut him off abruptly, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands, "no, there'll be problems if we do that."

"Then what?" John chimed in, a bit of an incredulous look present on his face. "We know he did it. He shouldn't get to even think he got away with it."

"We do it another way," Tommy insisted.

"What way?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know yet," Tommy huffed, finally looking at his brothers before he continued, "but you fuckers better not try anything." He accented his direction by pointing at each of the two men as he spoke, his eyes wide to convey his seriousness.

Silence fell in the room then. John and Arthur shared a look before focusing back on their brother. They were both thinking the same thing...but who was going to be the one to say it?

Arthur looked to John again. "Seems like our brother's gotten himself a new perspective," he commented aloud, seeing Tommy's eyes snap to him from the corner of his.

A grin formed on John's face as he heard his older brother speak. Arthur was the one to cast the first stone. Now the floor was wide open. "I think it's because he's been going to that bloody church each weekend," he shared his thoughts on the situation.

Arthur shook his head. "Nah. The only reason he's going there is so he can give that girl a quick shag. You think it'll be worth it, Tom?"

Tommy was now seeing red. "What the fuck are you two going on about? Eh?!"

"That girl from Pol's place. (Y/N), was it?" John answered, even though the previous question was meant to be rhetorical.

"Yeah, yeah. That's her name. She's real pretty," Arthur commented, a smug grin now present.

Tommy couldn't take the comments anymore. He slammed his hand down on the desk, commanding their attention immediately. "Enough!" he bellowed, his eyes wide with anger. "You're not going to talk about her like that. In fact, you're not going fucking to talk about her at all. Understood?" He let out a heavy breath then, looking between the two of them before he swiped at his hair, returning the strands that had fallen over his forehead back to their resting place.

Neither John nor Arthur responded verbally to their brother's statement. Arthur let out a grunt of agreement and John merely nodded, both surprised by the show of emotion they'd just witnessed.

Tommy nodded in response to the silence. "Good. Now go out and figure out how we can get this guy. We need to do it cleanly," he gave them an order, one that made the two of them nod before turning and heading to the door.

John exited without another word, but Arthur stopped with his hand on the door's handle. He looked back to his brother, who had both of his palms placed flat on the desk as he finished recollecting himself.

"She really means something to you, doesn't she?" he broke the silence hanging in the room. His question made Tommy look up. They held eye contact for a few moments. Not a word was said. Arthur got his answer though; he could see it in Tommy's eyes. So instead of prolonging the staring contest, he nodded and exited the office.

Tommy let out a huff as the door shut, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the chair. (Y/N) came to mind then, and he relished in the thought of her as it made his stresses wash away.

Tommy just happened to be sitting out on the floor of the betting shop when the most out of place looking person entered the building. He clocked the man speaking to Scudboat and continued working on the papers in front of him as he tried to listen into the conversation.

"Is Mr. Shelby in?"

"He's busy. You'll need an appointment. That can be arranged with his..."

"I just need to speak to him for a moment."

"You'll need to arrange an..."

"He's fine to speak with me, Scudboat," Tommy cut into the conversation, coming over to where he and (Y/N)'s father were standing by the door.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby," Scudboat bowed his head as he left the conversation, knowing he was no longer needed.

"What can I do for you, Mr. (Y/L/N)?" Tommy asked (Y/N)'s father then, his eyes trained on the man who still looked so out of place.

"I'm not here to spend any money," the older man quickly replied, a rather sour look present on his face.

"I never thought you were," Tommy responded, hoping that his level voice would ease the other man's inhibitions. "Has something happened to (Y/N)?" he asked then, his brows furrowing as a feeling of worry washed over him.

Mr. (Y/L/N) looked around the room for a moment before his eyes found Tommy's again. "Can we speak somewhere more private?" he requested, the inflection of his voice not giving Tommy any concrete answer to his question. He hated that.

"We can," the gangster nodded, then moving towards one of the private offices - a little too quickly for his liking. "Has something happened to (Y/N)?" he asked again once the two men were behind the closed door.

(Y/N)'s father sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, shaking his head every so slightly before he began speaking, "I know what you do...and I know that it's not right, nor good..." he started, his eyes darting around the room so he wouldn't have to hold Tommy's stare. "But I've seen you with my daughter, how you've tried to open up and let God into your life..." he paused again, taking another deep breath. Tommy wished he'd say what he needed to already. "She sees something in you that I can not, Mr. Shelby, and I hope that you see something in her that goes beyond physical desire."

"Way beyond, Mr. (Y/L/N)," Tommy was quick to tell him, "she's...she's changed me in ways I'd not thought possible."

"Good," the older man nodded, looking pleased with the response he'd gotten. Silence hung in the air then, and both men stared at each other. It was almost like one was waiting for the other to crack; for the other shoe to fall. Mr. (Y/L/N) was the one to speak first. "You have my blessing. You can court my daughter."

Tommy exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding upon hearing the other man's statement. He immediately extended his hand. "Thank you, Mr. (Y/L/N)."

"Treat her well, Thomas," her father sternly said, accepting the handshake Tommy had offered.

"I will."

Tommy and (Y/N) arrived at the road to (Y/N)'s home, and (Y/N) turned to face him like she always did. She smiled at him, sweetly thanking him for walking her home from church. Tommy smiled at her, tipping his hat and making her giggle - like he usually did. (Y/N) then leaned in and pressed her lips to his, giving him the quick kiss that she'd always leave him with. This time, however, Tommy's hands found her waist and he held her close to him when she pulled away.

"Be mine," he whispered against her lips, pulling back slightly so that his eyes could find hers.

"Tommy," (Y/N) breathed in response to his statement, "my father..."

"He gave me his blessing," he assured her, "will you be mine, (Y/N)?" he asked this time.

A smile spread across (Y/N)'s lips as butterflies erupted in her stomach. This is what she'd been waiting for. Everyone had told her that Tommy Shelby was a man who was to be feared, but that was not the Tommy Shelby that she had the pleasure to know; to get close to. And now he was asking her the question she'd hoped he'd ask ever since the first kiss they shared.

"Yes, Tommy," she answered with a slight nod, excitement bubbling up inside of her, "yes, I'll be yours."

Her words made a smile form on Tommy's face, and instead of saying anything in response, he leaned in and kissed her, showing her how happy he was to hear her answer through the passion he put into the kiss. She was the only person who'd get him to change his ways...and now she was his.

**a little bit about the background: this was based off of a vignette that I read in a book about America in WWI — a man, who was rather rowdy, into no good things, took interest in a woman, and the woman’s father told him that the only way he’d get to court her is if he came to church. The man essentially changed his lifestyle around for her because he was so interested in her and they eventually got married — so just like Tommy, he got the girl.

———

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

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livingemkayde · 9 months

Text

ch iii. diced

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter three of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. phone sex?? yeah…phone sex. graphic depictions of male and female masturbation. dom!joel makes a reappearance. too much tension for one story. love triangle forming formed. mild allusions to physical fighting but only verbal fighting with the brothers LOL. age gap, reader is 23 and joel is 35. Tommy is 30. (ages of all characters and plot do not follow canon strictly for the story’s sake). reader in her girl boss era (not sexually tho lol).

a/n: ooooooooo i love you guys and im glad youre liking the story. im really happy with the way this chapter came out. WIG. please enjoy!!

summary: tensions run high at a family dinner at the miller's house. tommy drops you off at home, but its joel who ends up being the one talking to you until you fall asleep.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Fighting at the table. Thought you were a gentleman,” you chuckle, nervously. That right? Your breath hitches. “Yeah.” Not anymore? “Not too sure anymore.” ‘M sure I can convince you. “You can try.”

You like cooking.

You like the meticulous steps involved in following a recipe.

You like how when it’s done, you can share it with the people you love.

You stand at the kitchen counter, dicing an onion. Joel’s silent words ring in your mind as you stare down at the small little squares.

You find your cheeks reddening more with each tick of the minute hand. The boys will be home later from their long day with the electrician. You asked one of Sarah’s teammates to drop her off at the house since your car was out of commission.

The hours pass by, the chicken gets golden brown in the heat of the oven, salad gets tossed, potatoes get mashed.

The Millers file in, Sarah first — she slumps down on the couch as you try to get her to wash up and put on a fresh set of clothes before setting up camp in front of the TV.

She grumbles, but ultimately gives in, too tired to complain. You send her back to the couch after she’s done with a bowl of grapes and a cookie.

Tommy is next, surprisingly sans his brother at his side.

“Hey…” you greet him with confusion laced in your tone.

“Hey,” he gives you a hug, like always, and shuffles into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything about Joel which seems weird.

“Smells fuckin’ amazing ‘n here,” Tommy grumbles to himself, giving you a teasing squeeze on your hip while you pass to check on the chicken.

He sits down at the table, his hand rubbing over his forehead.

“Where’s Joel?” you inquire. Trying to keep your tone from sounding too interested.

“Dunno, dropped me off and said he needed to check on something,” he grovels.

You nod your head.

Strange.

“How was your day?” he asks, you just shrug.

“Tire’s fuck. ‘S alright though.”

He nods, his head comes back to his hands.

“Long day?” you ask, looking at him sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he groans, standing to sneak a taste at the potatoes with a small spoon in hand.

“Hey! Wait—” you attempt to stop his tricks, but he just laughs when you try to bat his hand away.

“Electrican was a fuckin’ dick ‘n the drywall shipment is late so…” he huffs out, leaning back against the kitchen counter. You settle against the other counter, across the kitchen — the two of you facing each other.

“‘M sorry,” you say and try to smile. These things happen with the brothers. The day's work seeping into dinner. You usually try to cheer up Tommy before he sits down with Sarah, but Joel is a different story. “Can you do anything about the guy?”

“Not really, he’s supposed to be the best,” he shrugs. You stalk over near him, moving to stir the potatoes again, but he plays with the tail ends of your apron, and surprisingly, pulls you into a hug.

You know it’s what he needs right now. A hug from a friend, and when the front door opens, you

hope everyone in the room understands it's nothing more than that.

Joel stands in the entryway. You can see him out of the corner of your eye. You can also see him hesitate in shrugging off his boots and flannel, taking in the scene unfolding before his eyes.

Tommy Miller slumped against the counter with you in his arms.

You pull away quickly.

“Hey Joel,” you say, your hand coming to rub the back of your neck.

“You makin’ dinner?” He asks, nodding his head at your greeting. You figure he’s pissed off about the day too, and seeing you with Tommy first thing when he opens the door certainly can’t help.

“Yeah, just some chicken,” you say to him as he moves to kiss Sarah’s head and makes his way towards you and Tommy.

“It’ll be ready soon,” you follow up with, he gives you a grunt in response, opening the fridge to get a beer.

Joel passes you, and just when you think he’s too pissed to save it, he gives you a look. The one that leaves you breathless, the same look he always does — but only for a fleeting second with Tommy still close to your side.

He leans down to your ear in passing, putting a steady hand on your low back that sends chills up your spine and whispers in a husky voice —

“Thanks for cookin’ darlin’.”

Jesus.

You try to hide your flush but a smile falls on your face — Tommy notices. You know he notices, he’s not stupid. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged breath.

You can’t think of anything besides, get the attention off you.

“Sarah?” you call from the kitchen, you see her eyes peek out from over the couch.

“Help me set the table, will you, doll?”

“Sure,” she calls back.

You move to grab the napkins and cutlery, but Tommy’s hands stop your movements. You look up to him at your side, he smiles at you.

“Let me help,” he says, taking the cloth out of your hand.

“Oh — okay. Thanks,” you say, brushing your hands off, setting up Sarah’s utensils instead.

You shrug off your apron. Joel watches you the whole time while leaning against the sink. When you meet his eye, he just raises his eyebrows at you, taking another sip of his beer.

You pull the chicken out of the oven, setting everything on the table.

“Come get it, guys,” you say, pulling out Sarah’s chair. She sits by Tommy, he ruffles her hair — her giggling echoing through the kitchen like always.

You sit across from them, Joel at the head of the small table. It's funny. Most days you have dinner at the house, it doesn’t feel as formal as this. Tommy and Joel sit on the couch sometimes, watching whatever is on the TV, you help Sarah with her food at the table.

But most days you have takeout or leftovers — not a meal you cooked.

“How was soccer today?” you ask Sarah as she spoons mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“It was so fun, Katie even got us matching bracelets,” she says, holding out her wrist, a clunky beaded bracelet hangs off it.

“Very cool,” you admire the colorful charms, the brothers pretend to be interested.

“Sorry I couldn’t pick you up, my tire popped,” you say to her. She gives you a confused look.

“How does that even happen?”

“You’re telling me, kid,” you smile at her, shaking your head. She laughs back.

“Speakin’ of that,” Joel cuts in, “Went by the shop to get a tire but they were closed. I'll take you tomorrow.”

“Oh — thanks, Joel,” you say, sipping on some water to hide your blush.

Tommy grumbles from across the table.

“What was that?” you ask, he looks at you, then Joel, a certain uneasiness falls over the table.

Some silence. He keeps looking at Joel with an emotion you can’t place.

“Told Joel I would take you,” he says after some time.

Fuck.

You sneak a glance at Joel. He looks at Tommy with a stiff stare. The room feels tense, other than Sarah picking at her salad.

“Oh — it’s,” you nervously chuckle. “It’s okay. Actually I can probably —”

“I gave her the tow,” Joel cuts you off. But he’s not talking to you, he’s talking to Tommy.

You watch the wordless scene unfolding in front of you in awe. Your brows push together in a silent plea to stop. But the boys don’t look at you. They don’t break from looking at each other.

“She called me,” Tommy says, the dinner in front of them abandoned.

“You didn't go.”

Fuck.

“It's really not a problem, I can—”

“I’ll help you change it,” Tommy cuts you off, glancing in your direction, then back to Joel.

“I can change a tire,” Joel snaps, his voice raising slightly.

You give them both a look, hoping to shut them up, but they don’t even glance your way.

“Once your car is fixed can you take me to the library again after soccer?” Sarah says over the silence.

You look back at her and try to make it seem like everything is okay.

“Of course!” you say, cringing at your nervous intonation, but she giggles and thanks you nonetheless.

“I know how to change a tire, but thanks for the offer,” you say, a nervous laugh breezing through your words. “Tommy, it’s okay that you couldn’t come —”

You’re cut off again. It seems like you��re not really in this conversation. And they’re not really arguing about the tire.

“I couldn’t go because you fucked it with the electrician,” Tommy bites back.

“Tommy,” you say in a stern voice, looking at Sarah, and back to Tommy, a scowl across your face. But he doesn’t look back.

It looks like Sarah is almost done with dinner anyways, her eyes trained towards the TV in the living room.

“You done kiddo?” you whisper to her. She snaps out of it and nods, you tell her to put her plates in the sink and slip her another cookie.

“Go pick out a book to read before bed.”

She leaves. The tension doesn’t.

“‘N why was the electrician mad?” Joel bites back when you join the table again.

“Jesus,” Tommy says, he pulls back from their staring first, running a rough hand through his hair.

“No, why was he mad?” Joel scowls. “Was it because you forgot to confirm for the drywall?”

“Joel,” you say, confused why he’s still letting this go on. Of course, he doesn’t look at you.

Tommy just scoffs, avoiding everyone’s gaze while staring down at the floor. You see his shoulders puffing.

A few more moments of unbearably tense silence. You don’t want to step in, this is obviously some stupid argument and you have no idea what you could possibly say to make it better. You’re partially scared, and halfway pissed because they’re fighting and cursing in front of Sarah — ruining the meal you spent the afternoon making.

“‘S what I thought,” Joel announces to the table.

Your eyes widen more if that’s possible.

Oh, fuck.

Tommy slams his fist on the table, standing, Joel gets to his feet too. You stand, moving around the table before any blows are actually thrown, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you say, your voice is a little hushed because of Sarah.

“I dunno,” Joel whispers, still looking at Tommy. “What are we doin’.” It's a question, but it doesn’t sound like one.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You guys will figure it out with the electrician,” you say, hesitant, you’re not sure if that will make the situation any better, but you’re trying your best.

“And I can take care of my own tire,” you let out a breathless laugh, trying to diffuse the tension.

Joel looks over to you at that, and his brows slightly unfurrow.

You look at Tommy, but he looks furious.

“Guys,” you say, looking between them, pleading with your voice.

The clock continues counting — seemingly without the three of you — suspended, or maybe frozen in time. It feels like hours, you all stand there. You can see Joel’s hand ball into a first. Even when the chicken goes cold, and the drinks get lukewarm, they stand. You’re beginning to worry nothing you can say will fix this. Their competitive nature has always been apparent, but this is something different. Like they’re talking to each other without words, and you won’t ever be able to understand their unspoken language.

“I’m gonna head out,” Tommy finally says, breaking first. You let out a sign, stepping back, holding a hand to your forehead.

“Thanks for cooking. I — do you need a ride?” Tommy says, grabbing his coat.

Fuck. It never stops, does it?

You look over at Joel for a split second when Tommy looks down to get his shoes.

Go.

He says with his eyes.

You wonder how many infinite laters can be braced on his silent eyes before it all spills out and buries you alive.

But he says it.

Later.

You nod, still a bit shaken up by the stalemate.

“Okay. Let me just clean up,” you say, grabbing at some dishes.

“I got it,” Joel cuts in, taking the dishes from your hands, nodding his head towards Tommy.

You mumble a quiet thanks and follow Tommy out the door.

It's silent when you get in the car, and when you pull out onto the street. You pick at the skin on your fingernails, a nervous sweat breaks out in your palms. Tommy is tense beside you. His knuckles on the steering wheel show white.

“I —” he huffs out a breath, already nearing your house. “‘M sorry.”

He sounds actually genuine. And you know he’s had a shit day.

“What was all that, Tommy?” you ask in a quiet voice.

“I don't know.” He shakes his head, rearing your house, and pulling up, putting the car in park.

“Work and then I —” he laughs a bit. “I fuckin’ told Joel I would take you so, I don't even know what he was —” he drops his head.

“I don't know. I'm sorry.”

You feel a bit bad.

“I appreciate the offers but I can do things on my own, T. You know that,” you say, bracing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know. I — I just wanted to help,” he grovels.

“I know,” you echo, giving him a smile.

He smiles back.

“Haven't seen Joel that worked up in a while,” he says, shaking his head.

“Work’s getting to him, maybe. Just like it's getting to you,” you tease, poking his shoulder. You're a bit breathless from his brainless comment about Joel.

“Maybe. I dunno —” he huffs. “Anyways. Let me make it up to you.”

You raise your brows at his words.

“We'll take you out on friday? Bar?”

Your eyes widen.

As in — you and Joel in a bar again. Together.

And Tommy.

“Oh, um —” your phone buzzes in your hand, Joel’s name pops up and you try to hide it quickly. “Okay. Sure.”

“Drinks on me,” he winks, you pull off your seatbelt, giving him a fake appreciative look.

“$1 beers, wow thank you so much, Tommy,” you say, putting a hand to your chest.

“Shut up, you're lucky I offered,” he teases as you hop out of the truck.

“See you,” you wave.

“Get some sleep, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Goodnight,” you say back, closing the car door and walking inside.

Your heart picks up at the thought of going back to the bar you and Joel first met. You know the brothers frequent the place. To say you were nervous was an understatement. And Joel definitely doesn’t know about Tommy’s plans yet.

You haul yourself upstairs to your bedroom, you’re slipping on a big t-shirt from your dresser, and washing up when you hear your phone buzzing from your bed.

Your phone buzzes again, you pull it out from under your pillow, it's Joel.

But he's calling you.

You freeze with the phone in your hand.

Fuck.

Joel has never called you. Even when he gave you his number at the bar it was him asking for you to call him. His name flashing on your screen makes you squirm.

Joel M.

It’s the same from all those weeks ago. You never bothered to change it to his full last name — you remember when he put it in your phone and all his touches prior. You remember everything about that night.

You don't want it to go to voicemail so you take a deep breath, and answer the call. You put the phone up to your ear hesitantly, your breath a bit shaky.

“Hello?”

Where are you?

No preamble. No greeting.

“I’m home. I just got home,” you say, breathless.

‘Preciate you cookin’.

“Sure,” you breathe out, you’re a bit confused why he’s calling you just to say thanks.

He stays silent for a while.

‘M sorry. ‘Bout dinner.

Your long sigh crosses the line.

“Fighting at the table. Thought you were a gentleman,” you chuckle, nervously.

That right?

Your breath hitches.

“Yeah.”

Not anymore?

“Not too sure anymore.”

‘M sure I can convince you.

“You can try.”

You can hear his silken breath echo through the call. The static pierces through the ringing in your ears. You settle on your bed, laying on your back as you desperately try to imagine what he’s doing right now. The white ceiling above you maps out his face.

He clears his throat like he’s scared of continuing down that road.

Get home okay?

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you.

“Yes, Tommy is capable of things, you know.”

He doesn’t respond. You try to lighten the mood.

“Said you guys are gonna take me out on Friday,” he grunts. “Make it up to me or something.”

Is that what you want?

“Could be fun.”

Could be.

“I haven’t been out in a while.”

Yeah?

“Mhm. You guys are a full time job.”

When was the last time you went out?

You freeze. He knows the last time. You both know the last time you went out to the bar downtown. You’re sure of that fact, and that he hears your breath get heavy through the phone.

You think about being indirect. Beating around the bush. Teasing. Say something snarky like you know the last time but it’s getting a bit old, and there’s no hiding things now.

“When I met you,” you settle for. You hear his own breath through the line.

He stays silent, obviously a bit shocked by your sudden bluntness. You try to keep it lighthearted, even though the notion is anything but.

“Might have to go shopping if we’re goin’ out,” you laugh.

Nah, could just wear the skirt from last time.

Jesus.

“You remember?” you gulp.

‘Course I do.

You try to laugh, but it comes out strangled.

“Didn’t know you thought about me so much, Miller.”

I always think about you.

Jesus, fuck.

So much for being light hearted.

Maybe this is the later he kept telling you, but it doesn’t feel like it. To you, later, meant hey, let's talk about whatever this is, later and not, let's flirt with each other over the phone, later. You keep trying to picture him. There’s no way he’s sitting in the living room or in the kitchen with you on the phone like this. Right?

Your fingers find the soft cotton hidden under your too-big shirt. You play with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly.

You hear him shuffling a bit.

“Where are you?”

My bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Sittin’ down.

“Where?”

Jesus.

“What?”

What are you tryin’ to get at?

“I just wanna know what you’re doing.”

I’m —

He hesitates for the first time all night.

I’m on my bed. What are you doin’?

“I’m laying in bed.”

He sucks in a breath.

“That all you’re doin’?”

There it is. The point of no return, the final tipping point, the flood gates opening, and never, ever shutting again — at least for tonight. For now, at this moment — whatever happens after this is up in the air. But you don’t think about that right now. All you can think about is how the drawl in his voice somehow compels you to sneak past the hem of your underwear.

“Maybe. Why’d you call me?”

Wanted to apologize.

“That’s it?”

Maybe.

He echoes your previous statement. You smile. The rising heat between your legs comes to a breaking point. So you bite the bullet.

“Joel,” you say, his breaths are a bit husky. You know he can hear the small whimper in your voice.

What do you need, angel?

“Can I? Please?”

Yes, fuck — yes. Askin’ so nicely f’me.

You let out a puff of air through stiff lips. Your fingers find your swollen clit, sinking down towards your entrance to collect the growing wetness there. You strangle out moans and something sounding like Joel’s name.

You’re about to push two fingers inside yourself, when his voice cuts through the phone.

Only one.

It’s like he can read your mind.

“Joel —” you whisper, a plea, but he cuts you off.

C’mon be good for me, baby.

You grovel, and your cheeks heat at how easily you comply, not really putting up any fight. You can’t. Not when he sounds like that, close to your ear, his words of praise pushing you closer to the edge as you sink your middle finger inside and gasp at the intrusion.

Feel good?

You can hear him shuffling, a small groan sounds from the other side of the line. You know what he’s doing, and it pushes you even further, maybe even becoming more bold.

“Joel — need more,” you whine. You can hear him working himself. Your finger does nothing to stretch yourself out. Not when you think about the night at the bar, and how the sweet sting of his cock made you see stars.

One more — slow.

You groan as you slip another finger inside. The wetness from your entrance ruins your underwear, and threatens to spill out onto your bedding as well.

You whine nonsense to him. You’re worked up, have been too distracted the last few weeks to touch yourself or seek anyone out. You didn’t even want to knowing you would see Joel the next day. He was enough to keep you going. But you’re just a woman. And you have needs.

Feel good, baby? Tell me how it feels.

You pump your wrist faster, your orgasm nearing. You desperately rut against the palm of your hand, your shirt riding up. His words from the other side of the line spur you on further.

“‘S good, Joel. Feels so — good.”

Fuck, say my name again.

Your eyes open slightly at that, the plea mirroring when he had you up against the wall in the bar. His name. He always wants you to say his name.

“Joel —” you whine. “Wish it was you.”

I know, baby, I know.

“Please.”

You know we can’t.

“God — fuck,” you whimper to him. The mixture of your own fingers crooking just right inside you threatens to push you into a white hot orgasm. You don’t know where the next thing you say comes from. Or if you’d ever let another guy do this with you. But it feels right in the moment. And the sound of him working himself faster tells you he’s close too.

“Can I cum? Please?” you whisper.

You swear you can hear his hand stutter. The groan he lets out at your words is closer to a growl.

Jesus, fuck — such an angel. You know that right?

“Joel,” you continue, too blissed out to acknowledge his praise. It shoots right down to the spot you keep working on instead.

Not yet — know you’ll be a good girl and wait f’me.

You do, wait for him. Your fingers slow down a fraction, staving you off your fast approaching orgasm. You can hear him work himself, the thought of him finishing into his palm makes it that much harder for you to hold off.

Fuck baby — goddamn —

“Joel, please?” you whine when he starts to calm down his breathing. You’re teetering right on the edge. The only thing keeping you from falling is the thought of his praise.

Alright — fuck — let me hear you, baby.

You come hard around your fingers, biting into your lip hard in favor of screaming. Your back arches off the bed, the phone threatens to slip from your hand, you can barely hear Joel’s praise in the back of your head. It’s almost like he’s really here, whispering into your neck while you climax.

You expect your post orgasmic haze to send you into a spiral about a certain brother and the fact that technically you just got off on the phone with your boss. But it doesn’t, you fall back into the mattress, spent. Joel’s words ring through your ears, whispering praises.

He tells you to get some rest.

You do.

chapter iv. tacit

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. (for this series, i took the liberty of adding you to the taglist if you commented that you wanted more parts on chaser. you can let me know if you want to be taken off) kisses!

@sofiparallel @jasminedragoon @rainbowcosmicchaos @akah565

@going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @dizzyforyou @defnotashifter @missgurrl @pedropascalissofine @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @purplemechanics @suzmagine @skysmiller @untamedheart81 @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @hellaradd @josephine1837 @spongebobspooploop @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @noisynightmarepoetry @tsunamistorm123

@awhoreforalotofshows @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @violinchick @rhoorl @yoongjennie88 @lawh0re

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oonajaeadira · 8 months

Text

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

NEXT: WINTER (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

#leave off your wandering #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x meadowlark #joel miller x mature reader

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tightjeansjavi · 4 months

Text

Slow Hands | Chapter 10

“the lone moose”

A/N: disclaimer before we get into this chapter, this is a very emotionally/mentally heavy chapter that might not be suitable for everyone. The main topic of this chapter and the next is focused around Joel’s attempted suicide and Tommy’s C-PTSD. This content maybe triggering for some, and if that is the case, please do not read if you feel triggered. Warnings will be marked appropriately. Take care of yourselves first. And as always, a huge thanks to my beta @angelofsmalldeath-codeine 🤍

~word count: 6.9k~

Summary: the wolves of Jackson are lurking

Pairing | Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: !DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! thoughts of suicide, semi-graphic depictions of attempted suicide, brief moment of stigmatizing suicide (Tommy’s reaction) canon-typical violence, graphic depiction of an injury, semi-graphic depictions of childloss (and the trauma that comes with it) angst, grief, guilt, anxiety, heavy topics, anger, overwhelming emotions, C-PTSD responses, fear responses, no age gap, readers nicknames is Beanie (coffee beans) +18 minors DNI! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!

Slow Hands Masterlist

Two days had passed since Joel and Ellie took the steps together to make up. Joel already had a visible pep in his step, and a lightness in his eyes that Tommy hadn’t seen in his brother for over 20 years. Joel’s back still ached, but the pain was subdued.

Patrol was long and uneventful. The two brothers only had a handful of evidence gathered to present to Maria, but neither would give up hope. After untacking Tex and Timber, Joel and Tommy turned both horses out in one of pastures just outside the stables. Tess was grazing alongside the fence when Timber and Tex went to greet her.

A wave of melancholy washed over his features as he watched Tex and Tess nuzzle one another affectionately. He thought of you, of course.

“Hey, Joel?” Tommy asked alongside him with his arms resting along the wooden fence. “Y’wanna have a drink with me real quick at the Tipsy Bison before y’head home?” He rasped softly.

“I’d love to, but I promised Ellie we’d have a movie night tonight. Can’t go and let her down, y’know? How about tomorrow?” Joel suggested with a grin.

“Ah, movie night with the kiddo. Hey, I think that’s great that y’all are movin’ forward. Tomorrow sounds good.” Tommy responded with a genuine smile. It was a relief that he and Joel were growing close again. He missed his brother terribly.

“Yeah, and Beanie as well. I let Ellie pick out the movie. Think she said we were gonna watch Curtis and Viper 2.” Joel stifled a chuckle as he glanced down at the toe of his boots.

“Aw shit, that’s a good one! Well, you enjoy yourself, okay? Adios, big brother. See ya in the mornin.’” Tommy reached over and gave Joel a side hug before he pushed himself off the fence.

“See ya in the mornin, Tommy.” Joel mumbled to himself with a smile slowly creeping over his lips. Truthfully, he was rather excited for this movie night with you and Ellie. He couldn’t picture a better way to spend his evening than with his two favorite girls.

“Hey, Tex? Y’keep a good eye on your gal tonight. Y’hear? I’ll see ya in the mornin’, pal.” He spoke softly as his horse lifted his head from where he was grazing. He let out a snort in response as his tail swished away at the pesky flies.

The weight of Tommy’s letter in Joel’s pocket felt ten times heavier than when Joel first had written it. He thought about making a quick pit stop at the Tipsy Bison to give it to him, but tomorrow was a new day. He’d give the letter to Tommy first thing in the morning.

Ellie’s carved wooden fawn was tucked away in the inside pocket of his flannel. He brought it on patrol to show Tommy, and because he liked having a piece of his baby girl with him. Tonight he’d give her the gift, and to you, his precious star, something that twinkled like the night sky; matching charm bracelets. Two golden hearts dangling from the chains. Appearing brand new, untouched. The names Peggy carved into one, and Steve into the other. Lovers from the past, and now lovers in the present.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on your pretty face when he would present the bracelet to you. He said one last goodbye to the horses. He’d pass by your home en route to his own as he usually did every evening after patrol. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until he noticed a figure looming in the distance. He squinted his eyes through the harsh rays of the setting sun. He approached the figure with cautious steps.

As far as he was concerned, no one ever hung around your home like this. It raised suspicions immediately. His boots crunched under loose dirt as the figure stopped their pacing and seemed to pause in thought.

“Cody?” Joel’s tone ran cold, edged with a sharp suspicion as his footsteps stopped a foot away. A balmy breeze sifted through his salt and pepper streaked tendrils.

The younger man looked around for a moment as the gears in Joel’s brain began to work on overdrive. He knew Cody, or so he thought. He believed Cody was a good man. They shared many meals, conversations—

“Have y’seen Beanie around by chance?” Cody asked casually as he ignored the obvious suspicion that Joel was facing.

Joel’s hackles raised on instinct as he watched Cody lean up against your fence with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Haven’t seen her since this mornin.’” Joel responded flatly. He knew right then and there that he had to play this cool for the time being. He didn’t need Cody knowing that he was onto him.

“Right. Well, thanks anyway, old man.” Cody muttered the last bit as he turned on his heel to walk away.

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ around her place anyway? Y’know I could have you—”

“Reported? Yeah, sure you can. What would you even report me for, Miller? Cody scoffed. “All you had to do was not get yourself involved. Coulda just kept your nose out of things, but that’s not how you play your game, right?” He turned to face the older man once more just as a distinctive crash was heard from inside of your home.

Joel moved quickly, but Cody was quicker. Stronger, and trigger happy.

Cody was pouncing on the older man like a predator does to their prey. They tousled in the dusty dirt before Cody had him pinned down. His fists rained down on Joel’s face and the pained groans only seemed to spur Cody on further.

“Just had to go and get yourself involved with that fuckin’ cunt, huh?!”

Joel tried to fold his arms over his head to block out the swift punches to his face. Cody was ruthless, and Joel wasn’t as strong as he once was. Years ago he would have snapped Cody like a toothpick, but his age was beginning to catch up with him and this was the result.

Through gritted teeth Joel attempted to use his weight to throw Cody off of him, but it was no use. “I’ll fuckin’ kill every last one of you. I’ll rip you limb from fuckin’ limb and scatter your remains to the wolves—”He growled.

“Yeah? And how do you propose you’re gonna do that, Joel? Y’ain’t the one with the upper hand here, old man! You’re not takin’ this from me! Imagine how proud he’ll be when I not only bring in the moose, but your precious Beanie too.” He sneered conceitedly.

That’s all Joel needed to get a second wind of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He growled between his teeth as he used what little remaining strength he had left to force Cody off of him. He was reaching for his concealed pistol tucked in his belt loop under his shirt, when Cody kicked it from his grasp just as the two men inside of your home came rushing out.

“Jesus! fuck, Cody! What the hell are you doin?’ This wasn’t part of the plan!” The one man, a burly fellow with scarred tissue from third degree burns that covered nearly half of the left side of his face yelled urgently. Through the rushing of blood, and pain stabbing every inch of Joel’s face, he recognized this man too. He recognized the man next to him as well, smaller in stature, but stocky. Alex and Oliver.

“Fuck the plan! I’m not gonna waste this opportunity!” He sent the heel of his boot right into Joel’s gut causing him to double over into the crimson speckled dirt with a pain ridden grunt. “Well?!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Was she in there or not?!”

Alex and Oliver slowly looked over at one another before their shoulders simultaneously slumped inward. “No, but—”

“FUCK!” Cody snarled out of sheer frustration. He couldn’t let him down. He was told he couldn’t show up empty handed. It wasn’t an option.

Just as Joel’s fingers weakly grasped the handle of his pistol, that lay only a short arms distance away, Cody sent his boot right into his face. There was a sickening crunching sound of bone matter and cartilage being crushed as Joel’s body stilled. He was knocked out cold from the impact as blood leaked down his face and soaked into the dusty earth beneath him.

Neither men moved as Cody began to pace in contemplation. He paid no mind to the consequences he would face for his actions.

“Cody, we need to get the fuck outta town right fuckin’ now! If anyone sees—”

“And show up empty handed?! Fuck no.”

“Cody, she wasn’t there. We have no fuckin’ clue where she could be. C’mon, let’s just go back and regroup before someone shows up and finds Joel layin’ in a pool of his own blood.”

Cody ignored his counterparts as he continued to pace in a tight circle. He suddenly stopped when the lightbulb went off in his sick mind. He turned towards the two men, with a smirk that could only be described as sinister, “Angie.”

Ellie was curled up against your body with her cheek pressed gently into your shoulder. Her eyes flickered towards the windows in the family room. She watched the last bit of sunlight dip behind the horizon as a warm summer breeze blew through the beige curtains.

Joel should have been home by now.

She waited with alert ears for the sound of the front door to squeak open any minute now. It never came.

She shifted against you before your gazes met. “Beanie, he should have been home by now.”

You understood full heartedly that this movie night was important to Ellie. This was the first time that she and Joel were going to be spending some quality time together after everything they had gone through. This was a big deal.

“Kiddo, I’m sure he’s on his way now. Maybe he and Tommy just got caught up in something?” You wanted to reassure her and yourself that Joel was in fact on his way, and maybe he was just running late.

“Beanie..he—promised. What if he’s ditchin’ me? God, this was so stupid.” She went to bury her hands in her face, but you stopped her.

“Ellie, he’s not ditching you. He would never do that to you. He loves you. I’m sure he’s just running late is all.” Your own fears began to crawl up into your subconscious. What if something was wrong? What if something had happened?

Ellie wanted to believe you, she really did, but her own fears were making an appearance as well. It didn’t help the fact that her last conversation with Joel had been about his suspicions of Lucas..

“I’m gonna go check the stables, okay? You stay here. Lock the doors.” Ellie was up from her spot on the couch before you could even attempt to stop her.

“Ellie,” you started, voice wavering from the building nerves, “be careful, okay?”

The teen looked over at you with a small, yet confident grin, “Always am.” Her face twisted back to a serious one as she tucked her gun in her hoodie pocket. Joel surely would have scolded her if he had seen it.

You listened to the soft click of the door opening and closing. Your eyes drifted over to the unoccupied spot on the couch where one of the pillows was smashed down. Joel’s spot. .

Please. Please just be running late.

Please be okay, Joel.

Tommy found himself reminiscing on the good ole days as he nursed his glass of beer. Condensation dripped down the outside of the glass like tear drops on cheeks. The noisy chatter that encircled him was drowned out by his thoughts. Joel had always been the protector, the planner, the guardian. And as a young boy, Tommy viewed Joel as his hero. His own beacon of light through the darkness. And when Sarah died? It all changed. He was angry. At the world. At himself. And now, here in this peaceful community, he was getting to see those small glimpses of the old Joel that had laid dormant for so many years.

The Joel that he knew and loved so deeply.

He left his glass half empty as he said his goodbyes to some of the patrol guys, and the barkeep before he walking towards the door.

He was heading in the direction of the home he shared with Maria when he noticed a mass laying just outside your home. He thought that his brain was playing a cruel trick on him, and the approaching dusk might have also played a role in what he was seeing.

Gravel and dirt particles crunched beneath his heavy boots as he started his approach. As he drew nearer, he was able to make out the outline of a body. And, oh—god

Tommy remembers the moment he heard the shot ring through Joel’s house as if it had happened just yesterday. While he gathered supplies in the garage, his big brother was upstairs with the barrel of a revolver pressed against his temple.

How could Tommy not have known? How could he have missed the signs? The indications that Joel was thinking of taking a drastic measure to end his life. How could he have missed it?

“Joel!” A younger Tommy Miller yelled in fear. He threw down the tool box in a haste. Tools of all shapes and sizes clattered to the concrete in a harsh crescendo.

“Joel! Please, no. Please.” He chanted weakly under his breath as his feet carried him up the staircase. He stumbled on the top step as a wave of nausea made its presence known.

“Joel!” He yelled again, more desperately than the last. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his brother so soon. He couldn’t. Not when just days ago they laid Sarah to rest. He couldn’t do this without Joel.

Sweat pooled at the back of his neck the closer he drew to the ajar opening of Sarah’s bedroom. He held onto the wall for support as his knees began to inevitably buckle from the dread crawling up his throat.

“Joel.” He croaked, “please. Please be alive in there.”

With a shaky breath, and through a mess of tears, Tommy pushed open Sarah’s bedroom door.

“I missed.” Joel murmured in disbelief. Disappointed that he couldn’t just do one thing fucking right. He couldn’t just follow through with his promise. His final wish to be with his daughter. His baby girl.

His palms trembled as his dull brown eyes flitted down to the revolver still in his grasp. He paid no mind to the blood slowly trickling from the right side of his head. Just a graze. Missed completely.

“Joel, what the fuck did you do that for?” Tommy wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, yell, all of the above? “You’re bleedin’, brother.”

“Oh.” Joel responded flatly. He brought his fingers up towards the right side of his head. He hardly flinched when his fingertips dragged through the flowing blood. He brought his hand back down to his eye level, fingers soaked in crimson. Then, the ringing started. Tommy’s voice started to sound fuzzy from the right side. “I flinched, Tommy. Thought I could do it. I was so sure—”

“Joel. Stop it, please.” Tommy nearly begged his brother as he cautiously moved in closer.

“I wanted to die, Tommy. I ain’t have anythin’ left to live for.” He refused to make eye contact with his brother purely out of shame.

“Killin’ yourself ain’t gonna bring Sarah back, Joel. Its fuckin’ selfish that you—” His words were bitter, jaded, sharpened with intent to harm. “I fuckin’ need you, Joel. I need my big brother to keep us alive. Is he still in there?” He pointed to Joel’s chest, symbolizing his heart.

When Joel finally brought his chin upwards to face his brother, the look on his sunken features shattered Tommy right down to the core. A broken man, father, brother. The same man that helped Tommy with his homework. The same man that taught him how to ride a bike. The same man that Tommy viewed as his hero. Where was he now?

“He died along with her.”

“Joel!” Tommy felt his voice get lodged in his throat at the sight of his older brother laying motionless in the crimson stained dirt. Panic began to swell and fester like an untreated wound the second his eyes landed on Joel’s handgun just an arms length away.

“No. No. Please— what happened, Joel!” He sank to his knees alongside him. “We were just—talkin’ about how much you were lookin’ forward to the movie night with Ellie and Beanie, remember? You said that you would see me in the mornin’, dammit!” He yelled, slamming one of his fists in the dirt before he took a shaky inhale. “Remember?”

He wouldn’t hurt himself, would he? The thought flashed through his mind briefly. He remembered finding Joel in a pool of his own blood after Sarah died. Tommy brushed away strands of Joel’s hair that were congealed together with blood. His brows furrowed intently when he found there was no bullet hole in Joel’s skull before he pressed his middle and pointer finger right against Joel’s pulse point.

Please. Please. Please still be in there, Joel.

When the faintest pulse was detected, Tommy let out a visible sound of relief. His big brother was alive, but Tommy knew he had to act fast.

“S’alright, big brother. You’re alright. Gonna get you fixed up.” He murmured to himself just as he heard approaching footsteps.

“Tommy?..” It was Ellie. Her voice wavered at the sight of her uncle and father on the ground. “J—Joel?!” Her eyes were wide with oncoming tears brimming when she locked in on Joel’s unmoving body.

“Tommy, wh—what the fuck happened?!” She blinked away her tears just as Tommy stood up from the ground. “Is he fuckin’ dead, Tommy?!”

“Ellie, I don’t know what happened. I was on my way home and—found him like this. He’s alive, kiddo. He’s alive, but we gotta get him to doc right away.” Tommy never felt like he was all that great at taking on the protective role, but his niece needed his comfort and reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Ellie wasn’t listening to a word Tommy was saying. All she could focus on was Joel’s bloodied face and still body. Her emotions were consuming her entirely before she felt Tommy’s warm embrace wrapping her up. She let her tears soak into his shirt as she clung to him for dear life.

“Ellie, I know you’re scared, kiddo. But I need ya to be strong for me, and for Joel. We gotta get him to doc right now. I need you to help me carry him okay?” He spoke in a soft tone, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “He’s gonna be just fine. Your old man has always been a fighter.”

She squeezed her uncle tightly before pulling away from his embrace. She wiped what remained of her tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. “I’ll—I’ll take his legs?” She questioned rather than suggested. Seeing Joel like this, bloodied, weak, on the verge of—

“Ellie, he’ll be okay.” Tommy firmly reassured her again. He bent down over his brother and gently hoisted him up under his armpits while Ellie lifted him up by his legs.

Joel felt like dead weight, but his brother and daughter’s determination helped them power through the dull ache and strain in their muscles.

Tommy hated hospitals just as much, if not more than his brother did. The pungent stench of bleach, the droning hum from the overhead fluorescent lights. It was unappealing, cold, and overall a dreadful experience. But out of all of the late night visits to the ER after another bar fight, this by far was the worst of all to see his brother unconscious, dried blood crusted on his skin. Yet appearing peaceful while Doc checked his vitals and any signs of internal injuries

Ellie was seated next to her uncle nervously fidgeting with her fingers. Her leg was bouncing up and down frantically, until Tommy gently placed his palm over her knee in an attempt to soothe her.

“Well, he might have a bit of bruisin’ to his ribs, and his nose is definitely broken, but it’ll heal. There’s a chance he might be concussed, but I won’t know that for certain until he wakes up.” Doc said while tucking his clipboard under his armpit.

“I’ll stay here till he wakes up. Don’t want him wakin’ up alone.” Tommy said with a slight nod in Doc’s direction.

“I’m staying, too.” Ellie was defiant, of course. It was in her nature, and she couldn’t fathom not being by her dads side—

“Ellie, I’m gonna go and find someone to walk you home, okay? One of the guys on patrol..maybe a couple, given the circumstances.” He needed to make sure his niece got home in one piece, first and foremost.

Ellie clenched her fists, lips pressed tightly together as her eyes met Tommy’s in an intense stare. He could see residue of dried tears on her cheeks, and fresh ones beginning to brew like an oncoming storm. “Tommy,” she started, voice low, yet stern. “I’m not fuckin’ leaving him. I’m not. You can’t—”

“Ellie, I know you want to stay here with him too, but somethin’ about this ain’t right. You and I both know that there’s been some suspicious activity happenin’ as of late. Joel is goin’ to be okay, kiddo. He’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Her lower lip wobbled under the bright fluorescent light. She wanted to be angry at her uncle for telling her what she needed to do, but he was right, and there really wasn’t another second to waste. “Don’t you dare even think of leavin’ his side, Tommy. Don’t you dare.” She wiped her eyes along the back of her hand before making the final decision to get up from where she was sitting.

“I won’t, kiddo. I promise.” Tommy reassured her.

She walked over to the right side of the bed where Joel was lying and gently ran her fingers through a few stray curls that were stuck to his forehead. Dried sweat, dirt, and blood littered his hair and face. She leaned down, whispering something while she pressed her lips to his temple, squeezing her eyes shut.

Please don’t die.

Tommy left the room to give Ellie a bit of privacy. He flagged down a nurse in the hallway and quickly explained that he needed someone to ensure Ellie safely got home. It was decided that two patrol members would escort her home.

When Tommy returned, he was with Jesse and Liam waiting outside the open doorway.

“Ellie?”

Her head snapped in the direction of Tommy’s voice as she quickly wiped away the remnants of her tears.

“Jesse and Liam are gonna make sure you get home safe. Okay, kiddo?”

“Sure.” She muttered. Agreeing with her uncle didn’t mean that she had to act happy about it. Despite her feelings, she made a point to hug her uncle before she left the room.

Don’t leave him. She reminded him.

Sunlight warms his skin, birds chirping in the high treetops, a soft breeze rustles through his hair, kissing his temple. He knows this place, where he stands. It’s—

“baby girl?” He chokes out, stumbling forward in an uncoordinated motion.

She’s there. She’s alive. She’s got daisies in her curls.

“Dad?”

He nearly drops to his knees right at the spot where he and Tommy dug her grave all those years ago. He stops in his tracks as she turns around to face him. She’s wearing the same clothes that she died in, except there’s no blood. No bullet wounds. She’s untouched. Bright, glowing under the rays of sunlight.

“Are you really here? C-can I hold you? Are those daisies in your hair? Baby girl, I’m so sorry.” The words tumble past his lips like an avalanche of word vomit. His heart lurches in his chest, leaping from the confines of his ribcage.

Sarah’s feet carry her swiftly to her father before she’s wrapping her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly with her cheek pressed firmly against his chest. “I’m really here, dad.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Joel’s arms wrap around her immediately, hugging her to his chest as tightly as he can, he’s trembling, tears blurring his vision, dripping down his cheeks and landing softly on her head of curls. He pulls away only to gently cradle her face in his strong, calloused, gentle hands.

She’s here. She’s alive. His baby girl.

“Dad..you—you remembered our favorite spot?” Her smile is beautiful, radiant, full of life.

“Of course I did. Our hikes, the fresh air. We—we loved it out here. I—I never forgot. Baby girl, I haven’t forgotten you. I—I think about you everyday. I’m so sorry. I miss you..I miss you so much.”

Her hands come to rest against the patches of his now graying beard. “Dad, you don’t have to apologize. I’m okay, I’m happy. I miss you too, dad. I miss you so much, but Ellie, she needs you. I’ll always wait for you, I promise. I’m always going to be right here.” She drops one of her hands from his face to then point to his heart. “I’m always with you.”

His face falls as his thumbs gently stroke her cheekbones. He’s not ready to leave, not yet. Not so soon. Too soon. He needs more time. Time. Time. Time.

Ellie.

“You—you would have loved her, baby girl. She reminds me so much of you. Her smile, her laugh. I see you in her. She’s—she’s my blessing. My second chance..my light in the darkness.” He sniffles, leaning down so he can press his lips to her forehead.

“And she needs you more than ever now, dad. She needs you. You have to forgive yourself, okay? Please promise me that one day, you will forgive yourself, dad. Promise me.”

“I promise you, baby girl. I promise. Daddy loves you, okay? He loves you so much.” There’s so much more he wants to say, so much more he wants to tell her, but there’s not enough time. He knows it.

“Dad, I love you so much. Tell Tommy I miss him too, okay? I’ll see you again one day, when the time is right.” She hugs him one last time as he buries his face into her mess of curls, holding in his sobs as more tears begin to fall.

“When the time is right, baby girl.” He murmurs.

—

“Well, brother. Guess it’s jus’ you and me now, huh?” Tommy wants to laugh, but he can’t. His emotions are all fucked. Everything is so fucked.

“That kid of yours really loves the hell outta ya. You’re like two feral cats.” He continues, forcing himself to stand and walk over to his brother's bedside. “And I know how much you love her.” He murmurs as he glances down at the nightstand where the contents of Joel’s pockets are laid out.

The two charm bracelets, the wood carving of a fawn for Ellie, and a folded piece of paper now tarnished with blood and debris.

“One of these for Beanie?” He asks while gently picking up one of the charm bracelets. “I’m so happy you listened to my advice and went to her coffee shop. I jus’ had this feelin’ that you two would hit it off.”

“You love her, huh? Like..really love her? I’m glad, Joel. I’m glad that you’re finally allowin’ yourself to love, and be loved. If anyone in this fucked up world deserves that, it’s you.”

He sets down the charm bracelet alongside the other before he picks up the wood carved fawn. One of the delicate ears had broken off during the fight, but it was fixable. “Ellie is going to love this when she sees it. You’ve always been..a giver, Joel.. Always thinkin’ of others before yourself. Puttin’ your heart out on the line. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I’m so grateful that you met Ellie when you did. You saved her, but she saved you just as much. Turned that cold heart of yours into somethin’ good again.”

He placed the fawn down gently before he eyed the folded piece of paper. “Y’still writin’ those letters? Have they been helpin?’ Y’know, I thought about writin’ a couple myself.”

Something in his gut tells him that this letter..is meant for him.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat as he reached for the piece of paper and picked it up with trembling fingers. He sees his name written on the outside, and his vision goes blurry with tears. “You..were gonna give this to me tomorrow when we said we were gonna meet at the Tipsy Bison?”

He slowly sinks down along the side of the bed, unfolds the letter and begins to read it silently.

Tommy, this is the third letter I have written thus far, so hopefully this comes across the way I have intended it to. Ever since we were just two little boys scraping our knees up on the playground, telling each other secrets, and holding each other tight when mom and dad would argue into the odd hours of the night, I always found myself being protective over you. I ain’t even sure if it had anything to do with age, and more to do with the fact that it’s been instilled in me since birth that I'm a natural protector. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

I’ve never told anyone this, but the day you told me that you wanted to join the army, and make a difference in the world, I wept. I soaked my pillow with my tears that very same evening cus’ I realized I couldn’t protect you anymore. You were eighteen, and ready to take on the world. Selfishly, I didn’t want you to go, and I know that war changed you. I know what it did to you, and you were no longer the little boy hiding under the covers from the thunder and lightning. You were molded into a man right before my eyes, but you’ve always been my little brother, and ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.

I know you blame yourself for the night that we lost Sarah. I still remember the grief in your eyes. You tried so hard. So fuckin’ hard, and I’m so sorry for what I became after she died.

A stray teardrop fell along the thin paper as the word ‘died’ began to blur from the sudden moisture.

You literally had to pry her cold body from my arms because I refused to let go. Even when we dug her a shallow grave near the woods she loved to hike in, you had to stop me from crawling into that goddamn hole with her.

24 hours. 1 day since the outbreak. 1 day without his baby girl

“She’ll be happy here, Joel. She gets to rest in her favorite place.” Tommy murmured as he set the shovels down next to the grass covered earth that would soon be dug up to create a shallow grave for Sarah to finally be laid to rest. The younger Miller brother hid his grieving behind a stoic face. He didn’t want Joel to see how much pain he was in. He wanted to be the strong one for once in his life, especially since he blamed himself for Sarah's death. If only he had been there sooner. If only he had acted quicker, maybe she would still be alive.

Joel was unmoving as he held his deceased daughter, who had long since grown cold and stiff in his arms. She was wrapped in a sheet, as Joel couldn’t bear to see her unmoving eyes any longer. He had shed his last tears, as he watched his brother begin to dig a shallow grave. As the minutes ticked by, Joel was realizing that after Sarah was to be buried, he no longer would be a father, and the thought made him feel queasy. What did he have to live for if he was no longer a parent? What was the point?

“Tommy..” Joel croaked, “I–can’t let her go.” He choked up as the weight of the world was beginning to press down on his shoulders. He held Sarah close to his heart where his chin came to rest upon her covered head. “Tommy, we–”

“Joel, we have to let her go. Brother, please. She’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do to bring her back. I’m sorry.” He was. If he could go back in time and take Sarah’s place, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Joel’s eyes began to glaze over with fresh tears as he began to frantically whisper to Sarah as if she could hear him from the other side. “S’okay baby girl. You’re okay. Daddy has you, and he’ll see you soon. I promise. I’m coming for you, baby girl.” He pressed a firm, promising kiss to her covered head before he slowly lowered himself onto his knees along the edge of the hole in the dirt. He could feel stomach acid rise up his throat at the thought of the earth, and mother nature consuming his baby girl. He wanted to go with her.

Tommy watched with a heavy heart as he watched his older brother gently place his baby girl into the shallow grave. His own tears began to silently fall as images of a newborn Sarah flashed in his mind. He remembered the pure joy and love that radiated from Joel the moment he got to hold his daughter for the first time. No parent should ever have to bury their child.

As Tommy willed himself to begin shoveling the dirt he dug up into the grave, he watched in horror as his grief-stricken brother nearly had crawled into the hole. He dropped the shovel in a haste as he grabbed ahold of the underside of Joel’s shoulders and yanked him back.

The soul-shaking, torturous, anguished sound that cascaded from Joel’s mouth, was one that chilled Tommy’s blood. It could only be described as a grieving parent refusing to let their only child go.

Tommy still has nightmares of it.

I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t just fuckin’ pull myself together for both of us. I know how scared you were, Tommy. I was scared too. I was terrified. I was supposed to be the big brother then. The one who had all the answers. Who could come up with a plan at the drop of a hat to keep his little brother alive. Instead, you had to fill that position. You stepped into that role because I gave you no other choice. If you didn’t force me to leave that spot where she died, I would have rotted there with her. I never thought for a moment about the pain that you were feeling. I lost a daughter that night, but you lost a niece, and a brother all in one night.

48 hours. 2 days since the outbreak. 2 days without his baby girl.

It was Tommy’s idea for him and Joel to return home to gather up as much food and supplies they could get their hands on. Joel was apprehensive, but Tommy reassured him that they wouldn’t have to stay long. So, Joel reluctantly agreed. Their neighborhood was dead silent with no signs of life to be found. The bombs that the government had dropped only impacted the major cities, and left the small neighborhoods untouched from their destruction. It would have just been another day if it weren’t for the familiar bodies scattered in the street. Both Tommy and Joel avoided looking at the deceased body of Nana Adler as they crossed their front yard.

“I’m gonna grab what I can from the garage, and then I'll meet you inside? Grab a couple of backpacks and stuff it with clothes, and anything else you think we might need. Okay, Joel?”

The older Miller brother could only meekly nod as a non-verbal response. He was too focused on remembering that he had stashed a revolver in his office drawer for safe keeping. At least it would be quick.

Tommy was unaware, clueless to Joel’s plan to end his life. He knew his brother was mourning, but he never had thought about the drastic measures he would take to be reunited with Sarah.

As Joel ascended up the stairs, memories of his life before the outbreak leaked into his mind. A five year old Sarah running down the stairs to avoid bath time after playing outside all day. Sticky with sugary sweet syrup from a popsicle, and dirt and twigs stuck in her head of curls. Joel patiently demanded that she needed a bath. Well, Sarah had other plans of course and Joel would have to catch her first.

He could hear her gleeful giggles now; almost sweet music.

Soon, baby girl. I promise.

His footsteps were soft, and undetected as he padded down the hall to his office area. His hand grasped the handle as he slowly turned it and pushed the door open with ease. Everything was right as he left it. Blueprints for a new project he and Tommy were working on. A school paper from Sarah that she had left for him to proof read. A stale cup of coffee. Tommy’s note tacked to the corkboard that Joel kept from when they were kids. A life preserved in time. He reached for the note as he gingerly plucked it from where it was pinned. He folded it carefully before slipping it into his pocket. He wanted to have a piece of his brother with him, always.

Joel didn’t feel nervous as he opened the file cabinet drawer that contained his concealed revolver. He greeted it like an old friend as he grasped it firmly in his palm. The coolness of the metal diffused his clammy skin. He could do it here, he thought silently. No, he wanted to be closer to Sarah. To be comforted by her familiarity. So, he left his office and went straight to her room.

As he brought the barrel of the gun to his temple, he felt calm. He felt ready. More ready than he had ever felt in his entire life. He felt sorry for leaving Tommy to fend for himself, but he knew that his brother would survive, and he’d be better off without him anyway.

As his finger hovered over the trigger, he observed Sarah's untouched room. From the crumpled sheets along her bed where he had tucked her in for the very last time, her discarded backpack, her posters, trophies from soccer, and all of her photographs. Photos of her and Joel. Her and Tommy. She was the happiest kid ever, and that’s how Joel wanted to remember her.

As his finger gradually applied pressure to the trigger, he flinched. The bullet missed, and grazed the right side of his temple. His right ear was profusely ringing as he dropped to the carpet like a bag of bricks. He could faintly hear Tommy’s shouts and footsteps racing up the stairs as blood slowly trickled down his face.

Tommy, I was selfish. I was selfish for wanting to take my life and leave you to fend for yourself. My baby brother. The same brother I swore to protect till my last dying breath. I was a coward, Tommy. A weak, selfish, pathetic coward. I wanted to take the easy way out. The cheap way. I just hope you still don’t hate me for it. I hope you don’t hate me for putting you through the trauma and pain of almost losing me too. Sometimes I wonder if my attempted suicide triggered your thirst for blood. As if I am the direct cause for the carnage you partook in when we joined Tess and her raider group. Sometimes I wonder if all those times that we murdered people, that you pictured me on the other end of the gun. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the brave big brother that you always believed me to be. I’m sorry that even over twenty years later, I’m not me. I’m not the Joel that you looked up to. I’m not sure if I'll ever be that version of myself again, but I am ever-so grateful that I am still your brother. Your flesh and blood.

I hope that one day you’ll be proud to be my brother again. Till then, I'll always have your back.

-Your big brother, Joel. The one that held you when things went bump in the night.

Tommy isn’t even aware of how much time has passed while he reads Joel’s words over till they're practically burned into his brain. He doesn’t feel the shifting of the coarse sheets, or see Joel’s fingers twitch at his side.

“Tommy..” Joel croaks, voice hoarse and barely audible.

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tang0w0tek · 2 years

Text

Actual dsmp lore bits that I don't think we talk about much

- Sally was never retconned, it's been two years and STILL it is canon that c!Wilbur fucked a fish and somehow Fundy was born

- c!Sapnap is c!BBH's son

- c!Dream has a hidden bunker under c!Tommy's old hillside base (which is honestly creepy as fuck–)

- It is also apparently canon that c!Wilbur reproduces asexually and birthed c!Fundy from his toe (don't ask–)

- c!Tommy just wanted the Egg to tell c!BBH to swear

- c!Tommy made his own therapy business once and I don't remember how it went tbh but I'm guessing not well

- c!Fundy is canonically trans (although that might've been retconned idk– I hope not though–) (update: yes it was retconned)

- cc!Purpled was late to the L'Manburg duel stream because he was out eating a burrito and everyone started streaming "War!" but traffic caused him and his (brother? sibling? Idk whoever drove Purpled to the burrito place) to get home late

- people in cc!Jack's chat called him Jack L'Manifold in his first dsmp or first L'manburg stream which is an epic pun

- mexican dream's ghost is just in a cursed class by himself. I remember watching that stream after a driver's ed zoom meeting at my aunt's house and being like "what the fuck what is going on"

- c!Puffy sued c!Jack for hotel ownership (Puffy being on Tommy's side, but of course now the hotel got fUCKING BLOWN UP– WHY MUST EVERYTHING ON THIS SERVER GET BLOWN UP HHHH)

– c!Sapnap was addicted to blaze powder and was actually one of the drug van's best customers

- DreamXD is a huge c!George simp

- c!Fundy said he read the Warrior cats books and asked c!Schlatt and c!Quackity if they knew what they were (ty to @echolocati0n-art for letting me know the warriors thing was real)

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steviewashere · 5 months

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Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

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Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post canon #post season 4 #angst and hurt/comfort #sick steve harrington #sick fic

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thespoonisvictory · 2 years

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I Ramble About The Ending For A Long Time

ok hello i am insane yes yes

however when else are you going to see me write c!crime meta

what’s important first off is that the emotional core of the story is still there. that’s the only reason why this works for me. this was a story about two bored brothers who make a story that turns into a nation together, and under that it’s about communication and loyalty and the strain mental illness places on a relationship and underneath even that it’s a story about two streamers in a pandemic who wanted content and to make each other laugh.

that is never undermined or taken less than 100% seriously; it’s the emotional core of the whole thing. as wild as it gets and as bold choices are made, both wilburs love both tommys and vice versa.

it’s a similar story with the line at the end: “I never did quite forgive myself” isn’t undermined, isn’t played for laughs. The argument c!crime have is incredibly well done and people will write actual analysis about that so you should go read it, but the gist of it is that c!crime are what they’ve always been: more than a bit unhealthy, perpetually arguing, but never quite willing to give up on each other.

with that being said, I felt like that was what I wanted out of the finale achieved. now to get into the wild parts.

the interesting part for me is how c!wilbur’s insane mindset is, for the first time, actually challenged and beat.

we’ve been saying for months that one of c!wilbur’s biggest issues is that his paranoia manifests in believing he is in a story, that there are roles like heroes and villains, that he has to play his part and there is nothing he can do about it. he’s his own self-fulfilling prophecy, he takes himself incredibly seriously, and most importantly, he is aware of the audience.

and nothing could break that. everyone around wilbur confirmed to his narrative, letting his vague statements that were clearly a narrative foreshadowing to suicide slip by. he’s getting swallowed up again by his own story, he is the one putting chekov’s gun on the wall, never quite saying something, but implying just enough that he was willing it into reality.

(he does the same thing in season 1, remember? he tells everyone he’s going to press the button enough times that by the end he feels like he has to because he’s foreshadowed it, because it’s who he is now. eret said it was never meant to be and thus it wasn’t. if you’re in an improv rp and you know it, speaking things is enough to make them real.)

and it almost works again! he almost follows the exact same trajectory of self-deprecation and sealing his fate. except. tommy’s not taking it this time.

tommy, having gone through everything he’s gone through, finally gets to win this. he looks the entire force of wilbur’s simultaneously self-aggrandizing and deprecating mindset dead in the eye and says tell me what you’re fucking talking about.

he says the words! he looks at wilbur and says we’ve both been in this story before, I know what you’re doing, I know who you are and what this is and I’m not going to let it happen again. tell me, are you going to kill yourself? he enters into wilbur’s spiral and says this can’t be redemption if you still won’t be honest with me and you can’t leave without apologizing.

he gets right to the core, no subtext, with all the blunt honesty he’s ever had, and c!wilbur, worn down from fighting and apologizing and the exhaustion of it all, finally gives in. he stops lying.

his backstory was never cool. he was a gas station attendee, never any sort of leader before coming to the smp, and his jacket was just another uniform. he isn’t even european. he somehow sailed here from a landlocked state, because why not. this is Not the type of backstory for the type of person he’s trying to build himself up to be, this isn’t the fit for the genre at all!

but insanely, impossibly, it’s true. it’s canon. just like the fish fucking and the fridge mom and everything else. it is ridiculous! and with that, it’s the realization that wilbur’s story has always been a serious character with serious feelings in ridiculous circumstance. his very real suicide was attempted via looney-tunes-esque sticks of dynamite in a pile, his ghost talks in a high-pitched voice and gives out blue dye. none of this undermines the seriousness of c!wilbur’s feelings, but it does undermine how he views himself as some great evil out of Game of Thrones.

he died and got revived by a book! his depression fort was named pogtopia! he has always existed just under the threshold of ridiculousness by just how seriously he takes it all, how seriously everyone takes it.

and c!tommy has always loved the person under the narrative he paints, and that’s why, at the end of it all, he can get through to him. tommy knows the story, he loves parts of it (l’manburg, the family, etc), but he doesn’t love this part, and for once, he gets to choose. he pushes and pushes and says you love me enough to not shy away from this, I am banking on you loving me enough not to push me away again, and he’s completely right! he breaks the cycle by being the same kid he’s always been.

and so wilbur’s end is ridiculous. it’s absurd, but it’s not him killing himself again. it’s not drenched in the belief that everything he made should be destroyed, but full of callbacks and nods to who he was. he never did quite forgive himself, but he’s not looking to the audience for forgiveness anymore, either.

there are no more looks into the camera, and the book he gives for tommy is for his eyes alone, unlike every other speech like apology we’ve seen so far. he says things that the audience won’t reach. he invites us, one last time, to look upon his works and despair, to tell us that nothing remains. but he is still there, even if there is no story to watch. he is not part of a story anymore. the cameras are cut, and he survived. he is nothing more than himself.

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dsmp meta #dsmp analysis #dear god I have so many thoughts about thi #I love taking things too seriously #suicide tw

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catsandgoodbooks · 9 months

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I’ve been thinking about the first part of the DSMP finale quite a lot recently, so let me ramble about it and, more specifically, the decisions c!Punz makes there, and why they might of done that.

So far, I’ve seen three main theories about why c!Punz decided to revive c!Dream in front of c!Tommy and c!Tubbo, thereby destroying their cover. The first is that c!Punz just panicked and wanted to bring c!Dream back as fast as possible, damn the consequences. The second is that c!Punz and c!Dream already planned all of this out and they decided together that c!Punz didn’t have to stay in the shadows any longer. The third is that c!Punz decided that they were just going to betray the plan if one more thing went wrong out of spite and concern for both themself and c!Dream, and this was the last straw. I like all three of these for different reasons, so let’s go through them one by one.

Option One: Desperation and panic. c!Punz freaked out and revived c!Dream as soon as they found out. The second c!Dream’s back, he’s also panicking, so they’re both freaking out while trying to seem calm and collected. c!Tommy and c!Tubbo are completely oblivious to this because of course they are.

Perks/Evidence:

It’s fun (and a little angsty, but that’s not the main thing)

There’s plenty of silly little headcanons for this (including the one post that I can’t find anymore about c!Dream falling down the stairs because he was disoriented)

c!Dream would probably go along with it and pretend it was completely fine/supposed to happen

It’s the simplest solution, and the one easiest inferred from the stream

Cons:

Would c!Punz really do that, knowing how much they’ve given up for this and how level-headed they are?

Why wouldn’t c!Punz just send c!Tommy and c!Tubbo on their way instead of telling them that c!Punz had something to show them?

Option Two: Calm, calculated planning. c!Dream and c!Punz planned everything out, including the reveal of c!Punz’s true allegiances and c!Dream’s revival (and potentially his death as well). Neither of them are panicking (or, at least, they’re not panicking as much as they would in option 1). Presumably, c!Punz doesn’t need their cover anymore, perhaps because the plan is almost at the end. c!Tommy and c!Tubbo are still oblivious to everything going on, because they always are.

Perks/Evidence:

c!Dream and c!Punz getting exactly what they wanted despite making extremely questionable decisions and essentially losing, which always felt suspicious to me

Staged duo’s whole thing being staging things and making victories feel like crushing defeats

c!Punz having the revival book set up and ready to spring, as well as essentially having a whole speech planned

c!Dream has before (and would again) sacrifice a life or two for a plan

It could of been a rainy day plan for if c!Dream lost his last life, which would make the whole theory make more sense

Cons:

Why would they do this? What’s the reasoning behind this? What are they trying to accomplish (besides maybe blowing up the world, fixing whatever is wrong with it, or having previously figured out that the nukes would somehow erase people’s memories and trying to get that to happen)?

The logistics. All of them. What else do I have to say?

Option Three: Spite. It’s the last straw for c!Punz, who has had to go along with c!Dream’s plans and self-destructiveness (especially after what happened with Las Nevadas), and they decide that, damn it all, they’re going to blow their cover to force c!Dream into going along with this. c!Punz knows what’s going on but no one else is, including c!Dream. (I don’t think I explained this very well, so go read this canon-compliant oneshot setting this up if you want more context. It’s really good)

Perks/Evidence:

It gives c!Punz more agency, which is always a good thing

It has c!Punz and c!Dream be on different pages and adds conflict between them, which is interesting and angsty

c!Dream would definitely go along with it and pretend this was all part of his plan

It gives c!Punz a reason to revive c!Dream in front of Clingy Duo instead of just waiting until they were gone

As above: It gives c!Punz a relatively plausable reason to blow their cover

It incorporates c!Punz’s internal conflicts and besetting sin of anger, which neither of the others do

Cons:

There’s literally no evidence for this, I just think it’s interesting and angsty

I personally like all three of these, but I think the first makes the most sense, even though c!Dream getting what he wanted despite being outsmarted and killed and having one of his allies outed seems really suspicious. However, I think that the other two are very interesting to explore and I want to use them in fanfiction now, so I’m probably going to do that sometime and you’re not going to see me for three months.

#dsmp #c!dream #c!punz #staged duo #c!tommy #c!tubbo #my writing #yeah it's long i know #sorry about that #i just needed to rant #punz is my favorite character if you couldn't tell

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bugflies00 · 2 months

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I do think it's interesting how in canon with c!tommy there is a difference drawn between rude and cruel. He's pretty rude throughout most of the smp. He can be shitty to people, but it's usually not more than an irritant. He swears, shouts, talks over people, steals, etc. But he can also be very considerate. He can't always read people but he is often checking on people (mostly wil and tubbo) he fights for what he believes in and he's ride or die with a lot of his friends.

I think the only real time he becomes cruel is around exile and bedrock bros. He does hurt people very badly (Connor), he says things that cut horribly deep, he generally disregards other people's emotions. And I think it's cool that the way it's written it is not at all an extension of his general personality, his rudeness, which is beat down in exile, but moreso stemming out of the learned idea that no one cares about him and that his own life is worth very little. He stops really trying to connect to or understand people around him and it drastically affects how he interacts with the world.

I also like that he is actually rude. I feel like a lot of rude characters are just sort of loud or poor communicators, but Tommy is rude and gets to stay rude throughout the story

sorry ive been ignoring all my asks but YEAH THIS!!!! what i love love love about ctommy is that he's not cruel but not because he's some holy grail of goodness who is incapable of hurting a fly. he CAN be cruel. he has that potential, just like everyone else. but the MOMENT he realised that he was starting to act upon that potential and that he was hurting people? he backtracked. it's a CHOICE he CHOOSES to be kind im gonna throw up. and yeah like you said the fact that exile didn't turn him in a meek quiet person but instead made him more cruel and violent is sooooo. AND CAUSE THEN specifically BECAUSE he was lashing out and being cruel bc of his abuse, that made people refuse to see that he was a victim and he was abused, which in turn isolated him more and made him more prone to the extremes I JUST. froths at the mouth i like ctommy a normal amount

#alex.rambles.txt #alex.asks.txt #c!tommy #mcyt

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w3ndytheraccoon · 4 months

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C!Tommy is my favourite character, however, that doesn’t mean he gets a pass.

In simple word, C!Tommy is a narcissist, or atleast show alot of narcissistic traits. Self importance ? Check. Entitled to some degree ? Check. Arrogant ? Check. Jealous easily ? Check. Rarely believe something is his fault ? Check.

( Obviously, just because someone has some of these traits, that doesn’t mean that they’re a narcissist or a bad person, it depends on the context )

Now, I guess you can say that since Tommy is canonically 16, being a narcissist is expected, because most 16 years old is a self - centred asshole. But like I said many times, just because it’s justified, that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

Tommy has show signs of a narcissist ( Arrogant, entitled ) ever since he joined, and as the lore progresses, he starts to show more. It even gets worse when he got mad because he can’t fathom the fact Tubbo has a life out of him. He threatened to kill Michael for fuck’s sake ( I still love reading about them bonding tho ) !

And the whole “ Me and Tubbo vs Dream “ always gets on my nerves. Yes, Tommy has been hurt by Dream but he’s not the only one. What about Sapnap and Geogre who have to watch their close friend spiral ? What about Puffy who lost her fucking son and felt responsible for how he turn out ? What about Ranboo ? What about Niki and Jack and Fundy who lost their home when he blew up L’ manberg ? What about Vikkstar & Lazarbeam ? Dream has hurt almost everyone, not just Tommy, yet he believes he’s the only one.

Not to mentioned, he claims Tubbo is his bestfriend, yet hesitate when he’s asked to choose between him and the discs. Tommy has been an asshole to Tubbo and Tubbo has also been an asshole to Tommy times to times ( I will cover this more for when Tubbo’s post comes ). C!ClingyDuo is a shitshow (and when you include Ranboo and make it C!BenchTrio, it gets even worse ), they’re both bad for eachother. Sure, there are times where they act like actual, healthy friends, but half the times, their “ friendship “ is held together by shared trauma.

While Tubbo is treated like something comparable to the fucking discs, Ranboo is seen as an obstacle half the times. Yeah, Tommy covered for him when they burnt Geogre’s house, but that’s it. After that, whenever Tommy is with Ranboo, he’s just a tad bit more hostile and he always show jealousy when Ranboo and Tubbo are together. Like C!ClingyDuo, C!AlliumDuo is also toxic as hell and is barely being held together by the fact they have a mutual friend ( Tubbo ).

Don’t even get me start on Jack. I joined the fandom relatively late ( Post Prison Arc ), when the fandom’s opinions start shifting, and Tommy became a baby who can’t do anything wrong, so Jack’s death was pretty much brush over. It doesn’t help that I learn the lore solely through fan content, and as I said, opinions start shifting and Jack’s death got no acknowledgement. I didn’t even know why he was so mad at Tommy until a few weeks ago when I read a fanfic ( On Temporizing by LuckyMagicBelle ). No one in the fandom and the lore acknowledge it except Jack and maybe Niki, not even Tommy himself.

And that’s not even talking about all the casual crimes he commit, which I will not be getting into, because I’m pretty sure everyone have commit atleast 3 casually crimes at this point.

( Putting this just incase. Like in the one I made about Dream, just because Tommy is an asshole sometimes, that doesn’t mean the shit that happened to him is okay. And how he turns out is realistic imo, because I know that if I went through what he did, I’ll come out worse. But still, a flaw is flaw, and this is a call out post. He is child and someone should’ve show him how to be better, not let him continue to be like this )

Conclusion : C!Tommy is an actual war criminal that is in no way, shape or form innocent, yet most the fandom ignore that because they woobified him. He’s an asshole sometimes and it’s fine to be paranoid after the shit he went through but he needs to understand that Dream isn’t always out to get him. Also, C!BenchTrio needs to split up, have some therapy and spent some times for themselves before they’re ready to be friends again.

I still love him and will defend him with my dying breath though.

Edit : Y’all, I just saw a post that said C!tommy is a accurate portrayal of an abused victim, and now I can’t tell which of my points are actually him being an ass and which one is me being insensitive / overreacting and not realising that he’s intended to be written that way to be accurate. Please tell me because I do not want to offend anyone-

#dsmp tommy #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #ctommy #c!tommy #C!tommy critical #c!tommy slander #he’s my little guy #but fucking hell #he’s an asshole #dsmp call-out with raccoon #call-out with Raccoon #All this being said #I will continue reading fanfic bout them being adorable and wholesome #Next is C!Wilbur

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infizero-draws · 12 days

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oh hey, id love to here your labduo hcs

YAYYYY ok. i'll start off with the demon soulmate ones (not specific to them) since someone else asked to hear about that as well. this is very long sorry

SO. all demons are born with a special kind of semi-immortality (able to be killed but unable die from age) where their lives are connected to a mortal soulmate(s). soulmate in this context has no inherent romantic or sexual connotations; soulmates can be strictly platonic, romantic, sexual, or anything in between. they dont even necessarily have to spend their lives with each other, it's purely the bond and the connections between their lives.

soulmate bonds exist from the moment all parties are alive, but the demon doesn't get the instinct to seek them out until the age of 18. the demon will follow this instinct and once they meet their soulmate(s), their lives will be connected from there on.

if the demon decides not to seek them out for whatever reason, they'll still naturally be drawn to them. however, if by bad luck or purposeful avoidance they dont meet their soulmate(s) by age 50, then they'll just Die. for this reason most dont avoid their soulmates but there are some who choose this lonesome dangerous lifestyle; choosing a set-in-stone 50 year lifespan over one tied to a mortal's lifespan, which could end up being cut short.

if the demon has already met their soulmate(s) before the age of 18, then nothing really changes. they still don't KNOW they're soulmates until they turn 18, and then once they do the connected lives come into effect.

these mortal soulmates have historically been humans, which is what led to the horned human variant coming into existence a long LONGGG time ago. these are different from demon-human hybrids, as over the years they've become their own subspecies. the horned human variant is still considered fully human, just with horns and a tail. this is what c!tommy is, while c!eryn is an actual demon-human hybrid. here's this old chart i made to illustrate the differences:

demon-human hybrids don't have quite as good of a sense for locating their soulmate(s) as full demons; they'll still naturally be drawn to them but won't really be aware of it until the bond has been forged, unlike a full demon.

^ this is all obviously expanded upon from bad and skeppy's canonical soulmate bond btw.

ANYWAYS so that brings us to labduo. (i forgot they were called that btw. awesome) basically they're soulmates, but as per the way this all works, eryn doesnt realize this until they turn 18. and that's when he's like ummmm tommy. i think we're soulmates lol. and tommy is like wot. rlly? ok. and that basically is it LOL. tommy lives with tubbo and ranboo in the future to me, i dont think eryn and tommy would be attached at the hip soulmates. eryn would probably go off on his own adventures and come back every so often to catch up, rest at the benchtrio house, etc. rolewise they're like the distant uncle who randomly shows up from time to time LOL.

when it comes to other hcs for them ummm i dont actually have a lot. i think they figured out they were trans around the same time, like pre-puberty, and that was something that rlly brought them together. eryn tried to cut tommy's hair and it was a disaster. for anything more read this comic i made a while back

for me tommy was just this scrappy kid who showed up at the village stealing bread and shit, until he befriended eryn and was taken in by eryn's mom. ive never given tommy's actual origins much thought, as i dont think it rlly matters to me. the thing thats important is that he was an orphan from a young age. as much as i think the lab stuff can be cool i think i do just imagine him to have had normal parents and. Something happened where he did not have them anymore. young enough where he didnt have memories of them or anything. idk

OH and rq to explain this doodle in the context of all this. its basically just eryn saying that it's a good thing all of tommy's trauma and deaths happened BEFORE their soulmate bond existed or else it would've happened to eryn too lol

thats kind of it...... thank you for your interest...

#asks #dsmp #c!tommy #c!eryn #<- in case anyone is interested lol.................

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dreamsclock · 1 year

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prompt u say... in a no nuke universe, how does c!tommy handle seeing the absolute worst of c!dream's scars?

(and vice versa?)

not gonna write this as a fic and instead gonna write it as a mini analysis because i wanna discuss different scenarios so!! buckle in!!

this is a mess. warnings for: scars, death, murder, mild gore (Detail of injuries and scars), unhealthy dynamics (diskduo), mentions of torture, abuse, etc. warnings for general themes in exile, prison, and c!diskduo's general dynamic).

operating under the popular headcanon that canon deaths leave scars, i would imagine the worst of c!tommy's scars are from his canon deaths: one over his heart from the l'manburg independence wars, one across his neck from the final control room, and a head scar from being beaten to death in prison (along with others, but the most common c!tommy final death i've seen has him with a head wound for this). of course, he probably has other scars - from the manberg explosion, from doomsday, from exile, etc - but i imagine a lot of those would be straightforward enough?? along with the first two of his deaths. i think in any of those scenarios, c!dream would be either patching up a wound for c!tommy or something similar, see the scar, and then ask him about it - i like to imagine he doesn't even REMEMBER the final control room death (because i also forgot it LMAO) and tommy takes the biggest offence to this. what the fuck do you mean you don't remember??? that was the biggest deal of my life!! "look, it just slipped my mind-" SLIPPED YOUR MIND???? MY DEATH SLIPPED YOUR MIND?????

for the final death, i think it resonated a lot more for both of them. the first two of tommy's deaths happened even before the life system was canonised, and happened before exile, manberg, and everything that followed. after manberg, things felt like they had a lot more weight to them. tommy's final death came from a very personal place, for both of them. it wasn't war, it wasn't for a kingdom. it was a matter of emotions and desperation and fear and trauma, for both of them, and i think it would be a lot more of a big deal for them both too.

dream finds it when he's trying to wash blood out of tommy's hair after growing tired of him complaining about the mess. it's a knotted, gnarly scar - half feels like there's obsidian still lodged in there - and dream's hands pass over it once, before pausing. tommy's squirming and griping stops very quickly when he realizes what dream's found.

both of them know what it is. neither of them need the confirmation.

but dream isn't going to ask. and tommy isn't going to tell. so dream continues until the back of tommy's head is blonde, free from blood, and tries to be careful when washing near the scar.

maybe later that night, when they're both lying half-asleep (read: staring restlessly at the ceiling of their base), dream asks quietly. does it still hurt?

at the other end of the room, tommy turns over in bed, and sniffs.

do yours?

because dream's scars... they're not exactly hidden. sure, dream wraps up what he can - his mask hardly ever comes off, and he's usually clad in armour and extra clothes and bandages anyway, which cover a lot of skin - but torture scars can't exactly stay hidden. especially not that many. tommy sees new scars every day, though he never asks about them any more.

i don't know how to begin classifying which of dream's scars would be the worst. neither does tommy, who sees burn marks and places where bones have broken the skin and scars from swords and axes and patchily-healed skin where shears have been involved.

he'd tried asking about them at first. what the fuck? he'd said, seeing the first - a strip of skin that hadn't healed right on dream's back, nasty, scarring. a messy little smiley face is cut into it too. dude, you look like you've been fucking cut into little pieces.

dream goes rigid. how are your scars, tommy? he'd snipped back, voice curt, mocking. how's the neck healing? how's the arm?

they'd fought. obviously. they fought a lot, in the early days.

but tommy's unease around dream's scars only grows when he realizes the extent of them. they seem endless, a mural of torture and torment that he just knows are from the prison.

quackity did this, didn't he? he asks, when they're too tired months later to fight. quackity and sam. in the prison.

dream doesn't reply to that.

but tommy is woken up by him that night, when dream shrieks, bolting awake in bed. it's not a human sound. it's barely even animalistic.

tommy never tells him that he'd woken that night. there's no point. dream won't thank him for the knowledge that tommy had seen him curl up in bed, whole body trembling. he won't thank him for the knowledge that tommy had heard the choked gasps and sobs as he'd struggled to breathe, that he'd watched through half-closed eyes as dream had paced until the sun came up.

he didn't tell him any of that. he didn't tell him about the new scar he'd seen either - two of them, wrapping around his neck from the axe of peace, from the staged disk war finale.

tommy remembers how good it had felt, slamming that axe into dream's body.

when he eventually falls back asleep that night, he dreams of prison, and the break in dream's frame when he'd killed ghostbur.

SEND ME MORE C!DISKDUO / NO NUKE PROMPTS OR ASKS!!

#> au: no nuke finale #dreblr #c!discduo #> c!diskduo

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

Burning in a Hopeless Dream

Boston QZ: Part 15

“They See Right Through Me”

Joel Miller x f!o/c

A/N: thank you for your patience as I took the time to write this for y’all. This was not only the longest chapter I have written, this was also the hardest, and emotionally challenging one thus far. I am extremely proud of how this has turned out. Thank you for reading ♡

Summary: Save who you can save Joel.

~word count: 11.7k~

Warnings: age gap (o/c is in her early 30’s Joel is in his 50’s) established relationship, angst, dark! Joel, mean! Joel. You’re gonna hate him by the end of this chapter! Joel, canon typical violence, death of a major character, trauma, arguments, gaslighting, PTSD, anger, rage, heart break, triggering themes that may be disturbing for some viewers. Please proceed with caution and read the warnings. (+18) minors dni !

Songs for this chapter:

“The Archer” By Taylor Swift

“You Are My Sunshine” by The Civil Wars

“Godspeed” By Frank Ocean

“Same Old Same Old” by The Civil Wars

“take a moment to breathe” by normal the kid

“My Cell” The Lumineers

“Paper Houses” by Niall Horan

“Wait” by M83

“Save Yourself” by KALEO

“It’ll All Work Out” by Phoebe Bridgers

Summer, 2023 : 5 Miles outside the QZ

“From this point forward, the three of us have to actively remember that Ellie is just a kid.” You spoke, sitting along an old crate in the abandoned building you, Joel, and Tess had found to take cover from the storm. Ellie was asleep, in the middle of the room. She used her backpack as a pillow, under a bed of moss.

Joel scoffed alongside you. His hand was still bloodied and bruised up. The thin skin of his knuckles were torn, shredded, and you were doing your best to clean out any debris embedded in the flesh. “She ain’t just a kid. She’s fuckin’ cargo to us.” He gritted out. He could feel the muscles, and tendons in his hand twitching. He had definitely broken it from the amount of times his fist made contact with the FEDRA soldiers face.

“Does she fucking look like cargo to you Joel? That’s a kid who’s life just got drastically turned upside down in a matter of hours. All she’s clearly known is Marlene, and the fireflies, and now 3 strangers.” You shook your head, refusing to make eye contact with him as you swiped a bit of 20 year old disinfectant along his knuckles, eliciting a hiss from between his lips.

“She is cargo. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you don’t let your emotions get in the fucking way. You forgetting what we’re doin’ this for? We’re doin’ this for Tommy, Gwen. We get the battery, the truck, everything Marlene promised us, and we go and find my brother. That’s the plan and it ain’t changin’ darlin’.”

“You know, if I had just met you two, I’d think you were an old married couple by the way you fuckin’ bicker together.” Tess whispered, amusement in her tone.

Joel rolled his eyes immediately in response. “Yeah?” He scoffed. “Well, we sure as hell ain’t an old married couple.”

“No, but you’re actin’ like one. At this rate, I’d put a ring on her finger sooner, rather than later Texas.”

“You see an every kiss begins with Kay or jade jewelers, or whatever the fuck around here? Cause I sure as hell ain’t seein’ any. Not to mention, that ain’t our style. Marriage? That’s hilarious Tess. Really fuckin’ funny.”

It wasn’t that Joel thought there was anything bad about marriage. It was more-so the fact the that he hadn’t had thoughts about marriage in over 20 fucking years. Besides, putting a ring on your finger seemed way too cliche. Totally not yours, or his style.

“I think I’d actually commit murder if he even attempted to put a ring on my finger.” You chimed in, your eyes were still focused on tending to Joel’s hand.

“That’s exactly 100% why you’re Joel’s girl.”

“Damn right she is.” He agreed.

“You’re both seriously beyond insufferable right now. Just wanted to let you know.” You mumbled under your breath with a small grin tugging on your lips.

A bright flash of lighting, followed by a loud crack of thunder, ended the lighthearted banter.

“Have you thought of the possibility that maybe Marlene is lying about the truck, and weapons that she promised us? Look, I have my reasons to not trust Marlene, but I really think we need to think about this from a logical standpoint. If the case ends up being there’s no truck, or weapons, we can’t just leave Ellie to fend for herself.”

Joel was ripping his hand from your grasp when you had attempted to bandage his knuckles up. He had given you a stone cold look, one that sent an unpleasant chill down your spine.

“Marlene seemed too fuckin’ desperate to make up a lie like that darlin’. Besides, Tess and I have known Marlene far longer than you have. If she says there’s a truck and weapons waiting at the state house, she ain’t lyin’ about that. The only reason you have to not trust her is because she’s a fuckin’ firefly.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you tucked your first aid kit back into your backpack and stood up. “Yeah? Well if you remember correctly, she’s the reason why I got fucking thrown into lockup. Her and the rest of the fireflies are the reason behind that. You just want me to go along and trust her? She’s never even fucking liked me Joel.” His gaze fell upon your face as you shrugged off your jacket and gently placed it over Ellie’s curled up sleeping form just a few feet away.

“You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time Gwen. Shit fuckin’ happens. You don’t wanna trust Marlene? Go on right ahead and see where that gets you. You’ll be eating your words the second we drop this kid off and get our reward.”

You scoffed under your breath as you sank down against the wall, far away from him now with your arms crossed over your chest. “Yeah, okay Joel. Can you stop being a fucking asshole?”

“Stop saying stupid fuckin’ shit and then I won’t have a reason to be an asshole darlin’”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, tasting copper along your tongue. You missed the moments where Joel was attentive to you, and your feelings. Where he was tender, gentle, soft with your heart. You missed that side of him desperately.

Ellie, unbeknownst to the three of you, was wide awake and listening to the entire conversation as it ensued. The second you placed your jacket over her, she felt an immediate trust for you. Especially for the fact that you emphasized that she was just a kid. She was wary of the other two you traveled with. Especially Joel. He seemed like one mean motherfucker.

Joel had taken the first watch of the night while you and Tess slept. Except, you couldn’t sleep at all. Despite how mean your partner was to you earlier, you couldn’t give him the cold shoulder forever.

He had turned his head towards you in the slightest when he could hear your boots scraping against the pavement as you stood up. He let out a soft sigh when you sank down beside him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Why aren’t you sleepin’ honey?” His tone was much softer now, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“I don’t sleep most nights anymore Joel.”

He frowned at this and finally looked over at you, turning his body so he was facing you. His good hand was still firmly grasped around the machine gun strapped across his shoulder.

“You wanna talk about it? I’m all ears for you darlin’” he rasped.

“There’s nothing to talk about Joel. This has been going on for months. I’ve come to accept that a decent night's rest is not something attainable for me anymore. I’m on edge constantly, and for good reason.” You had your chin tucked into your shoulder as you looked over at him. The rain wasn’t as heavy anymore but there were still low rumbles of thunder in the distance.

Joel took a deep inhale through his nose, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed out, feeling the tension in his shoulders dissipate.

“C’mere. You ain’t have a reason to be on edge when I’m right here. Okay? Look, I know these last few months have not been ideal. Shits been handed to us left and right. I don’t want you thinkin’ that I don’t care either, alright? You know I do.” He slipped the rifle off of his shoulder before he was reaching for you, gently wrapping his good hand around your forearm, coaxing you closer.

“I know you care, Joel. I know that you’re just stressed over Tommy, and now this whole situation. I just…I got so fucking comfortable when we were just..happy. You remember that?” You didn’t fight him as he gently pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest, resting his chin along the top of your head. His arms were secured around your middle, your back pressed firmly to his chest.

“We both knew that wasn’t going to last forever baby. Those were the best moments. I ain’t forgotten them. M’sorry for the way I’ve snapped at you. I don’t know how to deal with how I’ve been feelin’ about Tommy. I know that’s not an excuse to treat ya that way. I don’t wanna lose you too..”

“We could have stayed with Bill and Frank y’know. There were so many houses and we could have had a comfortable life there. I know it sounds silly, how can anyone live comfortably in an apocalypse? Somehow Bill and Frank have. They’ve pretty much gone and done the impossible. Listen, I know you don’t mean what you’ve said. Does it hurt me? Absolutely. You’d have to do something unforgivable to lose me Joel. So please don’t go speaking like that.” You placed your hands over his, as you gently brought his damaged hand up to your lips, lightly pressing a kiss to the broken skin on his knuckles.

“Maybe we can have that one day, sweet girl. Just the two of us, okay? We’ll find a home somewhere to call ours. Maybe a couple horses, a nice big yard? A library for all your books..a decent mattress, with pillows that aren’t moth eaten. A nice big kitchen where we can cook together. We’ll have Bill, Frank, Tess, and Bea over every weekend for dinner. I’ll make sweet love to you every fuckin’ night. Doesn’t that sound wonderful baby? We’ll have that one day, I promise you. It’s just not in the cards for us right now, but that’s okay. You wanna know why? Cause no matter what, I got you, and you got me. Kay? No matter what happens.” He whispered against your hair, his eyes closed as he pictured a domestic lifestyle with you by his side. He wanted that so fucking badly with you. He could nearly taste it.

You were left feeling stunned in his arms. Joel’s confession was well thought out, tender, filled to the brim with all the little details. You could tell by his deliverance that this was not something he came up with on a whim. No, your Joel had thought about the possibility of having a normal life with you for a long long time. “No matter what happens, I got you, you got me. Always.” You whispered.

Joel tightened his grip around you slightly. He didn’t care about the throbbing pain from his freshly broken hand, or the impending reality that your lives had drastically changed in a matter of hours. He just wanted to make sure you got a decent night of sleep finally.

So, he sang. Just above a whisper, the same lullaby you had sung to him the night that his nightmares nearly consumed him.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away. Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

You were fast asleep by the time he whispered out the last word. He held you all night long, listening intently for any sounds that could be of a threat. Even when it was Tess’s turn to take watch, he didn’t wake her either. His gun was nearby, ready to grab if needed. His eyes stayed trained on the sleeping teenager just a few feet away. Ellie, who he viewed as just being cargo to transport.

By morning's impending approach, the storm had since passed on. The sky was painted in an array of pink, red, and orange hues. Although a sight to behold, a red sky at dawn was never a good sign. The old saying goes, red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailors warning.

The four of you had no inclination to predict that this was Tess’s last day walking in the living realm. Predicting the weather was something just about anyone could do. Predicting the moment someone would take their last dying breath? That was a feat impossible.

Ellie had slowly awoken to the sun's warm rays peeking through the cracks in the abandoned building. A golden butterfly fluttered above her sleeping form as her eyes slowly opened. She was still in a sleepy state as she slowly sat up, taking in her surroundings before she heard a loud creaking sound behind her.

She was greeted by a stern look from both Joel, and Tess. He was holding his assault rifle between his hands. The barrel of the gun pointed at the ground. The look he was giving the teenager was menacing enough as it was. The only kind face Ellie could find in the small space was yours.

“Morning…” she spoke, hesitation laced in her tone.

Just as she began to slowly rise from the mossy floor, Joel had lifted the gun in her direction, causing the teenager's eyes to go wide and you kicked his chair with your boot from where you stood behind him. “Joel..” you warned. He could feel your eyes glaring into the back of his skull, disapprovingly.

“If you say that she’s just a kid one more fuckin’ time.” He snapped back, keeping his gun trained on Ellie.

“Do I look like I’m infected? Seriously, can you not point that thing at me man? What, are you actually gonna shoot me?”

“Just might. Now, show us your arm. Slow. If you make any—”

“Sudden movements you’ll shoot. Yeah, I think I fucking got that part.” Ellie quipped back. She slowly lifted the sleeve of her hoodie revealing her 3 week old bite mark in the sunlight. From where the 3 of you were, it was pretty obvious this was not a fresh bite in the slightest.

“Yeah, it’s not getting any worse, is it? I’m not infected. This thing is 3 weeks old and I haven’t turned into one of those..things.”

Joel slowly lowered his gun before he slowly looked over at Tess before he let his gaze slightly drift up to you. “What the hell was Marlene doin’ with an infected kid in the first place?”

“I’m not infected. She found me after I was bitten and before you ask, no. She didn’t shoot me. She locked me up in that shit hole and had her guys test me every fucking day. They chained me to a pipe and made me recite my name and other shit back to them to see if my personality had changed. It clearly didn’t.”

“Did your shit attitude come before, or after you were bitten?” Joel asked.

You kicked the foot of his chair again, this time a little harder.

You could tell the teenager fought hard to not roll her eyes at him. “Y’know the thing I think really impressed them was the fact that I didn’t turn into a fucking monster.”

When the three of you didn’t respond, Ellie slowly rose to her feet and Joel’s gun followed. “Really man? I thought we were done with that shit. Can I just go pee now? I’ve been holding it for a while.”

Tess had grabbed an old magazine on the floor and tossed it over to the teenager. “Go ahead. You can find a nice spot back there.”

Ellie caught the magazine before she started to walk towards the back room to do her business. “There’s not gonna be anything bad in here?”

“Just you.”

Once Ellie was out of sight, you nearly wanted to rip Joel’s gun from his hands but refrained as you crossed your arms over your chest with a sigh. “She made it through the fuckin’ night, Joel. I think you can cut it out with pointing the gun at her. She’s clearly not a threat to any of us.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter. It’s gonna happen sooner or later. Maybe her body just has a late response to the cordyceps. She can’t be trusted. I told you this was a bad fuckin’ idea to begin with and now that we know she’s infected, you still think we’re gonna follow through with this?”

“You saw her arm, Joel. If she was infected it would have looked completely different. We’ve seen what infected bite marks look like and she is not one of them.”

“Yeah well I ain’t about to go and take that chance. We’re close enough to the wall. We can sneak her back into the QZ and we’ll just find a different way to get the battery. I ain’t hauling an infected kid around with us.”

“We take her back to the QZ and they’re gonna kill her. FEDRA see’s that bite mark and she’s through. You really wanna have a kid's blood on your hands like that?”

“Do you hear yourself right now Gwen? You’re actin’ like this kid has some fuckin’ life ahead of her or somethin’. We take her back to the QZ and get the battery a different way.”

“What happened to fiercely believing in the fact that Marlene is gonna have a whole truck and weapons waiting for us if we bring her to the state house? You’re just gonna go and abandon that?”

“You should be jumping for joy over the fact that we’re finally fuckin’ agreeing on somethin’ for once. An infected kid is not worth the possibility of that truck, or the weapons we were promised.”

“I’m with Gwen on this one.” Tess finally spoke as Joel whipped his around suddenly to look at her, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me Texas. I don’t think I need to repeat it.” She spoke without looking at him just as Ellie had returned. “You hungry kid? You can share some of ours.”

“Thanks. Marlene sent me with my own.” Ellie spoke as she sank down into the moss, pulling out what appeared to be a chicken sandwich from her backpack.

“Is that chicken?” You asked, feeling your mouth water at the sight of something besides the dried, tasteless jerky the three of you were eating.

“Yep. Marlene said they get it from smugglers..guess not you guys.” She smirked a little as she took a bite of her sandwich.

Tess was already up and out of her chair and Joel had tried to stop her but she pushed him away. “Why are you so important to Marlene? Hm? Don’t even think about lyin’ to me kid. If you do, we’ll take you back to the QZ.”

“Well..you take me back and you don’t get your battery.” Ellie responded.

“Ohh. So you got a good set of ears on you huh? Well, then I’m sure you heard that he wants to shoot you then right?”

Ellie no longer possessed a smirk on her face as she slowly looked up at Joel’s displeased face. “So then why hasn’t he shot me already? If what you’re saying is true.”

“Trying to change the subject isn’t gonna do you any good either. So I’m gonna talk to you like an adult, alright? Joel and I aren’t good people. We’re doin’ this for us because apparently you’re worth somethin’ to Marlene, whatever that may be. So if I were you, I’d drop the smart ass attitude because his patience? It’s wearing mighty thin. I suggest you answer my question. Why are you so important to Marlene?”

“What about her? Is she not a good person either?” Ellie spoke, gesturing her head towards you.

“Gwen? Let’s just say..she’s better than the two of us but not by much. Sweet face, sure. Knows how to wield a knife like it’s the fuckin’ back of her hand.”

“That’s badass.”

“Answer her question, Ellie. It’s alright.” You spoke softly, earning a disapproving look from your lover.

“Okay..well, Marlene told me not to tell anyone and here I am telling the three of you..” she sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “There’s a Firefly base camp somewhere out west with doctors. They’re working on a cure.”

“Oh of course they are. Yeah, sure I’ll believe it. This ain’t the fuckin’ first time we’ve heard about a possible cure. It’s all horse shit.” Joel muttered under his breath.

“So whatever happened to me is—”

“The key to finding the vaccine. That’s what they all fuckin’ say and guess what? They’ve tried to find a cure numerous times and ain’t nothin’ worked. It’s the same goddamn thing every single—”

Ellie rose to her feet in a fury, staring at Joel head on. “Fuck you, man. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You and me fuckin’ both. We’re wastin’ daylight the more time we spend talkin’ on this nonsense. I’m done. Pack your shit up and let’s go. We’re takin’ you back to the QZ.”

Tess let out a sigh, running her fingers through her hair. “Let’s just finish this Joel. We get what we want regardless. We take her back, and we risk all 4 of us getting shot. I don’t know about you, but I still have some life worth livin.’”

Joel clenched his jaw tightly, breathing in deeply through his nose. This was not a good idea. However, we was now outnumbered by two. “If she so much as fuckin’ twitches—”

He was cut off by the obnoxious sounds of Ellie portraying a clicker. Making the snarling clicking sounds as she contorted her limbs at an uncomfortable angle.

“Ellie don’t.” You warned her.

She rubbed the back of her neck, clearing her throat as she nodded, “okay..”

The 4 of you gathered up your things to head out and just as Joel was lifting his rifle from the ground, slinging the strap over his shoulder, Ellie asked if she too could have a gun.

“Can I have a gun?”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not. Not a chance in hell.” Was Joel’s immediate response.

“Okay, Jesus fuck. Fine. I’ll just throw a fuckin’ sandwich at them or something.” She muttered under her breath as she threw her backpack strap over her shoulder.

As the 4 of you stepped out into the warm sunlight, you watched as Ellie looked around the ruined city in amazement. Buildings half fallen over, taken hostage by thick vines and moss. There were giant craters, the size of small moons, where the government had sent bombs to slow down the rate of the infected.

Joel had come to a halt in front of the impassable wreckage blocking a quick path to the State House. “Long way or short way?”

“It’s the long way or the ‘we’re fuckin’ dead way.’” Tess added.

“Long way it is then. We’ll have to go check from the hotel first. See if the coast is clear. C’mon.” You were leading the way now, while Ellie walked alongside you, Tess in the middle, and Joel in the back.

You and Ellie engaged in small talk. You genuinely wanted the kid to feel somewhat comfortable with this entire situation and Ellie seemingly appreciated your efforts. She told you how she had gotten bit and you had to admit, this kid was pretty ballsy for her age. “Well, I mean, you got some balls on you, sister, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Thanks.” She had a grin creeping up on her face.

“Soo..no one is gonna come looking for you right? Mom, dad?..boyfriend?..”

“Uhhh well, I’m an orphan and nope.”

You could feel Joel’s eyes on the back of your skull as he walked behind you, shaking his head at your efforts to befriend this cargo.

“See, everyone told me the big open city was gonna be crazy! Infected runnin’ around everywhere. Are we even gonna see any? Cause I’ve heard there’s like super-infected that explode fungus spores on you! Is that not true?”

“Shit, I hope not. Those sound fuckin’ terrifying.” You said with a small grin.

“Okay, what about the ones that have their heads split open and can see in the dark like bats?”

“You mean clickers? Yeah, there’s lots of those. They’re the most common type that we’ve come across. Not the hardest to kill, but they use echolocation—” you were cut off by the sound of a loud, distant animalistic yell coming from deep within the fallen city.

On instinct, Joel was close to your side, looking around as you waited for another yell to follow. The only sound you could hear was a crow perched on a tree nearby.

“Let’s keep movin’” Joel spoke as he gave you a gentle nudge forward.

As you approached the hotel, Ellie had her own set of questions for you as she kicked at the stray rubble beneath her red, worn sneakers.

“So is he like..your boyfriend or somethin’?”

“My boyfriend? Well, no. Not exactly. I wouldn’t call him that if I’m being honest.”

“But you’re like together, right? I think that part is pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, we are. Just don’t think he’d particularly enjoy me calling him my boyfriend. It’s not really his taste.”

“Well, no offense to you, he doesn’t seem like the boyfriend type anyway.”

This elicited a light laugh to slip past your lips as you covered it by coughing into the sleeve of your jacket. “Oh, you’re right on the money with that one, kid. He is far from the boyfriend type.”

“But he’s like your partner then?..Your person?”

“Yeah, something along those lines. I wouldn’t go as far to put us into a box, y’know?”

“I understand..what about Tess? Does she have anyone?”

“Back in the QZ she does. She has a girlfriend named Beatrix.”

“Wicked.”

“You two done chit chattin’ up there?” Joel spoke, distaste evident in his tone.

“Yeah, we’re just makin’ the time pass is all.”

“Oh yeah? Well ain’t that fuckin’ nice for you two.” He scoffed as he walked ahead of you, stopping at the foot of the stairs looking into the overflowing of water into the once hotel lobby.

“Is he always this grumpy?” Ellie leaned over and whispered to you.

“Oh, this isn’t even the worst that you’ve seen of it, kid. Trust me.”

The 4 of you started to trudge through the green, murky water to get to the other side of the lobby. Ellie being the kid that she was, wandered off to the side when she saw what used to be the front desk and pressed on the bell a few times as she leaned over the counter. “Ding! Ding! Yes, sir. I would like your finest suite, please.” “Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to take your luggage?”

“You’re a weird kid.” Joel watched her with a quizzical expression etched on his weathered features.

“You’re a weird kid.” Ellie sarcastically responded back, nearly sticking her tongue out at him as she pushed the luggage trolley forward.

A very deceased human Skeleton slipped out from behind the trolley and scared the living daylights out of the teen. Much to yours, and Ellie’s surprise, Joel was at her side immediately, gun raised in the direction of the apparent threat.

She’s just cargo, my ass. Was the first thought that came to your mind.

Joel had offered Ellie his hand as he helped her up but as soon as their hands touched, he was ripping his away from her grasp, staring down at it momentarily with a hard expression on his face. Perhaps it was from the fact that his hand was still freshly broken. Or there was a possibility he was shocked that he even allowed himself to touch someone who was ‘infected.’

After climbing 10 flights of stairs, you were met with another obstacle that was definitely not present the last time you had come through this way. “What the fuck man. This definitely wasn’t here last time, was it?” You asked, bent over slightly as you were catching your breath.

“No, it sure as hell wasn’t. Maybe we can try one of the doors?” Tess walked past you, trying the two doors with no luck.

“Damn. Well, maybe we can go climb through it and work our way around?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Joel had pushed Ellie to the side then, before giving you a boost up over the rubble before you helped Tess over the side, grasping her forearms as you pulled her up.

“Just be careful, alright?” He spoke as he slowly sat down on an abandoned suitcase across from Ellie.

“Yeah yeah. We’ll be fine, cowboy. Just keep an eye on the kid.” You peeked your head out from a gap in the rubble and gave him a reassuring nod, and a subtle wink.

Ellie sat across from him, flipping her switchblade and catching it by the handle each time.

“That’s a nice knife you got there. Where’d you learn to do that?” Joel asked.

“The circus.” Ellie deadpanned.

Joel let out a deep sigh, looking off to the side as he tried to figure out why he even bothered to make small talk with a teenager.

“Where are you from?” Ellie asked.

“Texas.” He gruffly responded.

“What about Tess and Gwen?”

“Detroit. It’s in Michigan and Gwen is from Chicago.”

“I go to school, smart ass. I know where Detroit is. Chicago has that giant fucking bean, right? Always wanted to see it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it. She’s obsessed with it. No fuckin’ clue why.”

“Uh huh. So you two like a—” Ellie already knew the answer, thanks to you. She was just slightly curious to see what Joel would respond with.

“Pass.”

“Oh well cause she told me you guys were—”

“Pass.”

“How’d you end up in Boston?”

“Pass.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Talk to a fuckin’ brick wall? Fuck. She was right, you are grumpy all the time.”

“She what? God dammit Gwen.” He growled lowly under his breath. “No more questions about me, alright? That’s enough.”

“Alright, grumpy. How long do infected live?”

Joel whipped his head back around towards her, narrowing his eyes before he chuckled, “Oh, I thought you went to school.”

“Yeah, well..it’s a really shitty one.”

“Some of ‘em last about a month or two. There’s others that have been walkin’ around ‘bout 20 years.”

“Yeah? You ever kill one?”

Joel nearly scoffed at this question, almost offended that this kid even assumed that he hadn’t killed any.

“Yeah, I have killed lots of ‘em.”

“Was it hard killing them?..like, knowing they were people once? Has it ever bothered you?..”

Joel was slightly taken aback by her question. He often did forget that the infected used to be everyday people he would see on the street. Sometimes he would be forced to face humanity, and realize that he was in a sense, killing people. He wasn’t a total monster like many would have assumed him to be. He just wasn’t the most open with sharing personal details about himself.

“Sometimes. It’s easy to forget that they were once people when they’re comin’ at you with one goal in mind; to turn you into one of ‘em. So you gotta decide if it’s gonna be you, or them. You think I survived this long without havin’ to kill?” He sighed as he leaned back against the wall. “I ain’t exactly proud of it, but it’s what you gotta do to survive. It's always either gonna be you, or them.”

“What about that guy last night?”

Just as Joel was going to respond, he could hear rustling just outside the door and he was up in a flash with his gun aimed at the door.

“You can put the gun down, cowboy. It’s just us. Relax.” You spoke through the door as you pushed it open, revealing you and Tess on the other side. From the looks on your faces alone, Joel could tell that something was definitely wrong.

“What now? Did you guys see something?”

“Yeah, and you’re not gonna like it. Not one bit I’m afraid.” You confirmed.

“Fuckin’ fantastic.” He grumbled as he gently nudged past you and Tess followed by Ellie.

Shortly after, the 4 of you were standing over the ledge of the hotel, looking down at a shrieking hoard of infected, writhing on the ground below. You were standing alongside Joel, noticing that he was nervously fidgeting with his fingers and picking at the skin around his cuticles. You gently grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers together as you gave his hand a light, reassuring squeeze.

“The last time we were here, there weren’t nearly this many of them. Most of them were still deep inside the buildings. Guess enough people came wanderin’ through looking for the QZ. They found themselves seeking shelter..went inside the buildings and that’s how they get more of the fuckin’ city bit by bit, year after year.” Tess stated, glancing over at you and Joel momentarily before looking at Ellie.

“What’re we gonna do?” You spoke quietly to him, gently stroking your thumb across the outside of his hand, leaning in close to his tall frame.

“We’re gonna have to go through the museum. We ain’t have another choice darlin.’”

“That was nearly a suicide mission the last time we went through..remember?”

“Yeah, but there’s a chance whatever is left of ‘em is dead by now. If it gets dicey, we split and figure out another way, alright? Right now, this is our only option and I ain’t lookin’ forward to it either.” he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, just a smidge of affection that it seemed like you both needed.

“They’re connected in more ways than you know. The fungus also grows underground. Long fibers, like wires. They’re all entwined under the surface and if you step on a patch of cordyceps in one place, you can awake a dozen infected somewhere else. They know where you are and it’s only a matter of minutes before they find you. You’re not immune from being ripped apart, kid.” Tess explained.

Ellie was fully listening, soaking up all the information that Tess was providing her. The situation at hand was becoming all too real for her 14 year old self.

“We have to go through the museum. It’s the short-way and not the most ideal, nor the safest, but we ain’t have much of a choice.” Joel spoke up, letting go of your hand as he stepped forward.

“I had a really bad feelin’ you were gonna come to that conclusion Texas.” Tess spoke with a sigh.

Ellie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull when she saw the amount of fungus tendrils stretched across the expanse of the outside structure of the museum. The colors were faded, not nearly as vibrant as freshly infected. Despite their obvious expiration, the building still looked ominous and uninviting.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me. We seriously have to go through there? You sure there’s not another way man? This is screaming ‘DANGER’ like c’mon, aren’t the lights flashing in your brain right now too? Cause mine are like fuckin’ sirens.”

Joel ignored the teen as he bent down, inspecting one of the thick strands of fungus. He used the butt of his gun to stab at it to check and see if it was in fact dead. “It’s bone dry. Good chance that they’re all finally fuckin’ dead in there.” He was already pulling his flashlight out from his bag while you and Tess were pulling out your guns.

“I have a spare hand y’know.” Ellie stated the obvious.

“Congratulations.” Joel responded.

He was the first to enter the museum, rifle at the ready. When he deemed it was safe enough to enter, he turned his head towards the opening of the door and gave you a quick nod to follow.

Once the 4 of you were inside the museum, Ellie’s pupils had blown out when she saw just how much fungus coated the walls, floors, and pretty much any inanimate object. It was everywhere.

Joel was still extremely cautious where he stepped, shining his flashlight along the fungus infested floor. It appeared that the once living infected, were all deceased by now. That was until Ellie stumbled upon a fresh kill and let out a surprised, “oh shit!”

Joel was immediately stepping around her, gun raised and his face immediately fell as he looked over at you and Tess. So, maybe they weren’t all dead after all. Or maybe this guy was attacked outside the museum and just found himself to be in an unlucky situation.

The three of you began to talk in a hushed whisper over the situation. Ellie could barely decipher what was being said from how low your voices were but she caught onto the bit of the conversation regarding ‘not hearing them’ what the hell were they going on about? What were they listening for? As far as she was concerned, the museum was deathly silent.

“I don’t hear anything. Who, or what would you hear?” Ellie had suddenly asked. Joel’s response was to raise his hand off his gun, giving her a warning look to shut the fuck up with his eyes alone.

“Did an infected person do that? Cause I was attacked by one and it sure as hell didn’t do that. Dude is all torn up. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She whispered.

“Okay, from this point forward, we are silent. Not quiet. Silent.” He emphasized heavy on the silent part as he looked sternly at Ellie. He held no concern over you and Tess being silent but this kid was already becoming a nuisance in his eyes. “You got that? Not one single fuckin’ sound. This isn’t funny business, kid. This is the real fuckin’ world.” He harshly whispered.

“What—”

“No. No questions. Just do what I say, alright? You wanna live to see another day, don’t you? Exactly. That’s what I thought.” He whispered as he lowered his gun and took a few silent steps to the side, locking eyes with you for a moment. Your Joel never usually showed fear. He was able to encase it well behind his hardened features. A furrow of his brow, the quirk of his upper lip, all used as decoys. Even in the low lighting, you could see his face etched with fear. Just as fast as it appeared, it was gone again, hidden behind the vast ridges of his weathered skin.

Joel had taken the lead while you silently stepped behind him, keeping your finger hovering over the trigger of your gun, ready to react if need be. You glanced back at Ellie and gave her a reassuring nod to follow you while Tess walked behind her. Despite how quiet you all were being, the old floor boards were creaking with every step your boots took.

The stairway was absolutely covered with now bone dry fungus. You couldn’t even see where the next step started from how dense the fungus was. It creeped up the walls, over paintings and the railings of the staircase. You watched Joel’s footing as he carefully stepped over a mound of once living infected. You couldn’t even make out their faces as the fungus had completely morphed them to be unidentifiable.

The sickening crunch of a once human hand beneath Ellie’s shoe had Joel whipping around, shining his flashlight that was attached to the rifle at the teenager. He gave her one long look before he turned away from her and continued to head up the stairs.

A few more steps up and Joel was at the opening of the doorway, slowly pushing it open as you waited for his silent cue. Just as he had given it to you with a slight nod of his head, some of the building's structure began to collapse and crumble as you, Tess, and Ellie stumbled inside before the debris could crush the three of you.

Joel was reaching down grasping the kids arm as he quickly helped her up from the dusty floor while you helped Tess up.

Then there was a loud screech, one that you had heard far too many times. It still sent deep chills down your spine.

click click click click

Ellie was slowly backing towards a wall, her eyes wide with fear as she tried to steady her nervous breaths.

Out from the shadows, illuminated by the steady, bright beam of Joel’s flashlight was a clicker. Its head was completely split open by the cordyceps. The brain cavern was taken over by the fungus. Thick, putrid and brightly colored. Clickers could not see, as they were blinded by the fungus, but they could hear, and they could hear very well.

Its body contorted at an uncomfortable angle as it clicked and snarled.

Another screech was heard;two clickers.

Joel was already quickly nudging you against the glass case. His face constricted painfully in your view. This was not an ideal situation to be in. Not one fucking bit.

Ellie was in his direct eyesight and he quickly mouthed to her, “they can’t see, but they can hear.”

The clicker let out a loud, bone chilling growl from the other side of the glass case. You found yourself squeezing your eyes shut momentarily, holding your gun firmly against your chest.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Don’t move.

Joel had slowly brought his pointer finger to his lips, keeping his eyes locked on Ellie to keep her calm.

You could feel the teenager's anxiety, and fear rising with every second and you silently pleaded with her to stay strong.

Joel had turned his head slightly as the clicker stumbled around the side of the glass display case. It was so close you could nearly feel its putrid breath on your skin.

Ellie had let a sharp breath slip past her lips and it was loud enough for the clicker to hear her.

It all happened in a flash as the clicker turned around and screeched loudly before it lunged. Joel had gotten a few shots into its body from where he stood, but it wasn’t nearly enough to inflict any serious damage. “RUN!” he yelled as the other clicker appeared from the shadows. You shot at it once before grabbing Ellie’s arm firmly in your grasp.

Tess had taken a couple more shots before she followed behind you. The three of you ran around the corner, hearts racing and blood fiercely pumping. The clicker was hot on your tail and gaining on you quickly. In one quick movement, you shoved Ellie to the ground, ordering her to crawl to safety.

You and Tess turned to shoot again, but neither of you had time to aim and wasting bullets was the last thing you wanted to do.

You both could hear a loud crash from the other side of the room and Joel’s heavy boots before everything went silent again.

click click click click

Joel had taken cover behind another glass cabinet as he quickly unloaded and reloaded his small pistol. His senses were on overdrive when he heard the low clicks approaching. His eyes squeezed shut momentarily, thinking that his cover was blown.

The clicker had let out a low snarl before it stalked in the other direction and he could barely make out Ellie’s crouched form behind the tarnished glass.

His footsteps were quiet, calculated and precise as he moved from his hiding spot and crouched beside Ellie. He had no other choice but to get her out of this situation. It was almost as if in those crucial moments, his protective nature had completely taken over. He was going to get this kid out of here, unscathed if it was the last thing he ever did.

Him and Ellie silently communicated with their eyes alone. One tilt of his head and she was quietly moving along the side of the glass case, following his lead. Just when he thought they were in the clear, something had crunched beneath his boot. It was stray shards of glass. His blood ran cold at the crunching sound. Neither him, nor Ellie had time to react as the clicker lunged over the glass case and threw itself on them.

You could hear Joel’s grunts and Ellie’s terrified screams from where you stood behind a nearby wall. You were going to have to act fast if you were to save them both.

bang bang bang

Joel had pumped the clicker with lead, causing it to stumble backwards, allowing him and Ellie to scramble to their feet.

You peeked around the corner, taking aim at the clicker's head before you pulled the trigger and sent it stumbling to the ground. Even after its body hit the floor with a sickening thud, Joel pulled his own trigger a few more times till it was no longer moving.

The second clicker came charging out of the blue, but didn’t make it far as Tess had thrown an ax at its neck, and you finished it off with a bullet to the head.

Once the apparent threat was deceased, everyone let out a shaky breath. From where you were standing, you could tell Tess was injured from the way she was avoiding putting too much weight on one foot. “You alright?”

“Just a twisted ankle, I’ll live. Don’t worry.” She responded.

“Fuck me.” Ellie exclaimed as she lifted up the sleeve of her hoodie and revealed a fresh bleeding bite mark along her forearm. “I mean, if it was gonna happen to one of us..”

You were at her side then and gently tugged her sleeve down. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Tess’s final and only request

You sat alongside on the roof, pulling out a roll of duct tape from your bag as she pulled off her boot. You wasted no time to start to wrap her foot with the tape. “Just a sprained ankle you said? Nothin’ else?” You asked, looking up at the older woman momentarily.

“Yeah, just a sprained ankle Gwen. I’ll be fine.” Tess looked at you as if she was studying your features. As if she was storing your image deep inside her brain so that she wouldn’t forget you, or your face.

Joel had given the kid a piece of cloth to wrap her arm before he was crouching down on the other side of Tess. “You can walk, right? Ain’t need any help?”

She looked at him the same way she had just looked at you. She wanted to keep your memories up to the very last second. “I’m fine, Texas. Really. Go on and make sure she doesn’t accidentally kill herself or somethin.’”

He gave her a small nod before he stood back up. “Yeah, I know. It looks scary and all but it really ain’t that bad.”

Ellie turned around briefly to look at him before she responded, “no. That was scary. This is wood.” Before she stepped across the thin planks to the otherside.

You gave Tess’s arm a light squeeze before you followed after the kid, glancing back at them momentarily before you crossed over the narrow planks of wood.

“What if the first bite didn’t take? What if the second one does? We’re in way over our fuckin’ heads with this Tess. We all could have fuckin’ died back there and—” Joel was cut off by Tess snapping back at him.

“How ‘bout you just take the good news? Can you please just do that for once? None of us are dead. We’re gonna finish what we started Joel.”

He looked at her briefly, trying to decipher what had ticked her off so easily before he let out a sigh and grabbed his rifle from where it laid on the discolored roof tiles and slung it back over his shoulder.

I failed them. I failed them both. I failed Bea. Tess silently thought to herself as she pulled her knees up to her chest, taking in a few shaky breaths.

Joel crossed over the planks and stood alongside Ellie.

“Is it everything you hoped for?” He asked.

“Jury’s still out.”

“But, man, you can’t deny that view.” Ellie concluded.

You were reloading your gun off to the side, glancing over your shoulder to see Tess approaching. Her demeanor alone was a sure signal that something was off. You just couldn’t figure out what exactly had happened back there. It was going to drive you up a wall, not knowing. You were sure of it.

“C’mon, let’s get there before it’s dark. We’re wasting daylight. Let’s go.” Tess gritted out between her teeth as she was already climbing down the old steel ladder. Her erratic movements threw you off guard completely.

You stopped alongside Joel, brushing your hand across the outside of his bicep before you followed Tess and Ellie down the ladder.

Joel waited a few moments in silence as he glanced down at his broken watch strapped around his wrist before he grabbed the side of the ladder and climbed down.

They’re gonna hate me.

They’ll see right through me.

What will Bea think?

Will she think me to be dead?

I let her down too.

She’ll never know what has become of me.

I won’t turn into a monster.

I won’t become one of them.

Tess was leading the way to the state house. Her footsteps were uncharacteristically fast. She seemed on edge, nervous, sporadic.

The 4 of you were crouched behind a long abandoned car outside of the state house. There was a large military grade truck parked outside. However, there were no signs of weapons, or the fireflies.

“Where the fuck are they? Marlene said they would be here. She fuckin’ promised us.” Tess whispered.

“Everyone just stay here. Alright? Somethin’ ain’t right here.” Joel whispered back before he crept from behind the car to investigate. Once he approached the truck, the 3 of you took a bated breath as he opened the door, aiming the barrel of his gun at the inside of the truck. He was met with blood stained seats but no fireflies.

The side of the open truck door was spattered with blood dripping down the dull metal.

Something definitely was not right here.

Joel had glanced back at you and Tess, shaking his head slightly to signal that it wasn’t safe just yet as he crept around the back of the truck slowly. He took a deep, visible breath as he opened up the two heavy steel doors and was met with no signs of any passengers inhabiting the vehicle.

“What the fuck is goin’ on Joel?” Tess asked as she walked towards him, brushing off your hand along your arm.

“The fuck did I just say about stayin’ back? It ain’t safe! Why didn’t you wait for my–”

“They went inside.” Ellie confirmed from where she was standing. There was a trail of blood leading up the gravel steps to the state house. This definitely was not a good sign at all.

Tess was already heading up the steps in a fury. From where you stood, you could see her hands trembling. “Come on!”

“Tess just wait a fuckin’ minute! By the looks of it, the fireflies are dead and we ain’t gettin’ our battery!” Joel yelled at her to stop.

“Come on!” She was insistent with her tone.

You, Joel, and Ellie had no choice but to follow Tess into the state house. Once inside, you were all met with the bodies of the deceased fireflies, all in a circle in the room. Their crimson blood spilled out along the tiles, staining them in a dark red.

“I mean, there’s gotta be a fuckin’ radio or somethin’ right? Help me look for one!” Tess spoke in a rushed tone as she frantically started looking through the deceased fireflies supplies, knocking over items onto the tile below, creating all sorts of noise.

“Tess? What the fuck is going on with you?” There was an edge to your tone as you came up alongside the older woman. “Maybe Joel was right..maybe we should go back to the QZ and regroup.”

“Fuck that. We’ve made it this far, and now you want to turn back? No. Help me find a radio, Gwen! There’s gotta be one around here. There has to be!”

Joel had noticed that one of the deceased fireflies had clearly been bit as he used his boot to tilt its head to the side.

“Tess, what the fuck are you doin’?” He asked while he watched her rummage around in a fury.

“Where did Marlene say she was taking you? Ellie! Where did she fuckin’ say she was taking you?” Tess ignored Joel as she walked over to the teen and you instinctively stepped in front of Ellie.

“Uhh..I don’t know. All she told me is that she was taking me west but she didn't say where exactly.”

“Just west? Fuck. Okay. She didn’t tell you anythin’ else?” Tess wasn’t even looking at you. Her eyes were frantically searching the expanse of the room. “Well, I mean, one of them’s gotta have a map on them, right? Joel? Gwen? Can you fuckin’ help me?! Stop just standin’ around!” She snapped as she started searching for anything she could find on the deceased bodies.

“No! Tess..it’s over. We are goin’ home, alright? We are way over our heads, bit off more than we can chew. We’ll go back to the QZ and–”

“That’s not my fucking home!” Tess snapped. “I’m stayin.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re stayin’? What the hell has gotten into you?! You’re actin’ fuckin’ weird! Why won’t you even look at us?!” Joel spoke exasperatedly.

Your blood suddenly ran cold. You figured out why Tess’s behavior was so sporadic and uncharacteristic for her just as Ellie had figured it out too.

“Fuck. She’s infected.” Ellie spoke softly, the realization washing over her.

Joel looked at Tess then and felt his world suddenly begin to cave in, all at once. Just before he could open his mouth to speak, you were stepping in front of him, feeling your heart pounding out of your chest.

“No. Tell me it's not true, Tess. Fucking tell me its not true!” You pleaded with her, as Joel was already protectively pulling you back behind him.

“Show me. Show me your fuckin’ arm Tess.” He demanded and when she took a step towards him, he immediately took one back. He did his best to ignore the pained look that struck across Tess’s features.

Tess let out a sigh as she drew her hand up to the collar of her jacket and pulled the fabric back to reveal the fresh bite mark along the base of her neck, along her collar bone. You could see the veins of the fungus growing up her neck already. There was only a matter of time before she would be completely gone.

“Oops, right?” She said with a pained laugh, tears threatening to spill over.

You pushed Joel out of the way once more, you weren’t afraid of Tess. She wasn’t a monster. She was still human. She was still breathing, pumping blood through her veins. “You can’t fuckin’ die. You can’t! Tess…what about Bea? You–” Your own tears had threatened to spill over as you shakily grasped the collar of Tess’s jacket between your fingers. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to you!”

You could feel Joel grabbing your forearm, trying to yank you back. “Let me the fuck go!” You snapped, ripping your arm from his firm grasp.

Tess was hugging you, nearly knocking the air from your lungs. You could feel her entire body trembling as she held you. “You fuckin’ listen to me okay? I haven’t got much time. You protect him, okay? Please protect him Gwen. He’s going to need you more than ever now. No matter what happens, no matter what he says, please don’t leave him. Keep him safe. Please.” She whispered, squeezing you tightly.

“Tess, I–”

“Promise me Gwen. Promise me you’ll be there for him”

“I promise.” You whispered.

“Tell Bea that I love her, and I'm sorry.”

Tess released you from her grip and frantically pushed you away as she stumbled back.

She addressed Joel directly now, balling her hands into fists, to ease the trembling. “Ellie. Take your bandage off.” She asked with a shaky breath, walking over to the teen as she grabbed her forearm in a firm grip.

“This is real. Joel, she’s fucking real. Look at her arm!” She let go of Ellie’s arm and brought it down to her side. Her forearm was twitching, trembling as the cordyceps were quickly invading her nervous system.

“You get her to Bill and Franks. You load up on ammo, and you take her out West. You find Tommy and the fireflies.”

“No.”

“There is no time to fuckin’ argue with me! You take her to Bill and Franks. I’ve never asked anything of you Joel. Never asked you to feel a certain way about me.”

He went to open his mouth but she immediately cut him off.

“No. You shut the fuck up and listen to me ‘cause I don’t have time. This is your chance to do some fuckin’ good for once. To make up for all the fucked up shit we did. You keep her alive. You keep her safe. You hear me? You set everything right.”

“Tess, No. I can’t fuckin’ do that.”

“Yes you fuckin’ can Joel. Please say yes, Joel, please fucking say yes.” She pleaded with him, a stray tear rolling down her cheek .

“Oh fuck!” Ellie yelled as one of the presumed deceased bodies snarled, clawing at the ground.

Joel wasted no time to pull his gun out, aiming it at the infected and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet straight to its head as it collapsed down to the mossy floor.

fuck fuck fuck.

The tendrils of the cordycep fungus rose up between the deceased fingers, and it dawned upon you that the infected were more connected than you could possibly understand. The fungus was weaved intricately below the surface, webbed together in a firm structure.

You could hear the approaching snarls from outside the wooden doors.

They were coming.

Tess was already moving around you, using the butt end of Joel’s rifle to open up the large barrels of gasoline, spilling the flammable liquid onto the tile. She was working off pure adrenaline as she knocked over each barrel. She tossed a box filled with grenades onto the floor.

The realization that Joel was losing another person who was so important, so close to his heart, was crashing down on him. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. His eyes and mind went blank as Tess approached him. “Joel…save who you can save.” She whispered her final plea to him. These were her last words spoken in the walking, living realm.

Joel understood, as he searched her eyes. He seared her memory into the deep cavern of his brain. He would never forget her and he refused to let her down.

In a flash he had grabbed Ellie’s arm in his one hand and yours in the other, immediately yanking both of you away from the immediate danger.

“No! We’re not leaving her! We can’t! Get off me, you fucker!” Ellie yelled as she clawed at him, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.

You stumbled after him, frantically looking over your shoulder at Tess for the very last time. She gave you a small smile, followed by a reassuring nod before her face was obstructed from your view as Joel pulled you and Ellie outside, to safety.

All you hoped for was that Tess went peacefully. That she didn’t die in fear. You hoped that she died with memories of you, Joel, and Bea. Tess deserved that. She deserved to die peacefully, painlessly. You loved her to her very last moments.

Moments after Joel pulled you and Ellie outside, there was a loud explosion of breaking glass, and bright flames. The sound had Joel throwing his body over you and Ellie protectively. You could hear the distant screams of the infected suffering in the hot flames, and billowing smoke. You hoped to god that Tess wasn’t one of those blood curdling screams.

Joel immediately had his gun raised, ready to shoot down any stray infected. There were none. They were all dead. Tess had sacrificed herself for your lives. She gave you a fighting chance and you’d never forget her bravery.

You brought your arm around Ellie’s shaken up frame, giving her a firm squeeze. You kept her close as you turned her body away from the destruction and death.

Joel had already walked away as he could feel tears begin to prick in the corner of his eyes. He quickly blinked them away as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

The three of you were dead silent as you walked into the nearby woods. Your mind felt numb, and your heart was raw. Tess had so much more life ahead of her to live. She had friends, a lover, and a purpose. She was smart, witty, and brave. She fought for those she loved, till her dying breath.

Joel was crouched down alongside the river, far away from you and Ellie. He was reaching into the clear stream, picking up rocks below the surface and gently stacking them upon one another. He was creating a cairn in her memory. A silent memorial for her short life. He thought of her as he placed each stone on top of one another.

I’m sorry. I should have done more. I should have been quicker. I should have protected you. I let you down. I failed you.

Your approach towards Joel was hesitant. You had no idea how he was going to react to your attempt to comfort him. You knew he didn’t handle loss, of any kind, well. You refused to let him suffer alone. He had his moment where he could mourn in peace. You wouldn’t take that moment from him. He deserved it. You both did. Despite this, your heart pulled you towards him. You had to make sure he was okay. You needed each other more than ever now. Tess’s words echoed in your mind with each step you took. “No matter what happens, no matter what he says, please don’t leave him. Keep him safe. Please.”

Joel could hear your footsteps slowly approach. His back immediately tensed up at the sound of your boots crunching under stray twigs. His heart yearned for your touch, your comfort. His mind was scrambled. It screamed for him to shut you out. This was your fault, after all. You insisted they take the kid from the get-go. In his eyes, and his fragile mind, Tess was dead because of you.

He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the warm expanse of your palm press between his shoulder blades. His breath trembled as he fought hard to not lean into your touch.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” He hissed lowly, keeping himself facing the stream.

“Joel, Please..Don’t—”

“Don’t what? It’s your fuckin’ fault that Tess is dead.” He harshly whispered, clenching his jaw tightly as he let his toxic thoughts slip through his broken, cracked lips.

His words felt like a thousand knives stabbing you in the heart over, and over again. You took a shaky inhale, remembering Tess’s final request to you.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that Joel. You’re upset..let me–”

He whipped around to face you, his eyes narrowed into slits as he rose to his feet, towering over you. “I fuckin’ mean every goddamn word. You insisted from the get-go that we take this fuckin’ kid. I told you it was a bad idea. See what happens when you try to be the fuckin’ hero, Gwen?”

You took a step back from him, feeling your own tears threatening to spill over. “Stop. Please fucking stop! I am not at fault for Tess’s death! Neither of us could have predicted this to happen Joel!”

“I fuckin’ told you that we should just take her back to the QZ! What do you do instead? You fight against me, tooth and fuckin’ nail! Every goddamn fuckin’ time. Why couldn’t you have just listened to me for once in your goddamn life!” He spat, taking two heavy steps towards you.

“Because Ellie is just a fuckin’ kid! She’s just a kid that is now OUR responsibility! Tess agreed that we shouldn’t take her back to the QZ! She agreed with me, Joel!”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he let out a deep chuckle.

“Do you fuckin’ hear yourself right now?! Fuckin’ take some accountability for your fuckin’ actions! Tess is dead because of you! Bea is never going to see her again, because you wanted to fuckin’ save this kid, this cargo! How does it feel, huh? Are you fuckin’ happy with yourself Gwen? Do you feel fuckin’ good inside right now baby?! TELL ME HOW IT FUCKIN’ FEELS!”

Joel’s booming voice rattled your skull, and pierced your heart. You physically felt yourself cowering away from him, shrinking in on yourself.

Ellie had heard Joel’s yell from where she was sitting against a nearby tree. She was up and running to your aid immediately. You watched as the teen shoved at Joel with her hands, pushing him back with rage filled in her tear brimmed eyes.

“Hey! Leave her alone, you fucker! Leave her alone! It’s not her fucking fault! LEAVE HER ALONE!” Ellie yelled as she shoved his chest as hard as she could.

Joel was grabbing the teens wrists in his calloused palms, immediately shoving her away.

“You fuckin’ stay out of this kid! This ain’t your fuckin’ business!” He felt his pulse drop when he heard the familiar click of your gun perched firmly between your shaking hands. The barrel was shakily aimed at him.

“LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS JOEL. YOU WANNA LET YOUR ANGER OUT ON ME? FINE. LEAVE ELLIE OUT OF THIS!” You yelled, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“You gonna fuckin’ shoot me?”

“If you lay your hands on her again, I won’t hesitate.”

“You’re breakin’ my fuckin’ heart baby.”He seethed between his gritted teeth.

“Gwen..” Ellie pleaded with you.

“It’s okay, kid. I will handle this, okay? Please just...just go sit down. Please.” You whispered, giving the teen a reassuring nod that everything would be okay. Joel would never hurt you. He would never dare.

Ellie looked between you, and the brooding man before she reluctantly nodded, walking away.

Your gun was still aimed at your lover as your tears continued to fall. “How fucking dare you speak to me like this Joel. What the fuck is wrong with you?!? How dare you speak to Ellie like that! She has done NOTHING to you, Joel!”

He took a few menacing steps towards you, feeling the barrel of your gun pressed firmly against the cavern of his chest. Your lower lip was trembling, your eyes glassy with tears as you looked up at him.

“You gonna pull that fuckin’ trigger baby? You gonna pump me full of lead?”

“You know I can’t Joel. You know I fuckin’ can’t.” You whispered shakily.

“Just like you can’t fuckin’ admit that you’re the reason Tess is dead. Can’t own up to your fuckin’ actions to save your life.”

“Please stop Joel. Please. I’m begging you to please fucking stop. You’re hurting me. You’re fucking hurting me!” You yelled. Your tone was raw, heartbroken, beaten.

“Who are you fuckin’ shedding those tears for, huh?! You shedding those tears for Tess? She hated you! You know she fuckin’ hated you with every fibre in her fuckin’ being! You don’t get to cry for her! She meant NOTHING to you. Don’t stand there and act like she did! You don’t get to weep and feel sorry for YOURSELF!”

The barrel of your gun was pushing so deep into his chest now. Surely there would be a bruise of some sort forming but it was clear he didn’t give a fuck about that. Not even in the slightest. He felt his heart screaming at him to stop but it was too late. The words were spoken and they were etched deep into your own heart. Joel had gone and done the unforgivable.

“Fuck You. You don’t get to stand there and tell me how I'm allowed to feel Joel! She was my fucking FRIEND too! We had our differences, and we overcame them! I fucking loved her and YOU don’t get to take that away from me! YOU DON’T HAVE THE POWER TO TELL ME HOW I CAN AND CAN’T FEEL!”

Joel’s breaths were coming out in heavy puffs, fanning your face as you watched his nostrils flare, and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t an argument to win. He was just devastated that he lost someone so close to him. He never learned how to handle loss well, his old habits, and toxic feelings welcomed him in with soft whispers, and warm touches.

This was not your Joel.

“Gwen…” He whispered.

“No. Fuck you. You don’t get to say all that, speak to me that way, and take it all back. You don’t get to fuckin’ do that Joel.”

“Baby, I’m sorry I didn’t–”

“NO.”

“Gwen. You know I didn’t mean it..I lashed out, but I didn’t mean any of it! I got you, you got me, Always. Remember? I’m so sorry I–”

As soon as he was reaching out for you, you harshly pushed him away, pressing the barrel of the gun further into his chest.

“You’ll never fucking touch me again Joel. Never.” You whispered.

You removed the barrel of the gun from his chest, pointing it upwards towards the sky, before you pulled the trigger.

The deafening sound of the bullet being released and cracking through the cool air had him flinching.

You wanted him to know that you could have pulled the trigger on him. You loved that man too much to hurt him. You could never.

“Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t you dare come near me.” You seethed, tucking your gun back into the holster around your waist before you turned on your heel, and walked away from him.

Joel was left standing near the rivers edge, watching as you walked far, far away from him.

‘Cause do I love you..Oh, I do..and I'm going to ‘til I'm gone…’

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