hol

But not picking a side.

“Not gonna hurt you babygirl,” Joel said softly, hands still raised. The sound of his voice twisted something inside of you. The same low and comforting rumble from before—- like the horrors of your dream still clung to you. Like you posed no threat, knife and all. “Y’had a nightmare. Titan got me.”

You hated that your body had responded to him before your mind had. The warmth of his arms. The hand against your back, soothing and reassuring, his reassuring words in your ear.

The way you had reached for him, scared and half asleep—-

Your stomach turned violently.

“Get. Out!” Your voice cracked around the words. Weak, humiliatingly so. A reminder that you were no match for him.

Joel’s jaw ticked once. Sharp enough you caught it even through the dim light. But his hands remained raised. And he hadn’t stepped closer to you either. “Just wanted t’wake you. Make sure y’re okay.”

“You did,” you bit, voice sharp “Now out!” You snapped, still pointing the knife at him. 

His jaw tightened again. “Okay,” he nodded slowly, taking a careful step backwards, hands still held up. “Promise me t’lower t’knife, alright? Don’t want ya t’hurt y’self.”

The absurdity of the statement almost made you laugh. Because sure, that was his main concern here. Your grip on the knife tightened. “I mean it!”

“I know,” another slow step backwards, “Door’ll stay open if y’need me, yeah?” 

You hated how gentle he sounded. Hated it even more when he actually left, the door clicking shut softly behind him. 

Because now you were left alone with the memory of his arms around you, of the warmth of his touch seeping through your clothes.

The adrenaline had no where left to go. The knife slipped from your fingers first. Clattering loudly against the wooden floor before your legs gave out and you sunk down along the wall beside the bed; breath hitching painfully in your chest. 

A sob tore free before you could stop it. Then another, ugly and sharp and suffocating. 

Pepper reached you first, settling immediately into your lap, purring loud enough it vibrated against your ribs. Titan hovered only a moment before nudging his massive head beneath your trembling hand. Licking insistently at the tears on your cheeks where you had buried your face against your knees. 

You hated that he had stayed. You hated more that Joel had left him here. And you hated the most that some small shattered part of you was grateful for it. 

Joel had knocked for breakfast, but you hadn’t reacted. Had stayed curled up on the floor behind the bed. Pepper pressed against your chest, Titan’s massive body behind you, his head on your shoulder. You hadn’t moved an inch. Even the knife was still on the floor beside you. 

Within reach. 

He hadn’t come back, hadn’t insisted you come down to eat, he hadn’t come to get Titan either. Lunch was no different. A soft knock, a quiet “Babygirl?” Titan had turned toward the door, but he hadn’t moved from your side. 

It was well past noon when you eventually pulled yourself off the floor. Your body stiff and aching from hours in the same position. But everything was better than the memory of his arms around you. Of his warmth that you had sought out.

You layered a thick hoodie over it, armouring up, before you cautiously made your way out of the room. Eyes still bloodshot and cheeks splotchy from your tears.

 Titan and Pepper by your side still.

Joel was in the living room, looking up immediately when he heard you come downstairs. If you wouldn’t have ignored him, on your way to the mudroom — you wanted to let Titan outside; you would have seen the relief on his face.

“’s okay,” you told Titan quietly, when the he didn’t immediately make a run for it the moment you had opened the door. Looking up at you instead. “I’m okay, go on.” It took you nudging him out the door, for the massive dog to move over the threshold. 

“Mac&Cheese’s on the stove,” you startled, despite the softness of his voice. You were already back on your way toward the stairs, again not looking at him, not seeing his apologetic expression. 

You weren’t hungry. 

Not for the Mac&Cheese that had gone cold on the stove downstairs, not for the tea he left outside your door sometime later. A quiet knock accompanying it before his footsteps retreated again.

You ignored both. Curled back up on the floor behind the bed. Pepper and Titan with you again. One loudly purring against your ribs, the other sprawled stubbornly across your legs. Not moving an inch. Not even when Joel had called through the door that he’d go for a walk. Probably needing air again. 

Titan staying, choosing you, hurt in ways you didn’t quite understand.

Because it highlighted how in-tune he now was with you and your needs.

The house remained painfully quiet around you. No arguments, no demands, no insistence that you come downstairs and eat. Only the occasional creak of floorboards beneath heavy steps or the muted sound of cupboards opening, closing and water running through pipes—- A life continuing, while yours remained frozen in place.

You hated him for that too.

Hated that he had somehow turned your nightmare, your panic and fear into something gentle. 

Comforting even. 

Because that was so much worse than when he had yelled. When he had given you a reason to hate him, to fear him.

Your eyes drifted toward the laptop sitting abandoned on the desk. Joel Miller. The article still sat open when you woke the screen. The glow of it harsh against the dark room. You reread it once. Then again, and a third time.

Not because you doubted it, but because details mattered. 

The more you reread it, the more questions started clawing their way through the numbness. 

Three months. That’s how long it had taken him to find the driver. Less potentially, but three months while the police stalled and Sarah had stayed dead. Three months and he had beat him to death with his bare hands.

And you had been with him half that long. 

Your stomach twisted. Not with fear this time—- with anger. 

Because he had sat downstairs for weeks now, feeding you half truths and carefully curated answers, expecting you believe the bullshit he fed you.

“Problem solving.” Your jaw tightened. Because you and your life had been a fucking problem, hadn’t you? Something he needed to fix, he needed to solve.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his half truths and controlled answers. 

The laptop snapped shut beneath your palm. 

By the time you marched downstairs with it tucked under your arm — Pepper and Titan hot on your heels again; anger had burned hot enough to overpower the lingering unease and humiliation cause by his actions that had clung to you from the night before. Worse than anything the nightmare alone would have left you with.

“Babygirl?” He looked surprised. You had ignored his invite for dinner, and now he sat alone at the dining table, a plate of half eaten Mac&Cheese in front of him. Not the Kraft kind, home made. Oven baked. “Do you—”

“Why?” You snapped, interrupting him. And it took you everything not to slam your laptop on the table in front of him. Joel looked confused until you opened your laptop. The article greeting him. 

Realisation dawned on his features, his face hardening. 

“Why didn’t you do time?” 

“Babygirl—”

“No!” Your voice echoed loudly through the open living space. “I don’t want your fucking half truths and excuses! I want the truth!”

Silence settled heavily around you. Suffocating, but not enough to drown out your anger.

Finally he sighed, leaning back in his chair, “All of it?”

“All of it!”

──────────

The house fell quiet after your outburst. Not tense quiet, not the sharp kind before a fight. Worse, heavy. Like the entire place held its breath alongside you.

Joel remained seated at the table, one arm resting against the wood beside the half eaten plate of Mac&Cheese. Steam no longer rising from it.

Titan had settled beside where you stood. Massive head pressed against your thigh, as if trying to will the tension that curled through your body hard enough to make your muscles ache away. If only he pressed hard enough. Pepper remained perched atop the back of the couch nearby, eyes flicking between the both of you curiously.

Joel sighed eventually again, dragging a hand over his beard. Tired. Not annoyed, not angry, just tired. 

“All of it,” he repeated quietly and you could feel the weight those three words carried. Like he hadn’t been asked before or thought about all they entailed in a long time.

You nodded, arms crossed, waiting for him to start.

But the silence continued to stretch, like the darkness outside. The warm light spilling through the room barely enough to illuminate a fraction of the yard past the large windows. 

Isolated. 

Trapped. 

Your fingers tightened around the sleeves they had curled into. Titan whined quietly, pushing stronger against your thigh. 

“Start talking!” You demanded, tired of the silence. Of the lack of answers.

Joel’s jaw shifted once. That familiar restraint, like he was chewing over the truth while trying to decide how much to give to you.

Then finally—

“She was walkin’ t’school.” The air shifted in the room. Not softer exactly, but less suffocating. More room to breathe. “One moment she’s walking to t’bus ’n next she’s…” you can hear the pain in his voice. Something raw, and tender that had been buried deep. That he hadn’t touched in years. “Was gone before t’ambulance arrived,” he wasn’t looking at you, he was staring into space, expression distant. 

And you knew he was looking at her. Was seeing it all again, living it.

He looked different like this. Softer somehow, older in ways that exceeded his age and the horrors he had committed.

You hadn’t noticed the disappearance of Titan’s weight against your thigh. Didn’t realise he had left your side until you watched him drop his head into Joel’s lap. 

Heavy, reassuring, present.

Joel’s eyes drop to the pup and for a moment he looked like he was remembering where he was. “Didn’t even stop t’check, t’help.” A hand settled atop Titan’s head. “Police did fuck.”

You had sat down, somewhere between him telling you that he had taken less than a month to find the driver after the police did nothing for two and how he hadn’t been upstairs for just as long. 

Because her room had been just off the landing. And he couldn’t bare walking past it, knowing he would never see her in it again.

Something in your chest twisted, unbidden, nasty. Because you didn’t want to feel for him. 

Titan hadn’t moved. Glued to Joel’s side like he was normally to yours.

“Had you planned to…” 

“Kill him?” You nodded and Joel was quiet for a long moment, fingers moving absentmindedly along Titan’s fur. “I think, yeah.” And in a way, that didn’t surprise you. From what you gathered, Sarah had been his everything. His life, and then she had died in his arms. “Showed no remorse, so why should I?” 

The silence returned. Heavy, loaded. 

A reminder of who he was.

You didn’t mean to, but your eyes drifted towards his hands. It wasn’t hard to picture them bloodied. Knuckles split.

It wasn’t hard remembering how they had felt on your back, cradling your head either.

“Some lawyer showed up,” Joel continued eventually. “I ain’t ask for no lawyer. M’life was over anyway, so what for?” His words sat between you for a moment. Heavy and painful and you had to remind yourself that he had ended yours before you could do something stupid. Like tell him you were sorry, again. “Told me I impressed t’right people.”

“Because you’d solved a problem,” you concluded.

He nodded, “Yeah. Offered me a job,” a shrug “Had nothin left to lose.”

“It’s that easy to become a hitman?” 

“Wouldn’t call it easy,” There was something humorous but bitter in his voice, “But yeah. ’s that easy.”

Right. Because losing a daughter and beating a man to pulp wasn’t easy. You’d walked into that one. 

“And you’ve been… solving problems ever since?” 

“Yeah. Some twenty years of problem solving,” twenty-three. “Been all over the world, solved all sort of problems.”

You looked around the space. Really taking it in for the first time. The house as much as his profession were the after Sarah. The turn his life had taken after her passing. 

And for some fucking reason, that included you. 

“Must pay well,” you heard yourself say. You’d jobbed at restaurants with kitchens less equipped than his.

Joel shrugged, “Suppose. Had no real expenses. Sold the house, most belongings. Just a couple boxes in storage.” Boxed up memories you think, wondering if he had ever unboxed them, ever let them breathe. “Kept busy, built this place between assignments.” 

“Alone?” The article had said he was a contractor.

“Most of it.” The silence came back and for the first time since you had marched down the stairs with your laptop under your arm, it wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable. 

He was proud of the house he’d built. Not a home, a sanctuary. An escape from the life he had lived after Sarah. A prison. Financed through murder and bloodshed. 

“You gonna—- go on more assignments?” You liked the thought of him leaving you alone for a prolonged period of time. Giving you a chance to plot your escape, to find a way out and make a run for it.

“No,” a shake of his head, “‘m out. You were my last.” Your stomach dropped. “Supposed to be easy,” Joel continued. Either not having realised dread had started to fester behind your ribcage again or not caring. “‘fore I was out for good.”

“Why?” You heard yourself ask. Your own voice distant, far away. “Did you want out now?”

“‘m tired.” Simple as that then. “‘m old.”

You wanted to believe him. That that was the reason, and not because he wanted to be with you, always. 

“Have you… brought assignments here before?” Were there others? Before you?

“No. Never. Always completed them all as requested.” You weren’t sure if this made you feel better or worse. “Just you.”

“Why?” You ask, anger lacing back into your voice “Why did you bring me here?”

“Already told you babygirl,” he offered, hand on Titan’s head still, “Saved you.”

“But why?”

Joel didn’t respond right away, jaw working, back to choosing his words carefully apparently. 

“Because y’re special, babygirl.”

──────────

Sarah:

deceased, 2003, → hit and run on her way to school, drunk driver

was his world

died in Joel’s arms before the ambulance arrived

only family?

kept any of her belongings?  → music box, more photographs? anything?

Joel:

family: none? had a daughter? no one outside Sarah? what about her mother?

had nothing left after Sarah

found drunk driver in a month → methodical, resourceful

both extremely patient and impatient

Charges dropped Problem Solution:

political connection?

corruption?

blackmail?

organised crime?  → hitman? problem solution?  → bought fee and hired?

received training?

payed well (duh!)

enough to build an isolated & off the grid compound 

enough to disappear people

solved countless “problems” all over → internationally

──────────

After that night, Joel gave you space. 

Real space this time. Not the careful kind that still felt monitored. Not the tense waiting game of him expecting you downstairs eventually. 

He still knocked for meals.

8 AM. 12:30 PM. 6:30 PM. Like clockwork. Most of the time you stayed in your room. Sometimes you went downstairs to grab a plate and disappear upstairs again. 

Joel never stopped you, never questioned you, never tried to initiate a conversation. 

Even when you brought the plates back mostly untouched.

Titan still slept in your room every night. Curled impossibly close into your side or stretched along the the side of bed closest to the door like some barricade between you and the rest of the world. 

Like some barricade between you and Joel.

But every so often he did leave your side. And you knew it was to check on Joel. He had started to after your conversation in the kitchen. When he hadn’t come upstairs with you right away. The realisation should have unsettled you more than it did. 

Instead you found yourself listening for Titan’s return.

For the clicking of his nails on the floorboards before his polite knock in form of a massive paw hitting your door. He smelled like cedar wood and worn leather, sometimes like the cold winter air too, when he curled up with you again.

Scents you had come to associate with Joel.

Another thing, that should have terrified you. Because it meant you were long enough his hostage now, that you recognised his fucking scent.

Sometime between Titan and Pepper beginning to split their time between the both of you and the snow piling up outside, December had arrived.

And you found yourself downstairs more often. Sporadically and only because you had more questions. 

And to your surprise, Joel had answered them all. More or less detailed. 

“How many?” How many had he killed over the years. 

“Enough.” 

“That’s not a number.”

“No,” he had agreed quietly, “Ain’t worth keeping count.”

The thought that he viewed the lives he had taken as not worth keeping track of, had forced you to retreat back into your room.

saw no worth in life

You still kept filling your notebook in. Adding details about the house, about Sarah, but most of all about him.

had his coffee by the window, overlooking the fence line (and Titan’s patrol of it)

was gentle with animals

You had watched him settle Pepper on the blanket she had claimed as cat bed, when she’d curiously inspected the pots and pans on the stove. Not shooing her away, but carrying her carrying her over to the couch with quietly rumbled words you couldn’t make out.

He was in front of the mudroom with Titan when you got downstairs, wrangling a sweatshirt over the dogs massive body. You blinked, while Titan with the patience of a saint, stepped into the sleeves. “There, now y’won’t freeze.” But Joel did, the second he looked up. “’s cold out.” He explained, reaching for an dog coat he fastened around Titan too.

“You going for a walk?” You asked, while Titan continued to accept his fate and the snow-booties Joel tucked around his massive paws. 

“Gonna refill t’feeders ’n shovel walkways.”

“Feeders?”

“For t’birds an deer.” The bird feed he had hung up around the yard you had seen, but deer? “Just past the fence line,” he looked up, after fastening the last snow-boot on Titan. “Wanna come?” 

“Aren’t you scared I’ll run?” You blurt out and Joel smiled. 

“Nah. Y’re smarter than that. Not in t’cold.” He had a point. You didn’t know where you were, and the temperatures had dropped drastically in the last weeks. “Deer might be out if w’re lucky.”

You didn’t want to go on a fucking walk with him. 

But the chance of seeing the world outside the fence line? That, and how Titan’s excitement tripled when you agreed, had you give in. You ignored the hint of a smile on Joel’s lips, when you did.

“Gotta bundle up too, babygirl.” He reminded you and you knew what he meant. There was proper winter gear in your closet. Thermal pants, a coat thicker than anything you owned. Because Joel had bought them. 

You still hadn’t worn anything he had bought for you. Still stuck to your clothes and handwashing them only. “‘ll be outside,” he nodded, wrapped in layers too before following Titan out into the cold.. 

Joel was shovelling snow outside, reclaiming the paths he had made between the house, the barn, the shed for the thermal pump and solar setup, the gate and the doors you had discovered in the fence a while ago. You watched him through the window, watched Titan prance about the snow that swallowed him whole, instead of getting dressed. 

Pointedly ignoring the clothes he had bought for you. 

Even if you knew you couldn’t go outside without them. Because he wouldn’t take you with him past the fence line.

So reluctantly, you turned toward the closet eventually. Thick fleece-lined leggings, wool socks, thermal long-sleeves, all in colours you actually liked wearing. Oversized hoodies soft enough you knew he’d washed them before putting them away for you. 

You knew without checking, that even the boots would fit perfectly.

And that was the part you hated the most. Not the practicality, not the warmth. The fact that he’d known all your sizes. That every piece looked like something you would’ve picked yourself if circumstances were different. 

Joel had never tried forcing you in any of it. Never commented when you continued washing the same few outfits over and over again in the bathroom sink despite the proper laundry set-up downstairs. He’d just left detergent, outside your door one day. 

But the cold had worsened faster than your stubbornness could keep up.

And you wanted to go outside and not freeze to death.

So you tried hard to ignore the strange guilt that twisted in your stomach when you finally reached for a a pair of thermal pants. Telling yourself that you were only making sure you survived the winter out here and nothing else.

──────────

The cold hit immediately the second you stepped outside. Sharp enough it burned in your lungs beneath the scarf pulled high over your face. Snow crunched loudly under unfamiliar winter boots as you made your way along a re-claimed walkway Joel had shovelled.

Everything felt too big out here. Too quiet and white.

Titan came barreling toward you almost instantly, jumping like a floppy-eared shark from an ocean of snow left and right to the path. Until he skidded to an excited stop in front of you. 

White clinging to what was visible of his dark fur.

“Easy,” you laughed despite yourself when the massive dog shoved his head against your stomach hard enough to nearly send you stumbling back.

The barn door creaked open before you could recover. Joel stepping out, carrying an old worn backpack over one shoulder. And a rifle hanging loosely from the other.

Your body reacted instantly. Freezing, taking a step back even.

“Relax,” Joel had noticed your reaction, because of course he had. “Just in case,” he explained, adjusting the strap higher against his shoulder. “Coyotes mostly. Sometimes wolves.”

Your stomach twisted less at the answer and more at the fact that he had answered before you asked.

The backpack shifted when he stepped closer, hay sticking out and on the side you could see small bags of bird seed. 

No hunting gear, you told yourself. Feed.

Joel’s gaze flicked over you. Slow enough that you could feel it despite the layers now wrapped around nearly every inch of your body. Thermal Pants, thick coat, gloves, wool scarf—- all his.

Something unreadable softened briefly in his eyes, before he looked away again. 

“Boots fit alright?” He asked instead, voice soft over the crisp air, like he hadn’t just caught you wearing an entire life he’d prepared for you months before you ever woke up here.

“I think,” was all you gave, following him toward the fence.

Your heart started racing, the closer you got to the door you had discovered a while ago. You watched Joel pull a key from his pocket. The same he had used to open the fire-proof-door in the barn.

A master key then.

“Can I have one of those?” You hear yourself ask. “If nothing’s off limits?”

Joel chuckled amused, while the hinges creaked. “When I can trust that ya ain’t gonna run.” 

You struggled not to. When you stepped outside. For a split second your flight response triggered. Joel and Titan behind you. If you sprinted off you might make it—- to where? There was nothing but the forest opening ahead of you.

Daunting, dark. Despite the snow and sun.

“Don’t have t’go into t’woods,” Joel’s voice rumbled behind you. “’s dangerous, branches snap under t’weight.”

The key disappeared again and Titan took off, bouncing through the drifts. 

You knew that the forest was massive. Had seen the vast ocean countless times through the windows, but standing in front of it… 

“‘ll open whatever door ya want open.”

“Hm?” You hadn’t heard him over the harrowing realisation that you really were in the middle of nowhere. No traffic, no distant voices, no airplanes overhead. Just wind moving through branches and snow drifting through the air.

“If ya find closed doors ’n want inside, ‘ll open ‘em.”

The tree line started further away than you’d expected. Not close enough to offer cover. Just a dark wall of towering pines standing silent beyond an open stretch of untouched snow that glittered beneath the winter sun.

Idillic in any other circumstance. To any other eye. 

But you felt exposed. 

The sensation settled uneasily in your stomach the further he lead you away from the fence. 

From warmth and safety. 

Because there was nowhere to go out here. No roads, no houses, no smoke curling from chimneys in the distance. Nothing but the forest stretching endlessly ahead of you. 

You had stopped walking without meaning to. Your heartbeat ringing in your ears while Titan dove happily through the snow. Carefree. And Joel continued beside you, steady and unhurried like this wilderness belonged to him. 

And maybe it did.

The wind picked up sharply across the clearing and only then did you realise that you had stepped closer to him. Subconsciously so. Seeking warmth or familiarity—- or maybe both.

Joel had noticed. Of course he had. You knew he did from the shift in his posture, the glance downward when you looked over to him. 

At least he said nothing, and just kept on walking. 

The structure near the tree line looked handmade. Thick wooden posts dug deep into the ground, supporting a roof already heavy with snow. Beneath it sat a raised feeding trough, partly buried under snow and old hay. 

You watched how Joel shrugged the backpack off — the rifle stayed on; and moved to clear both the roof and the trough. “Built it couple years back,” he explained. “Ground freezes too hard deeper in winter.”

saw worth in some life

The entire scene felt horribly, impossibly normal. Like this wasn’t a man who had abducted you and dragged you out into this godforsaken place.

How he replaced the hay, how he hung the new bird feed on the wood while Titan flew past, chasing snowflakes. 

Your stomach twisted tighter.

Then Titan suddenly froze, several feet away. Still, alert. Joel’s gaze followed his. 

“There,” he murmured, and a hand settled lightly against your arm, guiding you to look too. 

At first all you saw were trees and a darkness that swallowed the midday sunlight whole. Then movement, at the edge of the forest a little ways down.

A deer stepped carefully from between the pines, ears twitching cautiously toward the both of you. Another lingered deeper in the shadows behind it, nearly invisible against the forest.

Neither ran. 

They just watched.

And for one strange suspended moment, standing there beside Joel in clothes he had bought for you to keep you warm and comfortable while snow drifted silently through the clearing; you felt painfully small beneath the sheer vastness of the world around you.

──────────

You could still feel the warmth of his skin burning through the layers of clothing. No matter how brief the touch was. 

“How often you feed them?” You asked over your shoulder, keeping him between you and the forest. And the dread it radiated. 

“Every other-ish week,” he offered. “Ya wanna start helpin’ me?”

And stand in front of that maw threatening to be swallowed whole? No thank you.

 “Maybe.” You struggled hard not to speed up your steps the closer you got to the door, trying to focus on Titan who’d finally slowed down to a trot alongside you. 

“’s gonna pass out an sleep till t’morrow.” Joel picked up on your attention, amusement ringing through his voice. “’s still a big puppy at heart.”

“How old is he?” you asked, while he unlocked the door to the yard. 

A sense of relief washing over you, once you stepped inside and Joel locked the door again. 

Safety. Familiarity.

The devil you grew to know over the devil you didn’t. 

“Five,” Joel offered, heading for the barn again and you wondered what he did with the pup, that stubbornly trotted ahead toward the mudroom door, when he was on his assignments. 

For some reason you followed him into the barn. Not ready yet to be alone again. So you watched where he stored the backpack and that his gun safe opened through his fingerprint. 

Biometric locks. Go figure. 

You were sure he had guns inside the house too, even if you hadn’t found them yet. Somewhere hidden maybe. Through a secret door, or in his bedroom. 

The door hadn’t closed once since you got here. 

“’s December now,” he pointed out, and when you looked over you found him looking at a box labelled decorations. You hadn’t pegged him as owning any. 

Boxed up memories perhaps.

“I’m not gonna celebrate Christmas with you,” you huffed.

“Good,” matter of fact, but not without amusement. “’s fine, ain’t a big fan anyway.” If you had to guess, it lost all its meaning when Sarah had passed away. 

Thanksgiving hadn’t be a thing either. No fancy dinner or table spread. 

What should you be thankful anyway? 

Maybe that he hadn’t killed you and brought you here instead. 

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of that thought. 

True to Joel’s prediction, Titan passed out in front of the fire place barely that he was out of his winter gear with an exhausted huff. “Y’good babygirl?” He asked when you too lingered in front of the hearth, hands held out toward the fire. A hint of concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” you weren’t cold, you just hadn’t shook the feeling of suffocating unease the forrest had evoked in you. 

“You want tea? Hot chocolate?” 

The no was already on your lips. Ready to refuse, to retreat back upstairs. But there was nothing up there. Except loneliness and time to think about the image of the impenetrable tree line. That endless maw. 

So the no didn’t come, instead: “Hot chocolate.” A quiet mumble, half swallowed by a popping log. 

Joel nodded once, “Alright.” 

No surprise, no amusement, no sense of success. Almost like he’d already known your answer before he had asked. 

And somehow that unsettled you more than the forest had.

The mug warmed your fingers almost painfully after the cold outside. Slowly thawing feeling back into your fingers while Joel moved quietly in the kitchen behind you.

You should have gone upstairs. The thought lingered stubbornly in the back of your mind while you still stood by the fireplace. Watching Titan quietly snore in his sleep. 

At least you weren’t sitting on the couch. 

Kept some of your dignity. 

Joel left you be too. No comment, no conversation. Just silence, that for once, was neither tense nor uncomfortable. 

The mug between your fingers emptied gradually. 

Rich chocolate, a pinch of salt, a dollop of cream—- you were no longer surprised that he knew exactly how you liked anything.

“How long did you watch me?” 

“Contracts run six months. The faster’re completed, t’more money ya get.” You had learned, that there were aspects of his life he was forthcoming about, and others he wasn’t. 

Not lying, but evading a proper answer. 

“And let me guess, you took the whole six months?” As much as you wanted to believe that he was lying about all of this still, you no longer had a reason to. The evidence you had found online in form of articles and both his consistency in his answers and the way he responded, supporting the thought that he was honest. That all of this was the truth. 

“Until the very last day,” he confirmed. 

watched me for six months → didn’t catch or see him once? HOW?

Six months. He had watched you, had observed you and learned everything about you, for six months. And you hadn’t noticed it. As tall and bulky as he was you would think he couldn’t blend in easily. 

Not even in New York. 

But you hadn’t seen him, hadn’t noticed him, or that anything was off. 

“How—”

“Babygirl,” he interrupted you, his voice almost soothing but still a warning. Stopping you from asking how much your life was worth. How much he had gotten in the end. “Not today.”

──────────

“Do you have another set of sheets?” You asked over breakfast, no longer just pushing the food around. Eating a little better. “I want to wash my sheets.” Two months now, a little over, abducted from a man hellbent on keeping you safe.

Whatever that meant. 

You didn’t want to believe that he was, but believing that he worked in problem solution, you caught yourself being inclined to. 

“Sure,” a nod. “’s a linen closet in the laundry room. Towel’s there too.” Joel studied you for a moment. You knew he was pleased that you ate more now, even if he didn’t voice it. “You gonna use the washing machine, or...?”

Out of spite, you wanted to wash it by hand. Just because but with both Pepper and Titan sharing your bed… that and the fact that drying it in your bathroom would be a nightmare, you didn’t.

So you braved the laundry room. Located beside the mudroom and across a door you had peered into only once, yet. The basement. 

You weren’t quite ready for that exploration. 

It was comfort, you told yourself, when you, three days later carried another laundry basket downstairs. This one filled with clothes. Drying them took forever and admittedly, handwashing everything wasn’t the most sanitary. 

Joel looked up when you walked past, but didn’t say a word.

It happened quietly enough after that you didn’t notice it at first. 

One of the sweatshirts after coming back inside freezing, because your own clothes still sat damp in the washing machine. Then thick socks. A shirt after that because it had been within reach—-

Practical choices, nothing else. 

Easy ones really. 

And sometime after that the habit simply… stayed. 

A pair of thermal leggings here, then a hoodie and after that a shirt you had slept in. Maybe you chose not to think about it, not to pay it any mind. 

Maybe you had accepted it as a part of your life now. That you wore the clothes he had intended for you.

But one morning while brushing your teeth, something clicked. And suddenly you saw yourself in the mirror not looking any different, but in clothes you wouldn’t have recognised nearly three months ago.

An oversized hoodie hanging off your shoulders the same way all of your hoodies did. Soft from too many washes already. Warm and familiar. 

And that was the problem. 

The familiarity of it. Because there shouldn’t be any, but somewhere — and the terrifying part was that you couldn’t pinpoint when or where; your body had stopped hesitating before reaching for things Joel had bought for you.

You looked down slowly. Sweatpants, wool socks, the dark green hoodie. None of it had belonged to you. Except it did. Because Joel had bought them for you.

The realisation sat strangely in your chest. Uneasy, heavy. Like something had quietly shifted beneath your feet without you noticing until now. Eating away the dread that still lived behind your ribs. 

A knock sounded against the bedroom door before you could linger on it too long. 

Breakfast, babygirl.”

And horrifyingly, the voice on the other side of the door felt familiar too.

Just like the routine that had established somewhere along the way. Breakfast at 8 AM, then you went outside with Titan, some fresh air. Every so often Joel tugged along too. Taking you out to feed the deer again — he had a similar get up on the other side of the clearing on an alternating schedule, or shovelling the walkways. 

The forest was still daunting, A bottomless pit ready to devour you whole if you stepped even an inch too close. 

Sometimes he tended to the snowmobile or carried wood inside and you had to fight off the strange sensation that you were existing alongside him.

Then lunch and after you sat over your notes, both pondering and filling in. Joel was still a stranger to you. Still someone you didn’t know, didn’t want to know, but you had still grown to pick up on his habits and mannerisms and tells

the sleeves of his flannel were rolled twice, always

his footsteps slow near my room  → doesn’t always knock

no TV or radio on, ever??

rubbed his thumb against the side of his mug → during breakfast while sitting in silence → wants to talk? contemplating about what?

Every so often you explored too. His office—- less of an office and more of a study. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls between massive windows that overlooked the clearing beyond the fence line. 

It smelled like him in here. Cedar, coffee, soap and worn leather… lived in. Like he spend a lot of time in here. Or spent. Because as far as you knew he hadn’t been in the room once since you had gotten here. 

His desk sat halfway into the room, bookshelves behind it, a large window in view of it. 

Your stomach turned.

The window your desk sat in front of. 

Yeah, the study took you a while to explore. 

Alone because of the stacks of papers, maps and notebooks atop of the scarred wood. Burying it beneath not chaos but organised stacks.

The maps thrilled you at first, because maybe they’d help you pinpoint your location. Turns out, the maps were linked to his assignments. Some cities doubled, like New York, adorned with different pins. 

When you discovered, on one of them, that he had pinned your regular spots — home, office, food spots, the café you sometimes worked from, the grocery store you frequented… you had retreated back into your room immediately. 

Avoiding the room for a day or two.

The papers gave you nothing. Words you didn’t know and couldn’t google — because they didn’t seem to exist, numbers that could be payments or accounts or file names, you didn’t know. No wonder he wasn’t secretive about them.

The journals spoke a smilier language. Not giving you anything you could use or make sense of. Perhaps the locked drawers might help with that. But you hadn’t tried to open them yet. 

Torn between trying to force them open or straight up asking him to unlock them. Given he had told you he would open any locked door you encountered. 

Did that count for drawers too?

You hadn’t tested yet.

Sarah was present in his study too. More proof that the room was lived in. That he had spent a lot of time in it. Photographs on his desk. One of her matching the age of the one downstairs, at a fair from the looks of it. Cotton candy in her hand. And another one of the both of them.

If you had to guess she was about five and on Joel’s arms, a pink and purple butterly painted across her face and Joel—- Joel looked softer than you had ever seen him. Not yet roughened from what was to come. A smile on his lips and a warmth in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

A different person.

Someone you might have liked, would you have met under other circumstances.

──────────

The house grew warmer the deeper winter settled around it.

Not temperature wise, Joel kept the place warm enough long before the first heavy snowfall swelled the clearing outside. 

It started with candles. 

A set on the table one evening. “Thought you didn’t like Christmas?” You asked, settling across from him like you had taken to again. 

“Donno what y’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He’d huffed. “’s just candles.” As if to proof a point — whether it was yours or his was up for debate; more candles had appeared around the house. On the kitchen counter, in front of windows, the mantle—- a whole box of them in front of your room eventually. 

In case you wanted some too.

You didn’t. 

Not right away at least. Stored the box in your closet, untouched and ignored for days, just like the clothes he’d bought you had been a while ago. 

Until one evening the darkness outside the windows pressed too heavily against the room. Winter swallowed the daylight earlier and earlier with every passing day. By four the forest beyond the windows had dissolved into an endless black mass of moving shadows and drifting snow. 

Looming and daunting. 

And then Titan had ventured downstairs, not even for long. To check on Joel like he so often did, after he had come clean about his past; as if to make sure he was okay too.

The room had felt too quiet without him, too empty. 

You had stared at the box for a long moment before finally pulling a single candle free. Just one. Practical more than anything else. Something to occupy yourself with until you heard the familiar patter of heavy paws coming up the stairs. And a flicker of comfort candlelight had brought. 

The soft glow broke the darkness apart, a soft flicker but still enough that the tree line stopped feeling like some massive living thing waiting beyond the glass, ready to devour you.

You blew it out before going to sleep. 

But the next evening you lit it again without thinking about it first. More candles followed gradually. One near your notebook while you kept filling it with notes or pondered over them, another set in front of the large window, one on the nightstand by the knife. 

And slowly the candles stopped feeling like Joel’s while gradually feeling like they were part of the room itself and the comfort you had come to find inside of it. 

Gradually extending to the rest aug the house.

Christmas came, and while you weren’t particularly fond of the holiday to begin with — having done one too many stints in retail to finance yourself through your studies and the distance to your family were to thank for that; it still felt weird. 

No music, no movies, no decorations… just another day.

Except that it wasn’t. Not really.

Joel paid you no mind when you came downstairs for dinner on the 24th. There was no elaborate dinner, no roast, on the contrary. He’d made Mac&Cheese again, not the home made one you hadn’t tried yet but Kraft again, along with chicken nuggets. But that wasn’t what had you falter in your steps. It was the package in the place of your plate that hadn’t yet made it to the table. 

“What’s this?”

“Not a Christmas gift,” Joel answered, matter of fact. 

“A Christmas Eve gift,” you countered, watching him shrug. 

You weren’t the only one with a neatly wrapped box. Pepper slept on the couch beside one. Same brown kraft paper, same simple white ribbon. The wrapping was clean, methodical, careful even. And another beside Titan’s bowl. The pup already nosing it curiously. 

“Gets somethin’ every year,” another shrug, “Figured you ’n Pepper should too.” 

Not wanting to decipher what that made you feel — touched, oddly touched and then mad at yourself for feeling touched; you move toward Titan. “What do you have there?” You ask him, crouching down beside him. The pup huffed, having managed to tear the bow off. “I’ll help you,” you decided, because everything was better than looking at Joel or the package on the table. 

Under Titan’s watchful eyes and clumsy assist — a massive paw here, the press of a wet nose there; you unwrapped a giant chew, a bag of treats, a small duck plush and a tug-rope toy. Holding each item out for him to inspect, aware that Joel watched you. 

He watched you too when Titan left with the duck plush and the chew to curl up on his bed by the fire place and you made a choice to ignore him and wrapped package on the table still. 

Pepper was rather uninterested with her gift, not waking up until you had already unwrapped the heated pillow. The crinkling of the various treat bags on the other hand… got her attention. 

Go figure. If Pepper was one thing, it was food motivated. 

No wonder she and Joel got along.

“Got catnip inside,” Joel supplied as you studied the small mouse plush toy you pulled from the box last. 

You still didn’t look at him, just offered Pepper the toy who immediately pounced the it. 

The gifts were thoughtful. Titan liked his plushies. You’d never seen him chew them or tear through them, and the thing Pepper loved more than treats, was warmth and comfort. 

Deserving every bit of it, after surviving on the streets of New York. 

“Y’don’t have ta,” Joel’s voice was a low rumble when you finally settled at the table. The last neatly wrapped box now beside your plate. 

You didn’t want to. Not in front of him, not at all—-

But you were curious. Found yourself picking at the bow between forks full of Mac&Cheese and ketchup dipped nuggets. He knew you intimately at this point. Knew what you liked to eat, to wear… and no doubt everything in-between. 

So what would he gift you? 

As a none-christmas gift?

After dinner you took the gift upstairs with you. Unopened. And you left it like that. On the desk at first before you shoved it into the closet. 

Out of sight out of mind. 

Except it didn’t stay there. Pepper and Titan were already curled up on the bed, having come upstairs eventually, when you gave in. Curiosity getting the better of you. 

A fountain pen, expensive looking and engraved with your name, a new pair of gloves, no doubt because yours had soaked through fast when you’d been out with Titan last and—- an old iPod, looking brand-new. Complete with headphones and a note. 

“Got your playlists saved onto it, know how much you love your music babygirl.” 

You faltered, staring at the device in your hand like it had both personally offended you and overwhelmed by gratitude you didn’t want to fee. You wanted to throw it out, along with the note but nostalgia for the life that felt so far away now, that it almost didn’t feel like your own anymore, prevented you. 

Existing without music, without your headphones, wasn’t an option you entertained, let alone deemed possible. And yet for the last two months, more than that, you had done exactly that.

Even if there was Spotify on your laptop… opening it to blast music wasn’t quite your style aside of how fucking wrong it would feel. Given your circumstances.

You didn’t think when you switched the device on and plucked the headphones in before pressing play. 

The notes were familiar, comforting. Listened to a thousand times on loop. And when you closed your eyes, you weren’t in the middle of nowhere. Trapped in a house with a stranger. You were home, walking through crowded streets after a long day at work.

Happy. Free—- 

You didn’t realise you were crying until Titan licked across your cheek.

──────────

You didn’t want to thank him. Didn’t feel like thanking him—- why should you? Because the gift had been thoughtful. No. No, it wasn’t thoughtful. It just was further proof that he knew everything about you. 

So you didn’t thank him, didn’t you even acknowledge that he had made you a gift that wasn’t thoughtful. Because it was not. It was just him showing you how well he knew you. Nothing more, nothing less.

But you used the pen. Only because you were a sucker for good stationary and the pen was beautiful. 

The iPod too. Falling asleep listening to music every night, curled between Pepper and Titan. Remembering a life that no longer felt like your own.

When you wore the the gloves too, Joel knew that you had opened the gift. But he didn’t acknowledge it with more than a nod. Pleased, no doubt, that he had gotten you something useful.

Something you needed. 

“’m going t’town,” he announced over breakfast. “Need some supplies, ’n feed too.” You looked up from your porridge, something sharp sparking inside your chest before you could stop it. Excitement, hope— Because finally, finally you would have the house to yourself. No quiet knocks, no eyes on you when you walked downstairs. “’s anything ya want?”

With him gone, even just for a couple hours, you could explore the house freely… Maybe you could—- figure out where you were? Figure out a way to leave? To communicate? To find help?

“Babygirl?” You’d waited for the knock, “‘m off. Ya sure ya ain’t want anythin’?”

“Am good,” you called back, not opening the door. 

“Kay. See ya in t’afternoon.” 

You waited for his steps to disappear and ascent down the stairs before you opened the door, making sure he’d really gone downstairs. You didn’t follow him, but you crept close enough to see him, dressed already to ward off the cold. 

“Ya stay here,” you watched him tell Titan, crouching beside him. “Watch her f’me, alright?” The pup huffed, leaning into him. 

You hated the strange twist of jealousy that caused. Titan was his—- of course the pup would lean into him. And yet you made a point of calling Titan to you a moment after Joel had disappeared. Through the door you hadn’t braved yet, down into the basement.

And you wouldn’t today either. For now you watched a truck drive through the opened gate, Titan by your side, leaning into you, when the gate closed again. 

There was no real immediate change. Not one you noticed at least. Too occupied between getting the camera detection device out just to be sure — still nothing and marching out into the barn to get tools to open his locked desk drawers, you were too busy to. 

Joel had left you lunch, leftovers. A choice of either Chilli or lasagna. Either not trusting you to fend for yourself or knowing you would resort to chips and cookies in an effort to, you didn’t care. Ignoring the leftovers and making yourself grilled cheese.

Something you could take into the office with you, while you tried to open the first drawer under Titan’s watchful eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huffed, fiddling with a screwdriver in the keyhole. “He knows I’d try to open them.” 

Expected you to, no doubt. 

In the end you appease him with half of your sandwich, and open the drawer without breaking anything. Thanks to an online tutorial. 

But there were no answers to any of your questions inside. 

Only old drawings of stick figures, hearts, animals— no doubt from Sarah, birthday cards, the self-made kind too. Calling Joel amazing and the best. More photographs too and… a death certificate. 

You close the drawer as if its contents had burned you. 

And maybe they had. 

Titan huffed behind you, “Don’t say I told you so!” you snapped, suddenly irritated. With yourself, with Joel— with the drawer and its contents.

A reminder that he wasn’t all monster. 

Was human, once upon a time. 

You abandoned the idea of opening another drawer, returning the tools and retreating with Titan and Pepper into your bedroom. 

Gone the euphoria about your supposed temporary freedom. In its place an unease you could not quite name. Until it was past 6 PM and so far no trace from Joel. 

The weather had turned. Snow growing heavier, thicker. 

And he had said afternoon. 

7 PM and you had fed Titan and Pepper, your own stomach twisted into knots. What if he didn’t come back? What would become of you? No one knew you were here, you didn’t even know where here was. 

He wouldn’t just abandon you, no. Something must have happened. But his truck had looked like the heavy duty kind…

8 PM and you were convinced he wouldn’t come back. Curled into yourself in front of the window, the silence of the house suffocating, when suddenly—- headlights cutting through the darkness and snow.

Joel. 

You were on your feet in an instant, relief flooding you as you rushed downstairs, Titan on your heels. “You said afternoon!” You snapped, having managed to stop yourself from rushing into his arms by the time the basement door opened. 

“‘m sorry babygirl,” he did look apologetic, a little surprised too. “Traffic was bad, weather turned.” 

“What if something happens to you?! What’ll happen with me?” Desperation fuelled your voice and anger too. Less at him and more at yourself. At the relief you still felt about seeing him. 

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” he didn’t sound dismissive, he sounded sure. “An if—- ya got food, t’last ya until summer ’n then some. Power too. Yer’a smart. Ya would figure out a way t’leave.” 

“Fuck you!” As if it were that easy. As if the world didn’t think you were dead.

Joel sighed, an audible exhale through his nose. You wouldn’t bet on it, but you thought, for a moment, something like a smile, crossed his features. “‘m sorry babygirl,” he repeated, “Brought ya burgers?” He produced a familiar paper bag from the heap he’d carried in. “Ya wanna eat ‘em?” You blinked, stunned. “Can even put a movie on?”

What? You had just told him to fuck himself and he offered you burgers, a movie? What fucking tactic was that?

But then you were hungry… and you haven’t watched anything since you got here. No movie, no TV, let alone with Joel.

The abrupt shift nearly gave you emotional whiplash. One moment your chest burned hot with panic and anger and the next Joel stood there holding a familiar paper bag that unmistakably smelled like grease and fries. “’s still warm!” 

Like this was normal. Like you hadn’t just spent the last two hours convincing yourself that he had died somewhere out in the storm and that you would die now too.

And his solution was burgers and a movie? 

“Are you fucking serious? Burgers and a movie?” Your voice lacked the bite it held at the beginning of the conversation. “That’s your solution?”

“Nah,” at least he was being honest, “But ‘m guessing ya haven’t eaten,” a shrug. He wasn’t wrong, but that was beside the point. “An ya gotta eat. Can still be mad after.”

Your arms crossed in front of your chest, while Titan who had frozen in his tracks on his way to greet Joel, confused, when you’d snapped at him at first. Finally excitedly greeted Joel. Tail wagging included.

“What movie?” you finally asked.

“Whatever ya wanna watch, babygirl.” 

──────────

Reluctantly you settled onto the couch, Joel joined you shortly after. “But the bags?” You heard yourself ask.

“Gonna deal with ‘em later.” He offered while you caught yourself wondering what he had bought, what supplies he had needed. “‘m hungry too.” You eyed the bags curiously. “Y’fed Titan a Pepper,” he noted, sounding pleased.

As if you wouldn’t feed Pepper and Titan. Even if they weren’t your only friends and confidants. They now laid as buffer between you and Joel. Pepper closer to him, Titan beside you. The both of you in a corner each. As far apart as the couch would allow.

He’d gotten your usual, twice, once for you and once for him. Eating what you were eating. You didn’t comment. Pointedly ignoring him and focusing on the food and the movie. A favourite. One you’d seen countless times and knew by heart.

For a moment you had considered demanding one that hadn’t been out yet when he had ripped you from of your life. One you’d been waiting to see. Ticket already bought—- since he had said whatever you wanted and insisting on a movie that wasn’t out on digital yet sounded about right.

But the movie and felt like it belonged to another life.

So a favourite it was. 

The movie blurred somewhere around the halfway point. Not because you stopped paying attention. No you did. You tried to, at least. This was just exhaustion finally catching up.

Nothing more. 

Your body still heavy from hours spent wound too tightly beneath your own skin waiting for headlights that hadn’t come. Worry you hadn’t wanted to feel twisting your stomach—- 

The warmth didn’t help either. Both from the comfort the food had brought and Titan, who had scurled into you like he did every night. The house dim beside the television glow and candlelight. 

Because Joel had lit a set again. 

Full stomach, familiar movie. Forgotten the earlier stress you had felt. Because now you were—-

Safe.

The thought barely existed long enough for you to grasp before sleep dragged you under. 

──────────

Joel.

How relaxed you looked, asleep. Gone all tension, all anger and irritation. All fear. 

Not of him, but for him. 

Because he had ran late, because the weather had turned. Because you finally understood that your life was tied to his now. 

That he kept you safe. 

That only he could keep you safe. 

And now you were asleep beside him. Curled into Titan in a way that felt so familiar that he knew it was how you spent every night since the dog had taken to sleeping in your room.

His gaze drifted toward the TV still playing in the background. He had lowered the volume when your breathing had evened out, before returning to you again. 

He might watch another movie, if it meant keeping you here beside him.

You had waited for him. For his return. Perhaps in front of a window—- and that mattered more than you knew. The anger and panic laced into your voice when you had snapped at him. 

What would happen to you, if something happened to him?

Because he was all you now had. 

No escape. No freedom.

Him.

Just him.

The thought settled warm somewhere deep in his chest. Like something that had laid dormant for twenty-three years, remembered what it was like to be alive. 

You were settling. Finally, slowly. 

Learning the routines of the house, sleeping easier, eating better. Wearing the clothes he had intended for you like they had been in your closet all along. Letting Titan in, instead of pushing him away, depending on him like you would on Joel too. Eventually. 

And now you had fallen asleep beside him on the couch.

Progress. Fragile, maybe. 

But real.

From the moment you slid off your horse at the gates of Jackson, Joel knew something about you was different. You had no reaction when they stripped you of your weapons, your pack. You just stood there, eyes forward.

His first sign.

Three days in solitary followed, to make sure you didn't turn. From Tommy, Joel heard your request had been laughably simple: you wanted a home. Somewhere to stay until you die. You were tired of wandering the country and wanted a place where you could live your days in peace.

Seventy-two hours later, the council filed in, asking their questions, examining your body. And when you didn’t turn or give them a reason, they let you go.

Joel still remembered the day you walked out of the clinic.

He’d been heading toward the patrol barn with his brother when the door creaked open, and you stepped into the sunlight, stretching like you’d just woken from a nap. Maria stood beside you, pressing a bundle of clothes into your arms and the keys to an empty house into your palm.

It didn’t take long for your name to show up on patrol rotations.

The first time you rode out with the group, no one tried to talk to you. You didn’t invite it either. You mounted up, eyes scanning the treeline, and did as you were told. You listened to orders to the detail, and checked whatever Tommy said.

Still, Tommy pulled Joel aside and made it sound casual. “Take her out for a check south. Do a quick round.”

The real message wasn't lost on him: If she does anything stupid—end it.

And Joel was prepared for that. Sure, maybe it would've been a struggle putting you down if you did fight back, but he could do it. Anything for this community that was giving Ellie the life she deserved. Anything for this community that helped raise his nephew.

But you didn’t. You rode beside Joel, matching his pace, your horse calm underneath you. When you spoke, it was short.

“Movement. Two o’clock.”

“Left. Clear.”

“Tracks up ahead.”

Just clean communication between two partners.

Joel enjoyed that. Watch the Wyoming mountains stretch endlessly around him, and do his job without any unnecessary chatter. By the time you and he made it back through the gates, Joel only asked one thing of Tommy.

“Keep her with me. Alright?”

Patrol after patrol, with silence shared between you both instead of being filled. You didn't fight your assignment with him; you just took it with indifference. You rode with him, did your job with him. Simple as that.

Somehow, that pulled Joel closer to you than anything you could've said to him. In time, he understood your ticks. What noises pulled your head with a snap, and brought your hand to your gun. What sights made you pause, and made your eyes widen like you hadn't seen anything like it before.

You kept your original word, too, of wanting only a home. The woman in the white place is near the hill, is what the kids started calling you. Only seen on patrol days or when food ran low.

Professional. Painfully so. Until it wasn’t.

It was a late patrol. You met Joel at the barn like always, saddled up, and passed through the main gate without a word. The path ahead was narrow, choked with brush, and darkness was heavy between the trees.

The moon hung low and distorted, fish-eyed and pale, casting just enough light to see. For some reason—one he’d swear later he didn’t understand—Joel couldn’t stop looking at you.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe unease crawling under his skin. His eyes kept drifting back. Your hair was pulled away from your face, exposing the back of your neck. Even through your shirt, he could see the strength in you.

Joel could respect strength. Strength was the kinda thing that a lotta of these Jackson kids didn't have—

“Watch it, Miller—!”

Flashlights flared from the brush, blinding white. His horse reared, panicked, and Joel hit the ground hard, pain hitting his lower back. The breath left him in a sharp grunt. Instinct kicked in, though, and his hand found the switchblade in one smooth motion.

He was on his feet, slashing and driving forward, the first man going down easy. He heard you somewhere to his left, though he couldn't see you.

Then a body slammed into him.Joel went down hard again, this time face-up. Fingers closed around his throat. The blade was kicked from his hand, skidding just out of reach.

His vision pinholed, black creeping in from the edges. His ears rang, distant and hollow, like he was underwater.

His hand scrabbled uselessly at the dirt, fingertips brushing the hilt of the knife. He couldn’t close his grip. Couldn’t pull it in.

The shittest way to die. And to think, all that killing he did, all that skill just to die out here in the middle of nowhere—

The pressure vanished. Joel sucked in air like it was the first time he’d ever breathed. He rolled to his side, gagging, ears roaring back to life.

Shlk

That’s when he heard it.

Shlk. Again. Shlk.

Grunts that were wet and desperate.

Shlk. Shlk. Shlk. Shlk. Shlk.

He turned his head. You were straddling the man who’d had his hands on Joel, your blade rising and falling with vicious precision. Over and over. Blood sprayed dark against your hands, your sleeves, the dirt beneath you.

It didn't matter to you. You then changed grip, cutting one messy line across his throat. The sound that came out of him—bubbling choking—cut off just as fast.

Silence followed.

Joel was still catching his breath, same as you. The only two remaining sounds in the dense forest. He turned to stare up at the moon that was warped overhead. His heart thundered so hard it hurt.

Fuck a second reason. Or a third. You… were a fucking survivor.

You cursed and scrambled toward him, dropping to your knees at his side. Your hands were on him, cradling the back of his head, steady despite the blood slicking your palms.

“Miller—miller. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah… I’m here.”

He tried to sit up. Pain tore through his lower back and he groaned.

“No,” you said immediately. “Hold onto me—here put your arm... not there, here.”

You shifted, looping his arm over your shoulder and hauling him up. His horse was gone, nothing but churned dirt where it had bolted. Yours stood a short distance away, tense but ready to ride again.

You somehow managed to lug Joel to the horse, making him lean against the stall before taking a quick glance over him. Then, you fully turned back to the bodies. A quick sweep followed. One clean stab to each neck. No chances taken.

You then searched their bodies for anything that had to do with identification. Joel could see you found nothing, because you cursed again and kicked dirt in frustration

You came back to him, mounting yourself first before pulling Joel up behind you with a grunt, and nudging the horse into motion. It whined once, but after some words from you, he couldn't hear, they got moving.

The rasp in Joel's throat stopped just enough for him to open his mouth:

"Thank you."

He saw your shoulder pause, and your side profile coming into view as you glance away from the path back to Jackson to him. "Huh?"

"You... you saved me."

"Don't worry about it."

"So you did it out of the good of your heart?"

A jolt from the horse slid Joel closer to you, his hands finding your back to stop himself from completely falling on you. There was a brief pause before you spoke again.

"I need a partner for patrols, that's all. And you're the only guy in this community I can tolerate."

Ah.

That should not have been as much of a nice feeling as it felt.

"Me? Well, I'm glad you're thinkin' that highly of me."

For the first time in his entire time of knowing you, you let out a little snort. Nothing that would've pentrated a crowd or rung like bells. It wasn't sweet. It was you. Fully the you he got to know in less than ten sentences a day.

And maybe that snort had changed between you both. Your indifference toward him turned into a warm politeness. Instead of staying inside your home or on your horse, you sought Joel out. Coming to him first to trade with him. In whatever way you did, you learned he would trade anything for coffee beans, and you two set up a little system that just worked.

Soon, he was in your home, eating your food. You would come inside his house, sit on his couch, drink his watery coffee, and talk to him in short bursts.

He learned more about you in those times. You had been wandering all by yourself, untrusting of communities, which Joel related to. You admitted that you were a lone raider—which again, he related to—and he realized that you and him were cut from the same bloody cloth.

Two survivors who need to learn how to thrive, not just survive.

No one understood it. Joel Miller and the strange woman on the hill. Tommy and Maria had questions about it one time when they saw you and Joel walking from the greenhouse to the center of town. He didn't say much, just a quick "we're friends now, that's all."

He didn't need anyone to understand, because even he didn't understand. He didn't understand why his heart raced when you closed your eyes and let yourself become unguarded. He didn't understand why anytime you and he ran into trouble that resulted in you two covered in blood, he couldn't help but stare at the streaks on your lips.

And he didn't understand why he got so nervous when he invited you to dinner at his house—when Ellie wasn't home, and he got a bottle of wine. Really, Miller?—and fussed with every single part of his life you would see. He didn't understand why when he opened the door when you knocked, he lost his breath staring into your eyes and the small smile on your lips.

He didn't understand why, somehow, he had gotten drunk. Him. He didn't get drunk. That's how you get hurt nowadays. But you did too, and that flush on your cheeks when you laughed extra hard at him made it all worth it.

He didn't even realize he was leaning in. He swore you had lint in your hair. But when he pulled out nothing and your lips were so, so close, and you had stopped talking altogether and were just looking, what else was he supposed to do?

So he did what he would've done years ago. He leaned in and kissed the prettiest girl that had it eye.

Your lips were soft. Not pillow soft, but soft where he could feel new skin from split lips that he knew you earned. And he knew, when you leaned in, he had won.

Now, if you asked him what happened that night, he would say he couldn't remember. Which was true. It did end up feeling like a whirlwind of being pushed around and feeling heat and waking up the next morning naked. But he did remember sensations.

He remembered standing with you and pushing you against the kitchen counter, his finger dancing along your side before disappearing in your jeans and panties. Oh, how warm you were, how wet. For him.

His fingers moved in tandem with his tongue, flicking against the spot against your ear and his thumb against your clit. But his eyes remained locked on your face. Your face of ecstasy that he was bringing you. He thrusted his middle finger deep inside, feeling gummy walls sinch around him. Without any fight, a second finger followed, and he was soon pumping in and out of you.

You watched him, too, holding onto his face to keep him there. He didn't mind. He just kissed you and thanked you over and over. He wanted you to come. To feel calm with him like how he felt with you and—

"J-joel... Joel, Joel, Joel wait—wait stop."

He did, in an instant. He slipped his hand out as quickly as it went in. His face became even redder than it already was.

"I'm sorry. So sorry—did I... did I hurt you? Oh, I didn't mean to I was just—"

His words died in his throat when he saw you lift his fingers—and brought them to your lips, tounge darting out to lick then swallow his digets. You purposefully moaned, keeping eye contact.

Holy. Shit.

You popped his fingers out, then whispered against them:

"The only place I'm coming, is your cock. So you either take me to your bed right now or I'll fuck you on your couch right now."

Joel didn't need to be told twice.

The alcohol must've really gotten to his head here, because he really, really couldn't remember it from this point. All he knows is that his clothes were thrown over your shoulder by you knowning hands, you stripped yourself, and layed with him in bed.

Underneath him, beside him, on top of him, it didn't matter. Joel fucked you in every position in his room. That's what he remembered. He remembered you begging for it, all that sass you had before gone after ten minutes with his cock stoking your sensitive walls.

He touched you in ways he only dared dream. Your tits as they bounced in front of his face as you rode him. Your ass as it plopped against his hairy pelvis over and over. Your thighs as he hugged you and whispered sweet nothings until you were cumming over and over.

He didn't even know if he hit his climax. In the moment, it didn't matter. He must've, because when he woke up the next morning with a raging headache and his cock soft underneath the sheets, he had to have done something right.

And something even better when he saw you were still asleep by his side.

He leaned down over you, ignoring how the morning light that was dancing on your skin was stabbing needles into his skull. He studied you. your lashes and how they rested on your cheekbones. How are your lips parted ever so slightly.

How could someone so deadly be so... soft.

His breathing must've woken you up, because you sudennly stirred, eyes cracking open and looking around then falling onto him. And for half-a-second, his heart froze.

Would you regret this?

Would you ask for your clothes and leave and never come back?

Would you find someone else to tolerate and become patrol partners with them?

Worst of all, would you regret him and never look back on—

His ugly thoughts were cut clean in half when your hands glided over his chest and landed on his neck.

You hummed, "Do you... still have that coffee I traded you?”

"Um... yes. Yes I do. Why?"

You blinked bearily at him, before shutting your eyes and pulling him closer to you by the nape. He let himself be moved by you.

"Because I don't plan on leaving until I get some and I sleep a bit longer."

Joel blinked once, then twice, before smiling. He brought his head toward yours and dared a kiss on your cheek. You nuzzled your face toward his lips, and he smiled harder against your skin.

Yeah, this was him being a great survivor.

I cannot wait getting more into Joel Miller blurbs hehe

The baby boom in Jackson began about six months after you started to call the settlement home.

It wasn't very surprising. After all, safety had a way of loosening the grip of fear and letting love take root where survival had once ruled the mind. And when love was involved in a world with a lack of contraceptives… well, there were babies.

And oh, did Jackson have babies.

You'd only have to step out of the house to see the streets filled with the new beginnings of life. The air was soon full of coos and soft cries, followed with gentle reassurances passed between mothers and fathers, neighbors leaning in to lend a hand. It brought the town closer than ever before.

Somehow, childless and single, yet old enough to be trusted, you found yourself caring for the little ones while their parents tended to work or if they just needed some rest. At first, it was a baby here and there dropped off at your door for an afternoon. And then as word spread about how good you were with the children, your home began filling with tiny feet and bright eyes. Some parents even joked their children preferred you to them, which made you laugh but left you secretly honored.

Over the years—how fast they go by when watching tiny humans grow—the babies turned to toddlers, who inevitably turned to children. By the time many of them turned three or four, you realized how badly they craved something more. Not because they were unruly, but because their minds were so eager to stretch and wander. They needed a place to learn, to play, to begin imagining larger worlds.

Soon, you were convincing Tommy Miller and his wife Maria to let you use a small building down the road as a school. You painted its walls with sprawling gardens, bees and butterflies and flowers blooming in bright murals on the outside. String lights were strung across beams, and with the help of a young man Jesse and his girlfriend Dina, you raided an elementary school in an abandoned town over the mountain. It had been left and untouched, after all, because who bothered with school supplies when the world ended? Yet you came away with treasures: coloring books and workbooks, crayons by the hundreds, pencils, scissors, paints, paper that hadn't rotted away in the twenty years it had been left. Your little building became a schoolhouse in no time, shelves full of books and crafts and trinkets found along the way. Each item seemed small, but meant everything to you.

And on your birthday, Jesse and Dina had surprised you with an entire chalkboard and a box filled with little white sticks. The moment you laid your eyes on it, you fell into their arms, laughing and weeping all at once.

Today, a warm spring afternoon, you were out in the community garden with the children, all of them crouched among the rows of mulch and sprouting harvest. You'd been teaching them about roots and leaves, how the soil and sun worked together to make things grow, how they love to lean towards the light. You taught them how there was some inexplicable thing about nature that liked to be sung to. Halfway through leading them in a cheerful round of You Are My Sunshine, you noticed Tommy Miller heading your way, a broad grin on his face and someone at his side.

You rose from your kneeling position, dusting the dirt from your palms and smoothing your yellow dress, calling out to the children, "You can pick off one vegetable each—and I do mean one, Joey!"

"Mornin'," Tommy said warmly upon your approach. His smile was so wide his freckle-dusted cheeks were flushed pink, radiating a kindness that always put you at ease.

"Morning, Tommy," you replied, leaning in to greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. You turned back to double check the rows of children—still eighteen heads like giggling blossoms between the thicket of greenery—before turning back to your visitor, a little breathless, "How are you?"

“I’m wonderful, honey, thank you,” he said, hands settling on his hips in his usual easy stance. “Wanted to introduce you to one of our new folks. This here’s my brother, Joel.”

"Hi, Joel," you greeted warmly, offering your hand. He inclined his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth as his thick palm closed around yours. He was so warm and gentle, fingers worn with rough calluses and his hand swallowed yours in its grasp. You suddenly caught yourself staring at the silver threading through his dark hair and the broad cut of his shoulders before you let go.

"Joel here's gonna be helpin' with that schoolhouse of yours," Tommy continued once your hands had parted, clapping his hand onto the broad cup of his brother's shoulder, "roof's been in bad shape since the winter. And he's the man to fix it."

"Oh, I'd really appreciate it so much," you replied, eyes brightening, until you hesitated, "I'll still be able to teach, though?" you glanced back at the children as you spoke, counting again, the instinct automatic. Still eighteen.

Joel spoke for the first time then, his voice low and even, pleasantly rough, "Yes, ma'am, shouldn't get in your way too much."

Your eyes flicked to him, startled by the warmth in his tone. “What a shame,” you said softly, catching yourself and smiling, "but I'm glad I'll still be able to teach."

Tommy’s eyes moved between his brother and you, quick and curious.

"Well, we'll let you get back to it," he said, his hand clapping one more time on Joel before giving you one more beaming smile. As his one hand left his brother's shoulder, the other found the small of your back in parting, light and friendly, "You take care now, honey,"

"You too," you returned, a blush reaching your cheeks as your gaze found Joel's once more. His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than polite, so pretty you wondered how many colors you'd have to mix to get the hazel right. And then he nodded his goodbye, and parted with Tommy.

Joel

You see, when Joel was younger—when he had a mortgage to pay and a job to keep and a house to care for—it riddled him with gut-wrenching anxiety. He would ignore it, and could usually keep his head on long enough to get through the day, wishing to hit his head to a pillow and sleep it off, only to be left wide awake at night, begging his eyelids to shut. He would toss and turn, pleading for his brain to shut off, to put away the worry and just let him fucking sleep. It was a specific feeling in his stomach then—he couldn't eat or drink much without it churning painfully in his gut. It got so bad he started taking little while pills to help with the sores in his stomach. That's when the doctor told him he had anxiety.

That's what he was feeling now.

That stomach rolling, wide eyed feeling, staring up at his ceiling.

But this time, it wasn't because he had a baby to feed in a recession or because he had to hold a job he couldn't be sure he had the next day. It wasn't about reminding himself about soccer dues or another part needed for his truck to even get to the job he wasn't sure he'd had.

No, no.

Joel Miller had a fucking crush.

It turned tides in his stomach even as he thought it.

Butterflies, he’d call it, you know, if he was five years old. He fisted his palms into his eyes, willing them to close, to let him fucking sleep. Twenty years into the end of the world and his brain was worried what you’d thought of him today. What that look in your eyes meant as you realized you’d be seeing him a lot more now that the roof to your school was so decayed from winter’s wet blanket the last four months.

The next few days did not make it much easier.

He and Ellie were given the rest of the weekend to settle in, to get their bearings and meet the other folks in town, and if anything the reprieve only made it worse. He kept seeing you—everywhere—in such small, ordinary ways that made it impossible to ignore the flipping in his stomach.

He saw you at the stables, saying hello to the horses and the parents of a young boy, your hand resting on the boy’s shoulder while you listened like nothing else mattered. That next night, he saw you outside the Tipsy Bison with a glass of wine in your hand, your cheeks pink as a man flirted openly with you and you tried to laugh it off as if trying not to hurt his feelings. Joel didn’t feel bold enough to talk to you yet, but every now and then, when he checked back to see if you were still there, you would already be looking at him.

You wore the prettiest things too: a yellow dress one day with little frills at the sleeves, pale pink the next, soft and muddy at the hem as you picked vegetables. Then, Sunday afternoon he saw you on your porch wearing a pretty blue one as you painted, a small bouquet of flowers tucked into your apron pocket.

And the people of Jackson loved you.

Little children brought you treats, the stable boy offering his apple to you, the bartender at the Tipsy Bison not letting you exchange a single thing for your drink. In the market a woman gave you flowers because they matched that blue dress, not allowing your objections to the thoughtful gesture. And when Joel slipped you into conversation that Sunday night at dinner at Tommy and Maria's, his brother was all smiles and pride at what you'd done with that building on the side of town. How the place made it feel like the old days, steadier and alive because of you. And then, almost baffled, Tommy added he couldn’t believe you’d been single, on your own all this time, always tending to the children and never worrying about anyone’s flirtations.

Joel didn't get any sleep that night.

On Monday morning, he was at the kitchen table, sunlight beaming through the window in pale stripes across the worn wood. Ellie sat across from him, kicking her feet with restless irritation as she hunched over her notebook. The only sound in the room was Joel's fork against the porcelain in front of him, and her pen scratching doodles in the lines of the paper.

Joel pushed his eggs around his plate, managing a few bites only because he knew better than to skip eating altogether. His stomach rolled anyway, just like it had been all night.

“Sounds to me like you’re bored,” he said around a bite of egg, swallowing the lump in his throat, forcing his voice to stay easy, normal. “And need a job.”

Ellie snorted, finally glancing up from the notebook, pen held aloft “Where?” she asked, and then pointed the pen at him, threatening. “And don’t tell me farm duty. That sucked so bad I can’t imagine why anyone would ever sign up for that.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, then set the pen aside and reached for a slice of apple, dragging it through the mason jar of peanut butter beside her plate before taking a bite. Mid chew, she added, “And no one will let me train for patrol yet.”

Joel stood and gathered her empty plate with his own, twisting the lid back onto the jar and sliding it out of reach before she could go back for more. She tended to like to stick her entire finger in the jar when she ran out of apple slices.

“Hey!” Ellie protested.

“Get up,” Joel said, jerking his chin toward the door. “You’re comin’ with me.”

“I can’t do manual labor,” she yelled after him, chair scraping loudly as she stood. “I don’t even know how to use a screwdriver!”

“Lucky for you,” he said, throwing on his boots, keeping his back to her so she wouldn’t see the way his jaw was set, “the job I got in mind requires minimal manual labor.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “That is, unless you count havin’ to pick up and carry around forty-somethin’ pounds every so often.”

You

"Ellie here has been needin' a job," Joel explained on the doorstep of your schoolhouse. His eyes wouldn't meet yours the entire time he'd been saying hello, introducing Ellie as he stared at her. She was cute—red haired, freckle faced. And Joel had a soft smile as he looked at her, even though his arms were folded tightly across his chest. You wondered for a moment if the smile was saying something else between them, an inside joke you didn't know, a little smug and teasing as she elbowed him.

"Uh, hi," Ellie said with a polite grin, a little shy.

You smiled back, bright and sincere, "I'm really so grateful to have you," you said as you greeted the kids filing in around you. The schoolhouse was streaked with winter's melt, the sunflowers and bees now faded, "We're learning about the solar system today, so it'll be great to have an extra pair of hands."

You sounded a little exasperated, but really, there couldn't have been a better day for her arrival—paper mache, planets, glue and scissors and paint all in the hands of eighteen of Jackson's five year olds. Planning it had been exciting, especially when you'd found a book on Space Exploration for Dummies. But now, staring down the barrel of the day ahead, you were immensely grateful for the teenager to help out.

As the last child filed inside, Ellie followed, her face brightened and excited, and you turned to close the door and bid her guardian goodbye. As you reached for the handle, you caught one more glance at Joel as he finally looked up at you.

You wondered if it was winter’s last nip of the morning, or if he’d always been so pink in the cheeks, but you could’ve sworn Joel Miller was blushing.

The day carried on, and eighteen miniature solar systems came to life. There were planets strung on yarn and stars splattered with paint on black paper you'd spent all night painting the days before. Glue was dried between small fingers, markers rolled beneath desks, laughter filling the space. Ellie was absolutely radiant as she darted between tables to help the little ones.

"Did you know the moon smells like gun powder?" she'd asked, grinning as the kids gasped, "gun powder's the stuff they use to make weapons work, like when your parents go on patrol. Same stuff. Cool, right?"

"Did you know the first animals in space were fruit flies? Everyone always says monkeys, but nope—flies! They sent them for radiation exposure."

"Did you know the heat sheilds on shuttles are made of sand? No seriously!!"

By the third fact, you'd decided maybe she should've been teaching the lesson herself.

When the day finally wound down, gluey hands washed clean and paints capped, Ellie stood at the sink, carefully working the brushes under running water. She had gone a little quiet once the kids all left for supper, her voice soft when she finally spoke to you as you cleaned up. “Thanks for letting me… you know… help out.”

You smiled, pouring the cloudy rinse water into the basin beside her. “I think that was the best lesson yet. You were amazing.”

Ellie’s grin widened, freckles dancing across her nose, her eyes bright and alive. You shared a quiet, easy moment there, just smiling at each other.

There was a knock on the open door behind you, and a familiar voice called out.

"Ready to head home?"

You and Ellie both turned. Joel stood in the doorway, filling it with his broad frame, his shirt darkened with sweat at the collar and under his arms, hands dirt-smudged, a strip of white gauze wrapped around his left palm.

Ellie dried her hands quickly and grabbed her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as she walked towards him. But instead of stopping in front of him, she went around, looking sheepishly up at him from outside, “Uh…Kat actually invited me over. We’re gonna hang out.” she shrugged, “Save me some dinner?”

Joel blinked, “I—okay, uh, yeah.”

Ellie’s eyes found you once more, “Thanks again, Miss!”

You waved her off with a small smile, then wiped your hands on your yellow apron, untied it, and draped it over the back of your chair. When you sat on the edge of the desk, the fatigue caught up with you all at once, settling into your bones as the quiet finally took hold. The room was clean now, desks straightened, floors swept, but the day still clung to you—glue under your fingernails, paint in your hair, the usual. There was an exhaustion in your bones, but the good kind, from a day well spent.

Joel stood awkwardly at the door for a moment, picking at the bandage on his left hand, shifting once before clearing his throat, “She tends to run her own schedule, sorry ‘bout that,”

You laughed softly, “She’s wonderful.”

He looked up at that, his eyes finding yours, and god, they really were so pretty. Every color from the forest under a thick, dark brow. He looked at you like he wasn’t expecting the praise, like the compliment hit somewhere tender.

“Yeah. She is,” he murmured, eyes dropping again, the pink returning to his cheeks.

You tilted your head, smiling gently. “She was incredible today. And the kids loved her. I think she taught half the lesson for me.”

“Well,” Joel scratched the back of his neck, bashful, “she’s always loved space, never stops talkin' about it whenever she can.”

“That’s a good thing here,” you said softly. “I could use someone who talks a lot. I’m usually outnumbered by eighteen little voices.”

You both watched each other for a long moment, and you felt like you were cataloging him. Broad shoulders, dark hair, that thick peppered beard and thick bottom lip. You blushed before trying to look away, but then something caught your eye.

“Joel?” you asked gently, your eyes finally realizing that bandage hadn’t been there this morning, “What happened to your hand?”

He seemed startled that you’d noticed, following your gaze down to the bandage as if it had only just occurred to him. “Oh. It’s nothin’,” he said. “Just… been a while since I done much construction. Roof was worse’n I thought. Should throttle Tommy for leavin' you to a rotted decking for so long."

You pushed yourself up from the desk without thinking, concern warming your expression as you stepped closer. “Still,” you said, “it must’ve hurt.”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but he flushed pink again, “It’s fine. Really.”

But he didn’t pull away when you reached for his arm. You took his bandaged hand carefully, your fingers gentle as you adjusted the loose wrap, neatening it without comment. He went very still beneath your fingers, watching you the whole time, as if he weren’t used to being tended to, as if the simple act of care was something new and overwhelming.

“I’m glad you’re helping with the schoolhouse,” you said quietly after a minute, your fingers resting on the thick of his arm. “We really needed it. Tommy and Maria, I mean… and me.”

His eyes moved between yours, something shy in his smile. “Happy to,” he said. “Really.”

You couldn't stop looking up at him, studying him, watching him watch you. His beard had been trimmed since yesterday, the dark thick hair still threaded with silver, neater than it was, and the thought surprised you with how fond it made you feel.

Joel's expression was changing as you watched him. Your hand still laid on his arm, just delicate and gentle, not even putting pressure. You hadn’t realized how near you’d drifted until you were almost chest to chest, your breath catching a little at the space between you, at how solid he felt, how steady.

He lowered his arms slowly, careful not to startle you, and then his bandaged hand lifted, hesitant, as if he were asking permission with the motion itself. His fingers pinched a streak of blue paint caught in your hair.

"You really are somethin, miss honey," he murmured as he dragged the color from your hair.

"My name's—not—I—"

But you couldn't make the words form. It was your turn to blush and stammer, as his hand tucked the hair away, and he inhaled. You could feel your breath being stolen from him. His smile was shy but widening, maybe amused as he realized you were suddenly as nervous as him.

"What’re you doin’ tonight?” he asked quietly, hope threaded through the question. His voice was so low, so gravelly but soft. You wanted to close your eyes just to hear it like a hymn.

You hummed, a little delirious at the closeness, at the smell of the mint on his breath. You wondered if he'd gotten some from the garden before coming here.

"Nothing." you answered.

You realized then he hadn’t dropped his hand from your ear. He was still holding your face, thumb warm where it brushed your temple.

He hesitated, and you watched his eyes move around the focals of your face, your eyes, your nose, your lips—oh god—and it made your chest feel too small for your heart, made you suddenly aware of your own mouth, the way you were breathing.

And then, gathering his courage, he said: “Dinner?”

You lifted your hand without thinking, circling his wrist where it hovered, a quiet little anchor, and it was like the touch finally caught up with him. His breath hitched, his shoulders softened. This big, broad man suddenly unsure in the sweetest, most disarming way, offering you something fragile and waiting to see if you’d take it.

“I’d like that,” you said, smiling back, a little breathless yourself. “I can bring coffee, if you—”

His entire expression changed in a glimpse. The cautious set of his brows lifted, the corners of his mouth lifting wider, and his eyes sparkled like embers catching light.

“There’s coffee?” he asked, almost boyishly hopeful.

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened in return, your tongue finally finding its way back to you as you wet your lips and remembered how to speak.

“Every once in a while the bakery gets some,” you said softly. “I teach the owner’s kids, so… I usually get first dibs when it comes in.”

He let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh, and only then seemed to realize his hand was still on your face. He lowered it slowly, careful, and you followed the movement without thinking, your fingers sliding from his wrist down to his hand until you were only holding the tips of each other’s fingers.

“That sounds….” he said, earnest and a little unsteady. “That would be real nice, honey.”

You looked at him for a long moment, both of you smiling in a soft, stunned way that felt too big for words.

“Walk me home?” you asked, quiet and hopeful.

He glanced out at the open door, the evening settling into purples and oranges, then back at you, and his hand slipped further into yours, squeezing it once.

“Lead the way,” he said.

some bonus pics I took for you from the game :)

Following Joel into the freshly opened door frame, the room was far too silent for your liking, your repetitive footsteps creaking on the broken edges of tiles on the ground made you shiver, your breathing ringing in your eardrums.

It was supposed to be an easy exchange today, a small supply trade with a lone raider who was searching for a radio in good condition, and in turn—he was planning on offering up some uncommon medications that would be beneficial to sell, the painkillers becoming increasingly rare to find these days.

The two of you had effortlessly worked together for years now, the older man knowing a hell of a lot more than you did, always readily available to teach you everything he knew about survival, a surefire way to increase your skills and make yourself even more useful, he was the guidance you've craved all these years.

To outsiders, you and Joel made no sense, and that’s exactly why it worked.

The sickenly sweet, coy persona you quickly developed over the years was one that made the evilest of men tolerate you, always able to bite off a little more than you could chew, coming back to your hideout with far more supplies then you ever needed in the first place.

Your kindness matched up seamlessly with Joel, a far meaner, scarier man. He got down dirty; killing as if it was second nature to him, nevertheless he always savoured your own life, protecting and guarding your back just as strictly as he does his own.

He was extremely rough around the edges, a man who no one could quite understand, the kind of person that always did whatever it took for him to survive, and as he got to know you, that offering extended to you.

It wasn’t always easy, the two of you occasionally butting heads until your fiery personalities learned to work together, getting used to each of your little quirks. The two of you soon worked effectively balanced, like a greased up, well oiled machine; you had your routine perfectly executed in the screwed up, imperfect world you called your own.

Although it always came with a risk—you weren’t blind to that, each time the two of you snuck out to do a trade like this it very well could go wrong, even get you killed. You were lucky enough to run with Joel, as he added an extra layer of stability to your routine, easily making every outing far more valuable than if you did it alone.

Following closely behind Joel, the two of you tread deeper into the large building, keeping watch for strangers and infected alike, staying focused on your objective.

His movements suddenly halt in his tracks, brown boots abruptly stopping as he throws a hand over the front of you, forcing the two of you behind a sideways storage closet thrown off the wall and onto the ground, sneakily crouching behind it.

You parrot his motions, dipping your head under the metal, awaiting his guidance as you try to stop the heavy pounding in your chest.

“Alright, stick to the plan. ‘m staying put right here.” He points with his hand, making sure you're listening. “I’ll be watching and making sure nothing goes wrong.”

He reaches into his bag, retrieving the lone radio receiver from the bottom of the sack. It was rusted, dingy—its brown color almost black from the years of wear and tear on the metal, the material flaking off in his hand from his tight grip on the sides, holding it out in your direction.

You meet him halfway, extending your own hand towards the radio—you meet his eyes, rapidly nodding away any feelings of nervousness, although it begins to softly wash its way through you, your palms growing increasingly clammy.

“Okay,” you whispered, grabbing the small radio out of his fingertips. Before you could walk away, Joel wraps his now empty hand over your wrist, encapsulating it tightly in his grasp.

“Be safe.”

With a nod you were off alone, walking to the other side of the large building, finally making contact with the man for the trade, his large figure standing in the corner with a sly smirk plastered on his shining cheeks.

“You got what I’m looking for?” You question, lowering your voice like a predator, making sure your body stands multiple feet away from him, trying your best to not get too close to the stranger.

“Could ask you the same damn thing.” He retorts, his voice gravelly.

Saying nothing, you can only squint at him.

It’s hard to tell exactly what he looks like from the rusted paneling of the wall that covers his eyes, the room practically falling apart around you, yet you're sure he’s mean, his attitude already far too shifty for your liking, a sour feeling of doubt erupting in your belly.

He leisurely pulls out a crumbled up baggie from his coat pocket, the plastic film containing multiple pale colored pills juggling around in the packaging, the same ghostly colored ones you’ve been looking for.

You give him a sweet smile, just like you rehearsed in a shattered mirror earlier today—hoping to win him over once again, your eyes set on the bountiful transluncent bag.

Joel stares from a safe distance, watching the two of you deep in the exchange, a wicked grin plastered on your face causing your eyes to crinkle at whatever nonsense he was spewing into your ear, his words unforgettably muffled from the tight position Joel was hiding in.

He could see the soft curtains of sunlight peer through the boarded up windows, shining warm hues over your features, your skin flushed, glowing—like you were truly savoring every word the man was saying.

He knows it’s a facade, but he still feels uncomfortable at the sight of you standing giggling with another man, your charm was too good—too rehearsed even Joel could feel his mind beginning to believe your lies himself.

Joel wonders if his palpable staring was far too strong for the situation, although tense—the moment could quickly turn into disaster, Joel felt that he was tenser.

As if you could feel his eyes on your face, you look over to his position, your eyes finding him. For a split second you contain your nervousness, your hands stilling their shaking movements next to your waist, although the man won’t stop talking.

“You got that radio I was told about?” He eagerly whispers, stepping closer to you.

“You first.” You reply quick on your feet, ordering him around. Quickly, your feet step backward, forcing yourself against the wall next to the boarded-up window.

He reaches his hand out, the crumbled up plastic bag crinkling in his grasp, “if you want it, you have to come and get it.”

You brush off the awkwardness of the situation, cautiously taking a half step in his direction reaching your hand out, yet as you do—his sickly pale hand comes up to your cheek, forcing your head closer to him.

“Y’know, girls like you shouldn’t be out doing these things by themselves, you need some help?” He questions, breath rotten. Eyes dark.

Joel was lost in the exchange, his distracted mind easily blurring out the man’s loquacious chattering, far too focused on his hand now touching the soft surface of your cheek.

It was unexpected, his heart falling deep into his stomach, the acid swallowing it whole, bubbling and bursting around the cold muscular organ.

It was the first time in a long time he felt something—and he couldn’t do anything about it, not yet at least.

He had to wait until you grabbed the bag, or if the man’s touch escalated further. He knew you were tougher than you looked, but with the way the man was looking at you, licking his lips as if he’s staring at a piece of meat, Joel was ready to snap.

“Just doing my job, you know how it is sir.” You try your best to de-escalate the situation, although it’s clear he has ulterior motives with you, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Your job huh? Think I know a few ways you can make some extra cash, can even give ya some more supplies to bring back to your base.”

You know exactly what he means with his wording and it makes you sick, quickly rebuttling. “No thank you, appreciate it but I’m not that kind of woman.”

“Come on, I ain’t nothing to be afraid of. Unless you want me to be.” He spits, words like venom.

“Let go of me!” You screech, bringing your hand up to pry his hand away from your face.

Your relentless determination makes him grow angry, his hand sliding down from your cheek to your neck. He aggressively grabs hold of your throat, pressing his fingers down the soft muscles in your neck, holding you tight around his grip.

The room suddenly shrunk around you, the pale, bleached wooden walls felt bleak and cramped as they confined themselves around you and the man. His body inched closer and closer to yours until he forced you up against the wall, your eyes headstrong on his face that was uncovered by the darkness, memorizing every minuscule detail of his evil features.

Joel was watching it all unfold in slow motion, his mind set on keeping you safe—he sneaks up beside the man, his fingers moving forward in a fist to force himself into the situation, aggressively shoulder checking him.

It was off kilter, like a bucket filling full with water so steep it tilted over—You in danger made him feel the same way, and it bothered him—it angered him.

Like a slingshot, erratic laughter bleed into his eardrums, the snapping sound loud enough he could clearly hear it ringing in his ears, the man now laughing at the added person to the tense situation.

“Aha! You did bring company I see.” He laughs towards Joel, his legs stumbling back from the shock to his now sore shoulder.

You tumbled back, running to safety at the same place Joel was seconds ago, holding your neck in pain, the fingerprints so tight it’s as if you could still feel them suffocating you.

You couldn’t hear what Joel was saying, his words so loud they began to echo as you watched on in horror, the man reaching into his pocket for what you assumed to be a gun.

Before you knew it Joel’s fists were on him, making instant contact with his face, knocking him flatly to the ground, his head making a slapping noise against the concrete.

It was half-witted to fumble his anger so easily like this; he was busy, far too focused on surviving and completing his task—it was an important job, one he desperately needed to complete, yet right now all he could think about was desecrating the man’s ugly face, beating him until he was unrecognizable.

It was always better for you to close your eyes and hide when Joel releases this side of him, it was one that worried you, one that frightened you.

Until now, watching on with wide eyes, he beats the man into a bloody pulp, taking out the weeks of built up frustration onto his face—it excited you, to watch him kill for you, it was a dramatic feeling of melancholy in your veins.

When the sound of fist breaking bone stops, you watch Joel pull his gun from his waist, aiming the muzzle at the soft tissue of his broken jaw, clicking the trigger.

The sound of gunfire makes you jump, your eyes clamping shut, you fall to the floor in shock, waiting for him to finally put the man to rest, raid his body, and do whatever else he needs to for his personal justifications of murdering the stranger.

Joel spits as he stands up, taking one last good look at the bloodied corpse of the man who hurt you. He places the slippery bag of bloodied pills into his coat pocket, looking over to your position.

You’re sitting there like a child in timeout, afraid of their father and their future punishment—it makes his pounding heart swell, hating to scare you like this.

He approaches you gently, lowering his voice into a soft vibration, he holds his hand out; waiting for you to grab it. And when you do—the sight of him shocks you.

His face is splattered with blood, the iron-like substance instantly hitting your senses, small flecks of skin tissue dangling from his brown jacket. You can’t help your blatant staring on his bloodied knuckles, the whites of the bones now raw and cut open, deep green bruises starting to form on the skin.

“Hey, hey. ‘s okay, you’re okay.” He shushes, trying his best to calm you down.

His anger unfortunately begins to swell again at the sight of your neck, the skin puffed up and red in the shape of a hand, the man gripping you far harder than Joel originally realized—if he could, he'd kill the man over and over again.

“Oh baby, he hurt ya bad.” He grumbles, voice hoarse from the screaming. “Gotta get back home, get you all cleaned up.”

You nod at him, unable to talk from the shock buzzing through your shaky head, your mind in a blank state of fear and hidden lust.

He looks terrifying, an evil born killer, one who took the life of a man—all to save your own.

The walk back to your makeshift hideout was silent besides the sounds of your boots stomping though the clumps of dried grass, the yellowing strands breaking off under the soles of your feet.

Your heart was still booming from the adrenaline flowing through your veins, the uncomfortable bolts of electricity causing your legs to slightly shake, your actions slight enough that Joel noticed. Like always, he was watching your every move.

He knew how startled you were, the look on your face when he pulled up from the man’s soft and bloodied skull, your eyes wet, sceleras glazed over; it was one he hated to see, and he will never forget that feeling, the emotional weight you have on him pulls him down heavier than he ever realized until now.

Joel mutters something out loud as you turn the corner, your eyes on the small covered door to your hideout, although you can’t seem to process them—your eardrums aren't as sharp as they were just an hour ago, the gunshot still ringing its way through your body.

The aftermath of a killing was always the worst part for you, especially when it comes down to your life and other humans. It’s always been difficult for you to wrap your head around, yet most of the time, humans are far scarier than whatever infected rummaging around the world and sometimes that evil needs to be dealt with.

As he walked closely behind you, you could smell the metallic scent of his body spattered in blood hit your nostrils, the once bright hues that ricocheted off the man quickly turned deep as they soaked into his shirt, a visual sign of his pure devotion to you.

There was something about it, watching the soft and gentle man behind closed doors turn deadly in the blink of an eye; his voice growling, actions animalistic—it made your cunt dampen, to feel so protected and safe in this world was a rare occurrence.

You knew how much you meant to him and as did he, although it was never labeled; it was safe, a level of trust and understanding you’ve never had the chance to experience in this life—at least not until he came along.

Lost in thought, you sat in the corner of the small bedroom, your knees next to your face as you leaned into them, the raised fingerprints on your neck still burning.

Joel can’t help but stare at your vulnerable position, your sad irises filled with passion and something he couldn’t quite understand—he abruptly cleared his throat, calling for your attention.

“Come here honey, gotta check ya out. Make sure you ain’t hurt.” He grumbles, voice stern. His way of letting you know he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

You reluctantly peer up at him, watching his large hands move up and down his jeans, his fingernails still caked with blood, not bothering with cleaning himself up.

“Quit starin’ and come sit down ‘n let me see.” He repeats now patting his legs, ushering you to him.

Standing up on your wobbly legs, you feel like a new born fawn—scared and unnerved, you tether your way to him, clumsily falling into the open space of his lap.

He tilts his head up at you, his eyes narrowing in on the bruised mark on your neck, his lips twisting into a frown.

“You poor thing.” He coos, his hand gently coming up to your cheek.

You look so pretty like this, soft and docile on his lap. He knows he’s being selfish, you're sore, traumatized; it’s better to let you rest, yet when you stare down at him, your dirty cheek molding to his touch, he can’t stop himself from adjusting his hips in the chair, his cock loving how you can trust him so blindly.

He can’t control his thoughts rummaging around through his skull, thinking back to that man, how easily he laid his hands on you.

Joel is aware at how nasty men can get, himself included, especially when his blood stained fingers squeeze down so effortlessly on your cheek, watching the fat mold around his fingerprints, it makes him feel like the man who just hurt you, the idea he’s touching the same skin he did making him nauseous.

“Don’t like how you let him touch ya like that.” He admits out loud, studying your face.

Joel knows he’s being irrational, of course you didn’t let him touch you—he came onto you first, Joel just can’t help his misplaced anger, not when you're laying on him like this.

Your eyes flutter open at that, the words spewing from his mouth shock you, his voice soft. Vulnerable.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you straddle his waist completely, your knees snug on either side of his hips. “I, I didn’t think he’d escalate so quickly.” You stutter out, defending yourself. “Thought I had it covered.”

You remind him of a deer in headlights, your gentle eyes now widened in a look of shock, your bottom lip falling open.

The skin of your delicate neck is now turning a deep shade of maroon, the bruising of being strangled finally settling into your flesh—and he hates it.

Even more so, he hates how you’re looking at him right now, your eyes slowly drifting down to his lips, your mouth licking over your own as if you're craving his attention.

“Oh honey,” he pauses, dragging his hand down to your painful neck, the pads of his fingers feeling the rapid beating of your pulse. “There's a lotta people out here with bad intentions, you know how it is.”

And Joel is one of them.

It sickens him that you are visually marked by someone, someone who isn’t him—someone who hurt you. Joel can feel his blood pressure rising once again, a deep disdain rolling through his mind as if he failed you, even if he protected you, it wasn’t enough to leave you unhurt in the process.

Joel knows the feeling inside of him is one of pure jealousy, the deep hidden urges that seep down into his gut blossom into something he can’t quite control, the need to claim you and show everyone who you belong to takes over him, his eyes deepening in lust.

“But. But you knew I’d step in ‘n take care of him didn’t you?” He questions clearing his throat, attempting to bring your focus to anything but his face, feeling his cock awakening in his jeans.

“Of course, he shouldn’t have done that. You saved me.” The last part comes out barely audible as you hum, placing a kiss to the tip of his nose, the skin chilled from the time spent outside.

He shivers, his hand flying down to your hip, squeezing the flesh. His dominant hand still remains on your neck, the ghosting of his fingertips tickling the flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Didn’t plan on hurtin’ the kid… you know that. But as soon as he squeezed ya, I did what I had to.” He adds, and at the same time, his hand slightly squeezes down on the same purple spot, causing you to wince.

You yelp out like a puppy, your eyes squinting tightly shut, your own fingertips digging into his shoulder, pinching the flesh

He can feel your cunt inch closer to his groin, his jeans suffocating him yet your cunt isn’t pressing down hard enough for him to feel it, a painful drag coming out of his own mouth.

“That hurt baby? Right there?” He groans out loud, the noise filling your ears, feeling his fingers swipe along the wobbly mark.

The whimpers and whines that spew from your mouth makes him feel as if he could cum in his pants just from the sounds alone; you look so good in pain—and maybe that has more to say about him than it should.

“Yes, ‘s real sore Joel.” You practically beg, wanting him to do something about the discomfort. Unfortunately for you, Joel gets a different idea, bringing his lips up to the flesh instead—attaching his lips to the skin.

“Lemme fix it then, make you feel better.” He whispers against the flesh, feeling his voice vibrate down the column of your throat.

His lips trickle along the bruise, slowly pecking the flesh swallowed by the nasty wound. He takes his time with it; leisurely dragging his tongue around the skin, feeling how the lump of your throat expands with each trembling swallow.

“Always gonna keep you safe.” He murmurs between kisses, his lips feather-like as they float down the skin, finding your collar bone.

He presses his lips onto the bone, listening to you sigh into his touch. Joel joins his fingers up to the crest of your shirt, playing with the buttons of your top, lazily popping them one by one until your chest is fully exposed, your sun bleached bra filling his eyesight.

“Hate thinkin’.” He pauses, biting his cheek. “Hate thinkin’ about some sucker marking you like this. Ain’t fair to you, and it ain’t fair to me.” He grumbles, his lips finding the cleavage of your breasts, lapping at the skin.

Each spot his mouth covers tingles underneath the pillows of his lips, like little bursts of electricity—he slowly brings you back to life, your adrenaline now heightened from his torturous lips—not his killing.

“I hope no one sees me like this, thinking you hurt me instead.” You sigh, your hands lazily swirling into his hair, swiping the greedy locks out of his eyebrows.

God he hopes not.

He almost forgot about the marks that paint your neck as he’s so focused with your prodding breasts, the soft skin practically begging to be licked and sucked.

“People. They will. Know.” He shakes his head, his nose pressing deep into the valley of your chest, breathing in your salty scent.

His hands come up behind you, popping the flimsy clasp of your bra open, allowing your breast to fall from the fabric. You gasp at the cold air flowing through the room on your bare chest, your nipples hardening from the exposure.

“And if they don’t,” he continues, pulling away from the flesh. “Then they know damn well not ta’ say anything about it.” He promises, and the words make you whimper, pushing his head back down to your breasts.

Joel growls at the feeling of you forcing his mouth down to your breast, opening his mouth, he sticks his pink tongue out over his lips, wetting the soft surface of skin to soothe it as he bites down, sucking the skin into his mouth.

He can hear you hiss from above his head at the feeling of his mouth vacuuming the skin, his teeth just barely nibbling away at the feel of your breast inside of his mouth.

“Too much!” You wince out in pain, your body already so sensitive from being provoked earlier, but Joel doesn’t seem to care too much, trailing his lips up the skin, repeating the motion.

“No it ain’t.” He musters, repeating his actions to your neglected breast, slowly painting the skin with matching hues to your neck.

He starts to kiss around the skin, his silent way of apologizing for getting so carried away on suckling your décolleté. His cracked lips are inches away from your pebbled nipple and instead of taking it in his mouth, he drifts up towards your collarbone once again, licking the bruised skin.

“Quit teasing me.” You slip out through your teeth, withering around on his lap in pure agony.

Like a brat that was just told no, you can’t help the whine he pulls from the inside of your throat, rapidly rocking your hips in a grinding motion down on his cock. The feeling is unbarable, his thick jeans hiding his heavy member from any chance of stimulation you attempt to give it. You try your best to keep the steady pace of your cunt against his shaft, crying out in agony because it just isn’t enough for your greedy body.

He can sense your pulsating cunt through your jeans, how it presses so warmly against his cock, he knows you’re gushing from the painstaking work of his mouth painting your chest.

Joel’s secretly thankful something has worked in his favor, you finally smell like him again, his masculine musk and tobacco flavored mouth have had their respective ways with you, your body once again claimed by him.

He doesn’t want to give in just yet, he rather just sit here watching you cry, body rutting against him chasing a high that won’t happen. He knows he is lucky to have made it out alive with you today, and even luckier to feel the sensations of you rubbing your soaked pussy onto his dick, suckling your skin until your whole body is red and purple.

“S-slow down there girl,” he gestures like a man trying to calm down a freighted animal, his knuckles gripping your hips. “You wanted me to take care of ya, right? Was kissing ya all better baby.”

His wording comes out far too cocky for his liking, but when he has you so compliant and needy, he truthfully can’t help it, his voice insanity pushing you farther into irritation.

“Not like that,” you bite back, fingers pulling hard at the soft strains of hair on his neck. “I need you Joel, need you to fuck me. Make me feel better, please.”

Your voice sounds heavy, like it’s been soaking in honey for days just from his teasing alone, the sultry noises knocking the wind out of his throat.

“Good lord honey, can’t be saying things like that.” He growls softly into your chest, his lips red and puffy.

The wild ample eyes you’re giving him makes him groan out in pure agony, your blown out pupils completely covering the small colored irises of your eyes. You’re on cloud-nine and his cock still isn’t inside of you yet.

“Can’t say things like what?” You press him further, raking your nails down his neck, leaving small pale scratches in the flesh.

“That you need me.”

“I, I-I do. Looked so good earlier, angry. Scary.” Each raw confession that falls from your lips comes with an expressive roll of your hips, choking on your breathing as it stutters in your chest. “Did such a g-good job taking care of me, but right now? You aren’t ‘n I need you to fuck me.”

Your begging releases something deep inside of him, his legs abruptly stand up straight, body attempting to choke back a groan. He feels sicker than he did earlier, his greedy cock practically ripping itself out of the denim as he carries you to the small twin-sized mattress situated in the corner of the room.

“You liked watchin’ me kill that guy for ya? Shit, bet you’ve been soaked for hours now baby.” He grits out, his neck muscles tensing from the pure drive in his actions, his legs hit the edge of the mattress.

The bed is tattered and broken, and Joel couldn’t find it in him to care about the raggled bedframe, his hands never leaving your bottom as he places you down against the thin sheet, your torso at an awkward angle from the uneven flooring.

His lips finally find yours when your head hits the pillow, strong arms laying you down against the creaking box springs, the metal screeching at the weight of the two of you, his heavy chest pressing into your own.

His thighs force your own to spread wide as they hit the rough mattress, your jeans tight on your joints. At his newly found angle, his covered cock rubs right into your entrance, the seam pushing up into your clit, scratching the pearl.

You're a mess underneath him; hair ratted, lips broken, body bruised. Joel thinks you're the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, a rare oddity in this soul-ridden world.

“You like that honey?” He mutters between your lips, listening to your small mewls that slip from your mouth into his own.

He slips his weight harder into your chest, practically knocking the wind out of your already breathless lungs, his biceps flexing next to your ears as he settles in further, caging your head between them.

“Nuh-uh sweet pea, gotta speak up. Tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

Opening your mouth, the words suddenly fall from your scrambled train of thought and into your throat. All you can think about is his cock grinding encouragingly into your center, the feeling too relieving to focus on anything else.

“Can’t have that can we.” He tsks, abruptly stopping his moments, leaning back on his legs.

Before you can retort any words of forgiveness, Joel shocks you back into silence, feeling his fingers moving down to your jeans, popping the fly open.

He rips the denim off your hips with ease, his fingers pulling your panties down in the process, letting them pool at the edge of the bed.

Your bare, glistening cunt stares back at him, your slit in direct sight of Joel’s eager gaze. The smell hits him all at once, the sweet, skin-like scent causes his throat to dampen, uncomfortably swallowing his spit at the sight.

“You ain’t talkin’ but this cunt is. Look at ‘er just crying out for me.”

Your walls clench around nothing, listening to the way your lips squish together from his words; his teasing has gone on for far too long, and all you want is cock inside of you.

“Need you to fuck me, make me feel better.” Is all you can muster now, throwing your head against the pillows. You lay there lazily, awaiting any chance of stimulation he decides to give you.

You can’t see Joel toying with his own jeans, the zipper getting caught on the fly, wrangling himself from the denim. He finally gets his jeans out of the way to pull his thick cock out of the waistband of his pants, letting the fabric bust open around his thighs, his heavy dick springing eagerly into the air.

“Don’t be pouting now, told ya earlier. ‘mma make ya feel good.” He utters, positioning himself back to where he once laid on top of you, his belly pressing into your own.

A shocked gasp leaves your mouth when his cock finds your entrance, sliding the bulbous head around your lips with his hand. With a hiss, he collects the abundance of slick that’s gathered around your opening, beginning to push all the way inside of you.

You can feel every ridge of his cock stuff you full, the bump of the swollen tip throbbing, the way his cock curves inside of you—just the way you like it.

Joel’s no better than you are, watching in endearment as your face shifts and twists at the intrusion in your mound, clamping your eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing, the small squeak that spills from the back of your throat at the stretch, it makes his cock jump further into your greedy pussy, burying himself to the hilt.

He wants you all to himself, the jealousy boiling inside of him feels like molten lava, the sticky burning heat pooling down into his cock as he plows inside you, building his pace until he can’t handle it, gripping your waist to keep him steady.

“T-This cunt, so damn tight. Can feel you squeezin’ me, ‘bout to pop out of ya if you ain’t careful.” He grumbles from above, looking down to where the two of you connect.

Your lips are widened around his shaft, the base rapidly plunging in and out of your velvety walls, the slick gliding his cock full speed into you.

“Can-I can’t help it, feels too good,” you scream, body sinking into the mattress.

He watches your eyes tightening into their sockets, your jaw slack at the pleasure he’s pushing through towards your g-spot, the gummy tissue prodding at his mushroom tip.

He can see his cock filling up your stomach at the angle of the wobbling mattress, each thrust causing your belly to expand around him, your body split open and malleable for his member to fit inside.

He places a wide palm down to your belly, feeling the way his tip rubs back and forth against his fingers perched on the soft flesh. The way his dick plunges through you and fills you up makes his hips thrust faster, pressing down harder on the soft skin, making you feel fuller than you've ever been.

“Perfect body. Perfect belly, maybe I should fill ‘er up, get ya round and swollen. Make sure everyone knows just who you belong too.”

He can feel your walls tighten at his words, Imagining what you’d look like full of him, your belly swollen and your hips widening to take his seed, the idea making your cunt swirl in desire.

“You want that? Shit, can tell you do, gonna fuck ya good ‘n deep, make sure it sticks.” His words make you feel far woozier than his cock, feeling the way you wither underneath him only builds his pleasure, his balls tightening to his body.

“Yes, yes! I need it!” You cry out, your body thrashing beneath him, your open thighs twitching at the pleasure.

You're so close he can almost smell it, the sweat beads on your forehead gather on the indentations of your temples, your cheeks flushed at your impending orgasm building through your nervous system.

“Yeah, you want it? Want my cum inside of you?” He questions, his palm dragging down from your full stomach to your throbbing clit, rubbing tight circles against the bud.

“W-want you to f-fill me Joel, make me yours forever!”

Forever. He knows you're too cock drunk to think rationally, but the words go straight to his dick, feeling his own movements faltering—his thrusts becoming unevenly paced chasing his own release like a mad man.

“Fuck honey, keep sayin’ that and I’ll cum right now.” He curses, yet your words keep falling out of your mouth with ease, as if his thumb on your clit is a button of honesty, your words beginning to slur.

“Want you to knock me up, m-make sure everyone knows who I belong too!” You scream, your orgasm washing through your body.

Your legs attempt to shut around his body, your muscles clenching at the sucker punch feeling of your orgasm rocking though your sensitive walls, yet Joel’s pace doesn’t continue to falter—it only grows stronger, his hips evening out his thrusts.

Joel can feel the wetness from your orgasm begin to slide down his shaft, coating his cock with your pleasure, the squelching ripping though your screams; a contrast of the two noises only further intensifying the feeling in his gut.

“Shit! Gonna put a baby right in here, make sure everyone knows I’m tha’ daddy.”

His voice is primal, like a desperate animal chasing its next meal, his body is pumped with pure need, a sole purpose to fill your body full of his seed.

It’s not like you ever discussed children, hell; you’ve never even talked about your relationship, and what this means for one another, but it’s different with you—and he knows you feel it too, the way your practically forcing his dick inside of you, the idea can’t be that bad can it?

He can see it now, keeping you locked up tight in someplace safe—somewhere far away from the city, raising a couple of brats out in the middle of nowhere, maybe a farm, raising livestock, keeping safe and out of harms way.

It’s twisted, unfair, but he just can’t help himself further burying his cock deep into your mound, the walls of your cunt angling him just against your spongey cervix, the spot his balls so desperately crave to release into.

“Joel. Joel! Look at me, please.” You plead exasperated, back arched off the mattress, your nails raking into his hairy forearms.

He forces his eyes down to your face, your lips swollen, body bruised and palpable, yet your eyes remain on his own, your permanent gaze staring into his soul.

“Let me make you a daddy.”

Your voice pulls him out from his unfavorable train of thought, shattering every last sense of restraint from his cock, his dick begins to spurt deep into your walls, filling you full.

“Shit, shit, shit! All mine, ‘sall mine baby!” He grunts, hips thrusting his seed deep into your core, letting it warm your abdomen.

You're so exhausted from your own orgasm all you can do is lay limp underneath him and take what he gives you, your body a soupy puddle of relaxation. Although, your cunt has a mind of its own—squeezing its walls down tight against him, clamping his throbbing cock inside of you, milking every last drop he can give you.

Joel abruptly pulls his empty cock out of your entrance, desperately wanting to see the damage he’s caused, his large cock always one to stretch your tight hole wide. He can hear you wince at the loss of contact, your cunt now cold and aching, your walls gaping spaciously open.

Your body leaks his seed like a river of sweet nectar, the white ink flowing down between the crease of your asscheeks. The sight makes his stomach sink, the feeling of regret washed through him—he wishes he didn’t pull out just yet, needing to see his release remain in your walls forever, even if he has to force it himself.

Not thinking straight, Joel urges his middle and ring finger towards your entrance, collecting the dribbles of cum around his fingerprints. He brings them up to your opening, sticking them securely inside of the damaged hole.

“Fuck Joel! W-what are you doing?” You question, your body in utter pain and agony from the large protrusions now stuffed back inside your sensitive body.

“Sorry baby, gotta make sure it sticks.” He mutters under his breath, watching in curiosity at the white ring of seed coating the base of his knuckles.

He knows you can’t handle this. You could barely handle his attack on your chest, the bruises just as painful as the hand that was around your neck. His cock ramming deep inside of you had you believing the torture was done, that his large size was the least of your worries, that the pain of stretching your thighs into submission should have been enough—but not for Joel.

His fingers are far too large for you, his knuckles bumping into each other as he inserts them, the dry skin rubbing against your cream-coated walls.

“Joel! ‘s too much, gotta stop. Please.” You beg, legs thrashing—yet your words come out superficial, your tired body forced to take his hand.

A cocky grin spread across his face, he knows it's cruel to take you again right after his cock, the feeling of your slick cunt against his callused skin is far too favorable to resist.

“You want this jus’ as much as I do, gotta give ya what you were begging for yeah?” He responds through his smirk, rapidly flicking his fingers up into your g-spot.

He wasn’t wrong, you were just begging for him to cum inside of you, to give you a baby, and also at the same time—it was selfish of him to force another orgasm out of you, your cunt aching from the heavy snapping of his fingers.

He leers up at you, staring at your withering frame, eyes flushed with tears, chest sticky—you were impossible to resist like this, an angel on earth laying against a dirty mattress.

“If it don’t work this time we can always keep trying, can’t we?” He questions, not really relying on an answer, because truthfully—he could do this every day if he had to for the rest of his life.

It’s as if he has a trance on your body, unable to control your movements, your body clenches down, feeling the same swooshing in your belly from earlier, your body so close to cumming. You buck your hips into his fingers, angling your hips to ride his fingers, chasing your release.

“Yes! Y-Yes!” You cry out, mouth dry, body dehydrated.

The overstimulation quickly evolves into rapid ecstasy, your body twisting on top of the mattress, your legs thrashing around his chest from where he sits below you.

Joel still doesn’t stop because he can’t—not when you're acting like this, your actions only push him further to force your second orgasm out of your body.

“Gonna cum? Can see it in your face, want it so bad.” He coos, his words a glaring opposition to his aggressive approach inside of your walls, his fingers flinging your g-spot around like it belongs to him—and it definitely does.

Your hands find comfort in the thin sheets, wrapping the pale yellowed material around your fists, knuckles tensing around the fabric. You're so close to your high it hurts, and Joel can tell from the grip of your cunt alone, his knuckles getting caught at your entrance.

“Joel, Joel, Joel.” You scream like a chant, your body fully controlled by his fingertips, the trance-like state of your orgasm causing your mind to go blank, the only thing on your mind being Joel.

Your body goes limp at the moment of pure ecstasy that blooms from your erupting cunt, the warm feeling swirling up your belly and down your thighs. Your head shakes absentmindedly around the pillow, trying to ground yourself in the overwhelming feeling.

“That’s it honey, jus’ like that.” He praises, watching your body get lost in the feeling, limbs in full paralysis at the electrocuting pressure.

Pulling his fingers out from your cunt, you don’t catch him wiping the leftover mixture of the two of you onto the sheets your fists still continue to grip, Joel attempting to rid himself from the sticky feeling; although a stranger’s blood still remains on the skin of his forearms, the dried up paste flaking against his arm hair.

He stares down at your body laying flat and still, your skin glistening in the lowlight. It’s always been you, his whole life, his very devotion.

You’re the person he will always fight for, always kill for—keeping you safe from any form of violence or abuse is his purpose, one he strives to protect.

He leans forward, pressing a small kiss to your ankle, listening to you hum softly in appreciation. “You’re mine, y’know that?” he murmurs into your flesh, his lips vibrating through your still buzzing bones.

Of course you know that, he proves it everyday—today included, yet the way he says it makes your woozy body bloom with warmth, giddy at his jealousy.

He watches as you sit up, leaning against your shaky elbows to meet his gaze soaking in the sight of your naked, bruised body.

The deep color of envy still remains stark against his hard features, and green was a good look on him—although you would never tell him that, it’s nice to be needed. To be wanted. To be cared for; loved.

The snow was coming down hard tonight; big crystal flakes drifting past the window of Joel’s house in Jackson, covering the community streets in soft blankets of snow. The town had gone quiet hours ago, after dinner was over and the noise of the party died down. Kids had been tucked in long before, hoping that Santa would bring them a present if they went to bed earlier. Patrols had doubled up to keep watch as well, since storms always brought some catastrophe along.

Inside the mess hall, the only glow that was left on came from the dying fire in the hearth and the mismatched string of Christmas lights Ellie had insisted on draping around the scraggly pine obranch she’d called a tree—even if it looked more like a bunch of branches piled up haphazardly. It smelled like pine needles, woodsmoke, and the faint cinnamon from the cookies you’d burned earlier while trying to “help” in the kitchen.

But as soon as the celebration was over, Joel found himself sprawled comfortably in his old armchair by the fire, the one with the cracked leather and the permanent indent of his body. He had his boots kicked off already, and his flannel shirt unbuttoned halfway down his broad chest, showing how much he’s made himself at home after a long day patrolling the community walls.

He was finally enjoying a moment of peace, jesus; chilling out with those wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose, and a battered paperback —some western drama he’d read a dozen times— propped in one hand; the other was resting on the arm of the chair, highlighting his very much relaxed posture.

You, on the other hand, were a fucking trembling mess.

Okay, fine. You admit it. The fact that you were now almost on the verge of tears had been your own fault. You’d been a menace all day; starting from the moment you’d woken him up with cold toes against his calves, giggling when he’d grumbled and moved his legs away from your freezing feet, just so you could keep bothering him until he pulled the quilt over the both of you; to the way you’d spent the whole community dinner finding excuses to lean over him, brush against him, whisper things in his ear that made his fork pause halfway to his mouth, or just in general tease the hell out of him.

You’d even worn that little red sweater that clung in all the right places just to rile him up!

You had laughed too loud at Tommy’s jokes, and worst of all, kept calling him “old man” just loud enough for Ellie to hear you and support you with this little show of one-hundred-ways-to-annoy-Joel-part-one.

And of course, now you were paying for it.

Your clothes had been discarded a long time ago, leaving you in nothing but a fuzzy pair of red-and-white striped socks Ellie had shoved at you this morning with a cackle of “Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.”

So, rewinding in time, Joel had tugged you into his lap the second you’d padded back into the living room after your shower, warm and damp and still smelling like shampoo and soap. He’d spread his thighs wide for you to settle between them, pulled you over his strong thighs facing him, and guided his thick, half-hard cock right into your slick heat in one slow, deliberate push.

And then, just when you thought Santa was going to reward you for being such a good girl all year with a good fuck, he’d stopped.

Just… stopped. Literally.

Like, no motion. No movement. No anything.

Just picked up his book like nothing was happening, and let himself get lost in its hundreds of words, all while you were stuffed full, stretched perfectly around him, feeling his cock’s weight hot and heavy inside you.

But he wasn’t moving!

Not a fucking inch. And of course, as if fate hated you, his free hand had settled on your hip, stroking lazy circles over your skin just to keep you pinned here, so you couldn’t rock or grind or chase the friction you were already so desperate for.

“Joel,” you whined, shifting just a fraction. The movement dragged him against your walls in such a fucking delicious way that made you both exhale, but he immediately tightened his grip, preventing you from doing it again.

“Nuh-uh,” he murmured, not even looking up from his page. “This is all you get after all them little tricks today, sweetheart. Now sit still and don’t move.”

You pouted, folding your arms over your chest and deliberately clenching around him to get a reaction. In response, he made a low sound in his throat —half warning, half involuntary pleasure sound— and throwed at you a dirty glance; but still didn’t move.

“You’re evil,” you muttered, dropping your forehead to his shoulder with a huff. His chest hair tickled your cheek, and his pine soap scent, mixed with the faint trace of the whiskey he’d allowed himself one glass of, intoxicated you. “Pure evil.”

“Mhm.” He hummed, turning a page. “Keep whinin’ and I’ll stay just like this till the fire burns out.”

Another annoyed exhalation escaped your lips, though you tried to stay still anyways. Really did.

For about thirty seconds.

But it was better than nothing, ok?

Then, when you let yourself be consumed by your neediness once again, you rolled your hips in a slow, sneaky circle, just enough to feel the drag of his cock against that spot that made your toes curl in those ridiculous socks, but not enough to alert Joel of what you were doing.

Although he clearly noticed —of course— because as soon as he felt your slippery walls gush even more over his manhood, Joel’s hand left your hip and came down in a light, stinging swat on the curve of your ass.

“Ow! Joeeel—!”

“Babe,” he growled, finally glancing at you over the rim of his glasses. His eyes were dark, tired, reprimanding, and utterly unimpressed. “I ain’t twenty anymore. My heart can’t take you actin’ like a damn tornado all day and then expectin’ me to spoil you rotten the second we’re home after your antics.”

You bit your lip to hide a grin, clearly enjoying the fact that you absolutely give him headaches almost every day with your naughty moves. “Poor old man,” you cooed, tracing a finger down the gray in his beard. “Is your ticker givin’ out?”

Another swat —this one a little sharper than the one before— landed right on your left cheek, making you yelp and then moan when the jolt made you clench around him again.

“Keep it up,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough, “and you’ll be sittin’ here, warmin’ my cock till New Year’s.”

You huffed for the thousandth time today, but you couldn’t help the way your body melted a little at the gruff affection in his tone. He was grumpy, sure —always had been— but you knew the difference between his real irritation and this fond, exhausted version he saved just for you and you alone.

You rested your head on his shoulder again, nosing at the warm skin of his neck. “Fine,” you mumbled, trying for contrite and failing miserably. “I’ll be good.”

He hummed, skeptical, but decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and turned another page.

Minutes stretched. The fire popped. Outside, the snow kept falling in thick, silent curtains. You could feel every throb of his pulse inside you, every tiny shift of his breathing when your insides squeezed him involuntarily. He stayed mostly soft for a while —just thick and warm and present— until your little involuntary shivers and the way you kept nuzzling his neck started to affect him. Slowly, so slowly, he thickened inside you, stretching you anew, making you whimper softly against his throat.

After what seemed like an eternity —although it was actually only five minutes— Joel let out a long, exhausted sigh, and set the book aside on the little table next to the chair. Both hands came to your hips now, thumbs stroking soothing patterns on the soft skin in there.

“You happy now?” he muttered, but there was no real bite in it. “Gettin’ under my skin again when I was tryin’ to have five damn minutes of peace on Christmas, for God’s sake.”

You lifted your head, giving him your best innocent eyes, “I didn’t do anything,” and finished your sentence with the cutest pout.

He snorted. “Bullshit.”

Then, finally —finally— he rocked his hips up into you. Just once. Slow, deep, deliberate. Your breath caught immediately, nails digging into his shoulders from the sudden rush of pleasure.

“There,” he said, voice softer now. “That what you been whinin’ for all night?”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to be bratty for once. Thank God.

He did it again and again. Gentle, rolling thrusts that kept him buried deep, sliding in and out of your slick warmth with tender movements, never pulling out far enough to leave you empty and keeping you full of love.

The armchair creaked under you both, rocking slowly to the rhythm of his hips. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until your chests pressed together in a tight embrace, strong arms keeping you warm and protected as your bounces turned needy and desperate.

“Merry Christmas, trouble,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss in the soft skin. One hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you to his mouth while his fingers threaded through your hair. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.” He murmured against your lips, catching your lower lip between his own to gently suck on it.

You smiled into the kiss, legs wrapping tighter around him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “But you’ll love every second of it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “Well, maybe…” he admitted, rocking into you again, slow and steady and perfect. “Just because it’s you.”

The snow kept falling outside, the fire settled into glowing embers, and Joel held you close in that old armchair, moving just enough to keep you both warm and cozy.

♥︎ ⊹ ˖ notes : i love soft, grumpy joel. we need more of him. ᰋ

© written by ﹫ 𝐯𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 !

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You, now

Your hand was practically shaking off its hinges by the time you lifted your knuckles to the wooden door.

You blamed the freezing temperature as you gathered your courage. Just the cold. The porch light buzzed faintly overhead, casting a weak yellow ring around the doorframe. It made the wood look darker than usual, older. Maybe it had always looked like that. Maybe you were just seeing it differently tonight. You glanced down at your shoes. Snow was really caked around the rubber soles, slush seeping in through the canvas seams, dampening your socks. You weren’t entirely sure if you still had toes anymore; they were so numb. Just the cold, you told yourself again, that was why you were trembling so badly. Just the fact that Jackson’s first winter storm decided to roll in the exact same morning you decided to… well…

Adjusting your stance instead, you smoothed a wrinkle in your coat, then reached up, but dropped your hand again.

Ridiculous. You were acting absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like you were some lost kid on a stranger’s porch. You knew this man. You’d walked patrols with him, ate silent breakfasts across from him before said patrols at the mess hall, both of you always quiet with each other. A comfortable quiet you’d enjoyed, actually. And you’d been to his house before—once, last spring, when you’d offered to trade him the coffee beans some folks had passed through town with. In exchange, he’d carved you a little likeness of your favorite mare from the stables, sanded smooth and small enough to fit in your palm. You’d thanked him twice, though he’d just nodded once, gruff as ever. 

But that had been broad daylight. And this was… 

Before you could talk yourself out of it again, before you could check the stitch in your glove a third time or flatten the nonexistent wrinkle in your coat, you lifted your knuckles and quickly rapped on the door. 

Nothing happened. 

You supposed that was normal. It’s not like he’d be waiting on the other side of the door for you. He wasn’t expecting anyone, at least you’d hoped. So you stared at the grain in the wood, the little green wreath hanging there, memorizing the leaves and pine needles that decorated the braided branches, and then—

You heard the footsteps, quiet and shuffling, but heavy on the other side. Your stomach dipped as they grew closer. You knew the sound of them by heart, etched in your mind as the sound of safety. Camaraderie.  They followed behind you on trails, echoed in supply rooms, paused beside you at the watch post just before he would offer you the last thermos of coffee.

Your mouth was dry. You licked your bottom lip without thinking and immediately cursed at yourself—chapped. You’d forgotten balm. You never forgot your lip balm.

The footsteps stopped just on the other side.

You held your breath.

You, before

It had started—as many bad ideas do—in the Tipsy Bison one Friday night. 

The place was humming with music and chatter, the lowlights of sconces bringing an amber warmth to every surface. Someone was playing a Fleetwood Mac song on their acoustic guitar, a gentle strumming meeting your ears across the way. A couple men just off patrol were clinking pints a little half-heartedly after a long day out in the early winter frost at the bar. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth, a loud crackle punctuating the room now and again, and you could feel the heat rising in soft waves against your back from where you sat.

And beside you, smug as ever with a grin on her lips, cheeks flushed from her whiskey sour, was your best friend. Her glass was sweating onto the wooden table beside her, and her fingers tapped lightly against the rim as she watched you. 

You knew that look. You had a complicated relationship with that look. Secrets, trouble, you name it. Whenever she had a drink or two in her and she looked at you like that, you knew something was afoot. And usually it involved her over-interest in your love life. Or… lack thereof.

“I’m just saying,” she drawled, dragging her words out with that infuriating mix of innocence and glee, “if you’re so worried about it being awkward the first time, there are options. Experienced options.”

You made a face, tugging at the sleeve of your cardigan, already regretting letting her steer the conversation this way. “Like who? There isn’t exactly a whole sea of fish to choose from here. Half these people are partnered up and have kids now. And I swear, these guys born during the outbreak have zero game. ”

She let out a cackle. “Uh-huh. Like little five-year-old you really learned anything before the world went to shit.”

“Okay, fine. Enlighten me, oh wise one.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, lilting up, amused. 

She leaned in, elbow creaking against the table, voice suddenly lower. “Do you know who took mine?”

You tensed. “Oh my god. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t want to know, I really—”

“Joel Miller.”

You nearly choked. You did choke, actually, spluttering on the air you’d inhaled, spit gone down the wrong lung. A few people around you turned to glance in concern as your hand went to cover your open mouth. “What!?”

She grinned wide, completely unbothered. “Don’t get all worked up! He’s hot.”

“Joel?” you hissed, voice already pitching with disbelief. “My Joel—but he’s—he’s my…he’s my patrol partner!”

“Your grumpy, brooding, carved-from-stone, sexy patrol partner,” she corrected smoothly, nodding. “Yep. That one. It was a little over a year ago, I was still kinda new to town. I don’t even remember how it started. But it’s like… a thing,” she insisted, her voice dropping again as she scanned the room conspiratorily. “His thing. He’s like Jackson’s Cherry Picker.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

She nodded, lips twitching around the rim of her glass. “I’m serious. I’d heard rumors, okay? I was so desperate to get rid of this… this thing that made me feel like I had a target on my back. Like hello! Town virgin over here!” she laughed as you covered her ever-growing loud mouth, and she quieted down, waving you off, “and then one girl told me he’d done the favor for her and her friend. I don’t know. He was really sweet though. He did this thing with his tongue and—”

You slapped your hands over your ears. “Oh my god, stop, I don’t want to hear any more—”

She laughed loudly and downed her drink, “Okay, miss prude. I’m just sayin’, if you could choose anyone, I’d go with him. Haven’t you ever wondered? Haven’t you guys gotten stuck out there together and had to cuddle up real close, and oh no, there was only one bed!”

You rolled your eyes, “Actually, we tend to be just fine thank you. Joel takes good care of us if we’re—”

She was grinning, teeth gleaming, her brows doing a ridiculous little dance.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, tossing a napkin at her across the table, trying to ignore the way your heart was thudding just a little faster than before.

Because the truth was—yes. 

You had wondered.

You, now

And then, the door was opening. 

A thick hand appeared first, resting on the wood as it pulled inward. The rest of him followed a beat later, somehow even broader, taller than you remembered. Barefoot, in sweatpants and a flannel sleep shirt that hung open at the collar. His hair was mussed like he’d just come from rest, or something close to it. It felt too intimate. 

“Mr. Miller—” you started, and immediately winced. “Joel. Hi. I—sorry, maybe this was… I might’ve picked a bad time.”

“S’alright, darlin’,” he said, voice low, rough from disuse. “Took me by surprise is all. What can I do for ya?”

You opened your mouth and promptly forgot how to speak.

Because how the hell were you supposed to explain this? That your best friend had told you between giggles and sips of her second whiskey about the favor he offered. That there were girls, maybe a few, maybe more than a few, who’d come before you for the same thing. That you were here asking for something he offered unbeknownst to most, passed along in rumors and blushing confessions. Never outwardly known or spoken of, but something only understood by the women who’d needed it once. Was it only once? And what did that make them to him, exactly? They weren’t partners, that much was clear. Not flings, either, at least you didn’t think so. He never talked about having partners or girlfriends. He probably wouldn’t even if given the chance. 

You wondered if he remembered them individually, or if they blurred together to him. God, what if he thought of them like a collection—trophies he’d caught and taken first place, people he’d…he’d conquered? What would it mean for your relationship going forward? The patrols that were usually comfortable and easy, would they be suddenly full of awkward silences, or worse, would he refuse to patrol with you at all?

There was a little smile spreading across his face at how god damn red you must’ve been turning. 

“S’a bit cold out there, ain’t it? All this snow.” he said, looking around outside, hazel eyes gleaming in the soft light, “Why don’t you come on in.” he offered, opening the door wider, spreading his hand out welcomingly into his abode. 

“Okay,” you barely managed.

Stepping inside, you felt more like an intruder than ever. The warmth hit you first, thick with the smell of firewood and something faintly herbal in the air. The hearth was already going, the flames crackling in a steady rhythm, casting deep shadows across the living room. A pair of reading glasses sat neatly on top of a copy of An Idiot’s Guide to Space on the side table, the title catching the light just enough to be legible.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Joel said, voice low and even, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guided you forward. “I’ll get ya somethin’ to drink.”

You nodded but couldn’t speak, your mouth still dry, throat tight. Your body moved before your thoughts could catch up, sinking onto the couch opposite his recliner. The cushions gave easily beneath you, soft and lived in. The heat of the fire reached your skin slowly, unthawing your face, your toes, the stiffness along your spine that hadn’t unclenched since you’d stepped onto his porch. You took your time peeling off your gloves and setting them aside, pins and needles prickling the tips of them as they warmed beside the heat.

He returned a minute later, though you didn’t notice him right away—your eyes fixed on the fire, the way it danced behind the grate, and your mind had gone thin and fast with thoughts you couldn’t quite hold down. You startled only slightly when he appeared beside you and set the mug into your hands. It was tan, with a little owl stamped on the front. You stared at it for a long moment before lifting it to your mouth. Lemon and honey with a sprig of cinnamon. Your  favorite. 

You swallowed the first sip slowly, letting it move through you, letting the heat settle low in your stomach like you could track its path through every nerve. You tried to focus on that instead of everything else.

Across from you, Joel groaned softly as he eased into his chair. It wasn’t reclined now as he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, mug balanced in both hands as he took a sip.

“Everythin’ okay?” he asked, eyes on you now.

“What?” you squeaked, then cleared your throat before continuing, “Oh, yeah, yeah, everything is fine.”

He kept looking at you, quiet, and you worried you’d turn red again before he lowered his gaze to the tea in his hands and gave a small nod, like he didn’t fully believe you but wasn’t going to press. “You just seem a little nervous, is all. Somethin’ happen?”

You shook your head and turned away, not wanting to meet his eyes. The lemon peel floated in a lazy spiral near the rim of your cup, and the rising steam pressed gently against your face, a kind of soft shield between you and whatever came next. You still held yourself stiffly, spine straight, shoulders squared like you were bracing for something, though you kept reminding yourself there was no reason to. This was Joel. You’d spent more time with him out of anyone, even your own best friend. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was a good man.

You took another sip. Then another.

“I just…” you began, the words thick in your throat. You exhaled, tried again. “I heard a rumor.”

Joel let out a short huff of amusement, his shoulders shifting as he leaned back more comfortably into the chair. “Oh yeah? What’s goin’ around the rumor mill these days?”

You watched him settle in, the way his hands stayed on the mug even as he relaxed. For a second, you wondered if he’d actually been worried. If he thought something had happened to you. If he’d been ready to help.

“It’s probably nothing,” you said quickly. “Just… something someone mentioned.”

He didn’t say anything.

You glanced up, half-hoping he’d read your mind. Maybe he’d say it first. Maybe he’d change the subject entirely and save you from the humiliation of asking him to take your virginity. But no, he was still watching you, still waiting, his face calm, unreadable in the firelight.

You looked away again.

“I guess I just—I heard that you… help people. Sometimes.”

There was a pause, only joined by a quiet sound as he set his mug down. You heard the shift of fabric, the creak of the recliner beneath him. When you looked up again, he’d settled back, legs spread slightly, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. Still composed, still listening.

“Help how?” he asked, but the tone had changed, lower now. Softer, careful and measured. Like he was giving you the space to choose your words. Like he already knew which ones were coming. He must’ve known, after all. He had to. Maybe he wanted to see you squirm.

You swallowed.

“Girls,” you said, and your voice nearly cracked, not from emotion but from how tightly you were holding yourself together. “Women, I mean. I heard that sometimes, if someone’s… nervous, or if it’s their… that you’re… that you’ve helped.”

There. It was out, more or less. Maybe a few words left unsaid, but it was there now, between you. A live wire, humming, waiting.

Joel didn’t lean back, didn’t shift, didn’t even glance away. He was just staring at you, barely blinking or moving. And then, after a long enough pause that you nearly opened your mouth again just to fill it, he spoke.

“Are you askin’ me somethin’, darlin’?”

You swallowed again, willing your courage, forcing the up and down of your head, nodding at him, eyes glued to his face, watching his expression. 

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it,” he told you, softly and without judgement, “And then we can talk about it.”

You set the mug down with careful hands, fingers lingering along the rim like they weren’t quite ready to let go. Your palms found each other in your lap, squeezing once, then flattening against your thighs. Courage, you told yourself. Be brave. You were twenty-five, for God’s sake. Frontal lobe fully developed, capable of decision-making, of risk, of owning the weight of your own choices. You’d killed infected, harvested crops, patched up fences, pulled your weight in every way that counted in Jackson. You’d grown up out of necessity, carried yourself through the years without needing anyone to hold your hand.

This shouldn’t have to be so hard. But it was. And still…this was the moment. You could feel it waiting there in the silence between you.

So you sat up a little straighter. Pressed your palms into your legs, just for the feeling of grounding, and tried to be brave.

“I’m asking you to take my virginity, Joel.” 

You did your best to sound determined, sure of yourself, some small reserve of confidence rising as you looked at him, eyes locked on his face. You furrowed your brow to keep yourself from faltering, zipped your mouth shut to keep yourself from over-explaining, even though every part of you wanted to fill the silence. But the plain and simple truth of it laid bare between you now. 

After a long moment of sitting there like that, the two of you watching each other carefully, he finally spoke.

“Why?”

The question caught you off guard. Your face faltered, your fingers tightened against your thighs, unsure you’d heard him right.

“W–Why?”

He nodded, very serious now. 

You hesitated. “Because… don’t you? I heard you… you do this thing. For women.”

“But why do you want it?”

Your face burned. You weren’t sure if it was the fire in the hearth or the question or how quiet the room had gotten now, but suddenly you could feel the heat rising into your scalp, behind your ears, into the hollows of your throat. Your fingers were tangled in your lap again, squeezing one hand with the other like you could press the answer into your skin.

You sat up a little straighter, and let your hands fall still once again. Brave. Be brave. 

“Because I don’t want it to be careless,” you said, “I don’t want it to feel like something I just let happen. And I don’t want to be with someone who only cares about what they’re getting out of it.”

You looked at him then, made yourself hold his gaze.

“I’ve waited a long time. And it hasn’t really been on purpose, but now that I’m here, I don’t want it to be meaningless. I want it to feel… like I chose it. Like I chose the right person.”

You felt your chest tighten. Your heart wouldn’t stop moving around inside you like it was trying to warn you of something, but it was too late for that.

“I trust you,” you said, quieter now, the truest thing you’ve ever said. “I think I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”

Joel let out a long breath, the kind that sounded like it had been sitting on his chest this whole time. He looked away from you then, toward the fireplace, the orange glow flickering against the lines in his face. One hand rubbed slowly against his knee, the heel of his palm dragging in a steady circle, over and over, like it helped him sort through whatever was moving behind his eyes.

You didn’t dare say anything.

You watched him, studied him. He was so handsome, after all. And something had changed, not that he had, not really. He was the same man who walked beside you on patrols, who shared granola bars and poured your coffee before his own. He checked your boots before a long route. Adjusted your gaiter once without asking, gloved fingers gentle against your jaw. You’d always chalked these things up to kindness, to the sort of responsibility a man like Joel Miller shouldered without complaint. But now, sitting here in his home, the fire warming your skin and the tension curling thick between you, you didn’t know how you’d ever seen them as simple gestures.

Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, the graying in his beard, how his hair had grown longer this winter and streaked with more silver. His thick fingers moved slowly against the fabric of his sweatpants, flexing, working some silent thought through his palm. You remembered those hands—gripping the handle of his revolver, steady and unshakable. Reaching back to stop you short with a firm grip at your elbow. Pushing you behind him when an infected got too close, machete already raised in his other hand, swinging hard through mold-thick bone. He’d protected you more times than you could count. And it had always felt… safe. Never like a performance. He didn’t ask for gratitude. He just... did it.

And then a thought struck you again, unwelcome, as you watched him—what if he said no? Could things ever go back to the way they were before? This was a line, a big one that you were crossing now. You didn’t know how to take it back, not now that you’d looked him in the eye and asked for something you’d barely ever admit to yourself was a want, not a need. You weren’t sure what you’d done, only that there was no coming back now. 

You weren’t afraid of him. But you were afraid of what this all meant, how different it felt now that he knew.

But still, you wouldn’t look away.

He sat there for a long time, staring into the fire. And then finally, he turned back to you. His eyes found yours, steady, clear.

“Okay,” he said.

Joel, now

Joel didn’t have very many rules left that he hadn’t broken.

He’d repented for his sins, said his sorries—more or less—and moved on. He knew there were still notches on his soul, marks he’d carry to the grave, but he held fast to a few rules he’d made for himself, lines he’d drawn in the sand and did his damndest not to step over. He liked what he did, took a special liking to the women who came to him, nervous, wide-eyed, asking for something they didn’t want to get from someone careless. It was never more than they bargained for, never more than they asked for. But he still enjoyed it.

He was open to just about anyone that came around, regardless if they were twenty or fifty, as long as they asked kindly and seemed like they were doing it for a reason that made sense. Not that it really mattered—if they were offering, he was taking. And he loved to take. Selfish, he knew that about himself by now. And still, he loved it.

But here he was, crossing the last line he’d drawn a few springs back, back when he first met you in Jackson.

You were the exception. Always.

From the beginning, he’d known he wouldn’t touch you, not in that way. No matter how much he wanted to. And he did, God, he did. Dreamed of you, thought of you, let his mind go places it shouldn’t, wondered how you’d taste, how you’d sound, what you'd look like beneath him. And on the nights when patrol took too long, when you had to share a tent or squeeze into the corner of some half-collapsed building, curled up together in the cold, your breath ghosting against his neck—he’d nearly lose his mind with your closeness and sweet scent. 

He wouldn’t take from you. He told himself you were off limits. You were so sweet, so good. He didn’t even realize you were a virgin, truth be told. And it sure didn’t help the way you were mustering up your courage in front of him, all doe eyed and nervous and trusting. But no, Joel never wanted to take this from you. Or anything, for that matter. All he ever wanted was to give. He always gave you the last sip of water or coffee, the last strip of jerky and the better seat when the fire got too smokey. He even made you that little horse out of pine because you kept choosing her for patrols, and you’d wept when it was her last ride before her retirement. He liked doing things like that for you. Liked to give. He would not take.

Joel would see you around with your best friend—hell, he’d picked her, when she came asking. She took as she wanted and went on her way, same as the rest. He saw you hanging around Jesse too, and that’s when he really had to keep himself in check. But when he brought it up one day, asked about it quietly on the trail, you’d brushed him off. You’d told him Jesse wasn’t your type. Joel remembered the way something small and mean and smug had sparked in his chest when you said it, right before the bigger wave of guilt rolled in. 

But here you were now. 

Looking like that. Fidgeting like hell, eyes darting around, nervous in a way he’d never seen before. It rattled him when you’d appeared on his porch. His first thought had been that someone hurt you. That something bad had happened. He was already halfway to grabbing the shovel by the door, ready to ask where the body was. Anything you asked, he’d do it. He knew he would. No question. 

And then you’d come out with the real reason you were here. 

It took you some coaxing, sure, you were nervous and trembling like a trapped fawn in a wolf’s maw. And once the words were out his blood surged before he could control himself. He had to breathe, distract himself, try to collect his thoughts and put them into neat little boxes before the wrong one burst open and he scared you off. He needed to be careful. He needed to think about what it would mean to break that last rule. If it would ruin what the two of you had, if you would look at him differently. If you’d regret it. 

But the truth was already there, pounding its way through his chest. He’d known the second you said the words that he didn’t give two shits about those rules. 

That was the last clear thought he had before he turned to you and said, “Okay.”

He watched your eyes widen, watched your tongue sweep across your bottom lip, and the last thread of his control nearly split just then.

“Okay?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He nodded, lifted his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation.

You hesitated, only for a second, then stood with that same purposeful grace you always carried when you moved ahead on a patrol. Not rushed or uncertain. Chosen. Like your feet knew where to go before your head did. You crossed the room slowly, your breath held, and when your soft hand found his, it was like some invisible thread finally went taut.

Joel tugged you gently between his knees, both of your hands in his. He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure this part was real. The warmth of you so close, the gentle weight of your fingers resting in his, how your fingers still trembled.

“Are you sure?” he asked, breathless, quiet. He needed to be soft and gentle, your sweet face so pretty with how it was looking at him now, sure of yourself, but still nervous. 

You nodded, your thumbs tracing the thick of his knuckles. It made his skin pebble in goosebumps. 

“Usually when someone asks,” he murmured, “I make ‘em wait.”

He had to get through this part. Had to muzzle himself back into control, to know for certain. As much as he wanted to take, he would be good for you. For you, for you. Always for you. Like prayer, like penance, like something sacred in his keeping.

“Why?” you asked, quiet as a mouse, your brows furrowing. You really were adorable. Sweet enough to eat.

“To make sure they ain’t ovulatin’,” he said, and the line was meant to tease, but his voice came out tighter than he wanted. “Don’t need any mini-Joels walkin’ around, do we?”

He tried to smile, but thought it probably looked more like a leer, animal in the way his teeth shown in the firelight. 

Oh, was all you seemed to manage. 

Joel exhaled slow, like he could let some of the heat in him go that way, like he hadn’t just undone every restraint he’d spent years building. His hands slid up your arms, slow and steady, your sweater sleeves in the way. He wanted to feel you, your skin, your heat. He’d make himself wait.

“Don’t think I can do that with you, though,” he said, voice gone quiet again, “Been waitin’ a long time for this, baby.”

Your gaze flicked to his, searching. “You have?”

He nodded, “Christ, it’s all I’ve ever thought about.”

There was a long moment of quiet, of only the crack of the fire. As if waiting. Both of you, waiting for the other, held in the suspended moment before everything changed.

“I think about you too.” you confessed then, “All the time, Joel.”

The leash on the beast in him flew from his hands, and he was squeezing your arms harder, pulling you down into his lap. You yelped at the sudden movement, and it made him force himself to soften again, coaxing, to be gentle with his hands. He smoothed them up and down your arms, though the closeness of your thighs bracketing his turned his brain to mush. 

“I’m sorry, don't be scared, I’m sorry,” Gentle, be gentle, he scolded himself, “It’s just…you think about me, huh?” He cooed. “What do you think about, baby?”

You were nibbling at your lip again, eyes flicking down like you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d said it aloud. He caught your hands and pulled them to his chest, pressing them flat so you could feel the thud of his heart beneath your palms.

“You can touch me, darlin’,” he said, almost a whisper. “It’s okay if I touch you?”

You nodded, wordlessly, eyes eager in their nervousness.

His hand reached up, careful, and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear, taking his time.

“So tell me,” he said again, “what you think about.”

Your voice came soft and certain. “Kissing you.”

His breath faltered, fingers twitching against your cheek, forcing them down and to settle on your hips. Something deep in his chest raged against his ribs  to be let out—this was the night, he was sure of it now, the night he finally snapped, lost every inch of control he’d ever clung to. He might go insane with you, here, in his lap, telling him about your dreams, your wants, your desires for him. 

“Do you wanna kiss me now?” he asked. 

You nodded. 

“Before you do,” he said, hands squeezing, “we need to talk.”

Your face shifted, the subtle kind of worry that made you look child-like, almost scolded. He saw your shoulders inch up like you were bracing for a lecture, and he hated that. He slid his thumbs under the hem of your sweater instead, just enough to brush the warm skin of your waist, soothing whatever tension lie beneath the surface.

“Have ya ever done anythin' before?” he asked, dipping his head slightly, trying to catch your eye. When you met his gaze, you shrugged, sheepish.

“I’ve kissed a boy before. Not like…” You sighed, glanced off to the side. “Not like with tongue or anything. And it was a dare.”

Joel chuckled at that, “A dare, huh?” 

You gave him a mock glare, your nose wrinkling in protest. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Never,” he murmured, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. He let the air settle for a second, then took another breath, slower this time. 

“You’re gonna need to tell me when somethin’ don’t feel good. When you want me to stop, alright?” He watched you closely now, his thumbs still rubbing careful, slow lines against your skin. “Pick a word that means stop. Don’t matter what it is, but you say it, and everything stops. We talk, figure it out. You won’t be in trouble, I just need to know you’re okay.”

You opened your mouth like you were about to argue, and he could see the protest already brewing, the way your brows pulled together, the way your lip started to tuck between your teeth.

“I don’t want you to stop just because—I know, er—-I’ve heard it hurts, a little, the first time,” you said, your voice quiet, almost defensive.

He shook his head gently. “It’s not about that,” he said. “This ain’t for little discomfort. I know you’re tough, I know you can handle that. But this—” he softened his voice again, “this is for if somethin’ don’t feel right in your gut. If you change your mind, or I do somethin’ you don’t like. You don’t owe me anythin’, you understand? I ain’t gonna be mad.”

Your teeth were worrying your lip again, eyes darting like you were thinking hard, weighing something heavy. He watched it all and felt the pull in his chest that came from how goddamn much he wanted to reach up and kiss the thought right out of your head. But this came first. You deserved this part too.

After a moment, you nodded. “Okay. Okay… what about… pickleback?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Like the shot?”

You nodded again, smiling this time, your eyes downturned. “I love them.”

Joel huffed a low laugh. That smile…it had his belly doing flips like some kid. You were so sweet and shy, like you didn’t know what it did to him.

“Alright then,” he said, brushing his hands up your waist again, savoring the heat of your skin, the way you felt under his hands, “Pickleback it is.”

And god, you were so warm. He took a long breath through his nose, collecting himself, trying to keep his thoughts grounded instead of letting them scatter into the fire like ash.

“Alright,” he said softly, almost to himself. “C’mere, baby.”

One of his hands abandoned the skin beneath your sweater to slide up your spine, tracing each vertebrae to the base of your neck, just under the edge of your hair, and he felt the tremble in your body like a secret only he got to keep. Your eyes were so wide, mouth parted like you were bracing for something. But you didn’t look scared. Just... expectant. Waiting. Brave.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his nose brushing yours, and his breath was warm when it hit your cheek.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said softly, his thumb brushing under your jaw. “And I want you to relax. Don’t worry about what you’re s’posed to do. You don’t have to do a thing, baby. Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, breath hitching just a little, and he waited until he felt the tiny flex of your fingers on his chest like you were anchoring yourself there.

Then he kissed you.

He pressed his mouth to yours with a slow, aching tenderness, just warmth and patience and the softness of your lips beneath his. He felt you gasp, just a little, and he moved slow as molasses, letting you settle into it. His hand at your neck stayed firm, thumb stroking over your jaw. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d imagined this moment until now, until your mouth pressed harder against his, until your hands were sliding up to grip at his collar as if you didn’t want him going anywhere. 

He pulled back then, a fraction, close enough that you were still breathing his air.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded again, lips a little wet, your eyes flicking down to his mouth, and Joel felt something in his chest cave.

“Good girl,” he said under his breath. “Let’s try that again.”

​​And he kissed you a second time, this one deeper, more certain—his lips parting slightly, coaxing you to follow. When your mouth opened under his, he groaned softly, chest tightening. You tasted sweet, like honey and lemon from the tea, and something else too. Something that was just you. Your hands gripped his hair now, fingers curling tight at the nape. He felt your tongue poke out between your lips, discovering and curious, and he met it with his own. You squeaked a little at that, and he couldn’t help but smile, pulling away once again. 

“Gimme your tongue, baby, let me see your tongue,” he coaxed, fingers tightening in your hair. 

You did as you were told, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out at him. He couldn’t help but smile at you with fondness. “Relax, like this,” he murmured, showing you how, his own tongue flat in his mouth, patient. You mirrored him, and he reached up, licking at your waiting tongue, honey and lemon and cinnamon and a burn of desire filling his mouth, making it water, his stomach clench.

You let out the softest sound, a little hum deep in your chest, and Joel answered before he even thought about it. He wrapped his lips around your tongue, pulling just slightly: gentle, savoring you. Your eyes shuttered closed, sighing into him, your hips rocking involuntarily. He felt, beneath layers of clothing, a little pulse between your legs. 

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she, darlin’?” Joel asked when he pulled away again.

“You—” your voice was hoarse, almost drunk with desire, licking your lips, “you could feel that?”

He nodded, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Can you feel me?” he asked, quieter now. “Feel how much I want you?”

You nodded, cheeks heating, “I like it.”

Joel didn’t wait. He kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, and you melted into him with confidence. Your arms looped around his neck, your breasts pressing to his chest beneath your sweater, body giving into him. His hands slipped beneath your top again, finding your skin, your back warm and smooth beneath his palms. He pulled you in closer, like you weren’t close enough already. He thought he could kiss you for hours. He thought he might go insane if he couldn’t. 

And between the moans and whimpers, you murmured to him between a kiss.

“Can I have your tongue, Joel? Please?”

Joel’s brain was so scrambled, monopolized by desire, that he did as he was told before he could think. And then his brain really did snap in half as your lips sealed around his tongue, and you suckled on the muscle, moaning, tasting, wanting. 

Joel groaned loudly, eyes rolling to the back of his skull, his hands beginning to dig into your skin. He needed you closer, closer. 

And when you released your gentle hold of him, lips connected again for another kiss, he was dragging your hips against him harder, sawing your little center across his thickening length beneath his sweatpants. It just wasn’t enough, not nearly as close as he needed you. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, kissing you harder, unable to take anymore, “fuck, baby, you’re killin’ me, grind on my cock some more, it feels so damn good, little thing wants me bad, huh?”

You gasped at his dirty mouth, but he couldn’t help himself, he was gone. Lost to it, hungry, hungrier than he thought he’d ever been for anything. All Joel could think about now was your pulsing, wet, puffy cunt beneath your clothes. How it would feel to not take, but give. And he’d give it to you so damn good. 

You pushed your hips down, and he guided you, hands back on your hips, pushing and sawing you on top of him. It was damn near heaven, friction and heat, everything he’d wanted. 

“Take this off, baby, please, is that okay?” he asked, pulling at your sweater. 

You were already moving, hasty, as undone as he was, both of you chasing the same edge. The fabric came over your head with shaking fingers, and suddenly you were bare in front of him, breathing hard, flushed all over. No bra. So that was it. The final nail in his coffin. The quiet, damning proof that you hadn’t just come over hoping he’d give you what you wanted—you’d known he would.

You’d decided. You’d trusted him. You’d made up your mind long before he opened the door.

“Joel,” you murmured, shirt off. 

He was staring. He knew he was staring. His brain was blank, white space as his mouth parted. His eyes drank you in like he’d never seen anything more perfect. He wasn’t sure he ever had, truth be told. 

As he shook his head to unscramble the thoughts, he heard his voice from far away: “Yeah, baby?” 

“I think I might go insane,” you said, your voice so soft it was almost a confession. “I feel—”

You wrapped your arms around yourself suddenly, like you needed to hold it all in, covering yourself, pushing your breasts together, fingers brushing your throat, your eyes darting away as if you didn’t know where to land.

He forced himself back to the present, maybe he’d been too quick, too forceful, too willing to give over all control to the beast in him that wanted so badly it made him blind. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You nodded—then shook your head, “I want you so bad I think I might…It hurts, Joel. I might cry if you don’t do something.”

Joel’s hands came up to your face, palms warm against your jaw, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth. Your bare chest pressed to his shirt, burning him through the cotton. His breath stuttered in his throat.

“Don’t cry, hunny,” he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose, nuzzling into your cheek, “don’t cry, daddy is here, daddy is gonna take care of you. I want you so bad, just wanna take it slow for ya, is all.”

You were gripping his arms, rocking your hips harder, chasing that friction in his lap. Joel forced himself to keep his eyes open on you, as much as they wanted to roll back into his head again. Everything just felt so damn good when it came to you. He clenched his jaw, his hands anchored on you, guiding you. 

“I need more,” you whined, breath hot against his neck. 

“Okay, okay, what about this?” he said, voice rough with restraint, though he was smiling a bit.  He lowered his head to your chest, kissing your clavicle, licking a broad stripe between the valley of your breasts. So heavy and pretty, his for the taking. His mouth closed over one nipple, tongue flattening against it, and you gasped, arching into him like your body knew what to do before your mind caught up. Your fingers dove into his hair, tangling, tugging, your body trembling against his.

He sucked and pulled and bit on your pert nipple, inhaling your perfume, the smell of the hearth, the heat of your skin. Everything was a blur of a dream and reality, his memories of his fist around his cock just thinking of you like this mixing with the reality of it happening here and now. 

He was going insane. That was the plain truth.

He kissed up your neck again, tongue flat against your skin as he licked and nibbled his way to your jaw. Your sweet little moans filled his lungs, breathless sighs spilling out against his cheek, feeding something wild in him. He wrapped his arms beneath you and lifted you with ease, and you giggled as your legs locked around his waist, clinging tight while he started toward the hallway.

“No, no,” you whined, petulant, “want to do it here, in front of the fire,” 

“S’not right, baby,” he muttered, the sound breaking as he groaned and held you aloft, looking up at you, “should take you in the bed, where you’ll be comfortable.”

But you shook your head, tugged his hair, eyes wide and pleading, still shining with that sex drunk look in them. “Want you here,” you said again. “It’s warm… and it’s nice in here.”

“Alright,” he breathed, giving in without a fight. You were kissing him before he even settled you back down, greedy wet mouth pressing up into his, your arms wrapping tight around his neck. He lowered you onto the couch, eased you onto your back, and your legs opened for him, letting him into the cradle of you. You moaned as he pressed down into you, grinding slow and teasing.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured, lips wandering lower again, down your throat, your collarbone. He kissed everywhere, licked and tasted, needing to map every inch of your skin. “Gonna take these off now,” he said, gaze flicking up to meet yours as his fingers slipped under your waistband. “That okay?”

You nodded, chest heaving, lips parted and kiss bitten.

“Words, baby, let me hear your pretty voice too.”

“Yes, please—please,”

“Atta girl,” he praised, and it rumbled deep in his chest. He began pulling your layers off, slowly, gently. Socks went first, plucked only with his forefinger and thumb, and he kissed the insole of your foot, his hand covering your frozen toes to warm them. He pulled off the rest, unwrapping his gift. His jaw nearly unhinged at the sight of you laid bare in front of him. He dragged his palms along your thighs, taking in the sight before him. Glistening, puffy, nearly dripping onto his sofa in front of him. You pretty pussy just waiting for him to devour. He could feel his cock answer in earnest, twitching, pre cum dribbling down the inseam of his thigh. 

“Oh, hunny,” he sighed, leaning the side of his head on your propped up knee, bringing you closer, dragging you up before him so he could get a better look. It felt like he might’ve started drooling, completely entranced by the way your perfect pussy clenched on nothing, begging for something that wasn’t there yet. Torture, that’s what it was, to leave her untouched this entire night.

“Are you going to…to touch me?” he heard you ask, so fragile and yet so brave. He looked up at you then, and watched, enamored, at your sweet face, your nervous eyes that were heavy lidded. 

“You want me to?”

You nodded vigorously, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder, pulling him closer. Suddenly so confident in your want for him. 

He took your leg, kissed the inside of your calf, then bit into the meat of it in a playful little warning. You yelped, giggled, and kicked him lightly in the chest. “Bad,” he scolded, though there wasn’t a trace of real reprimand in his voice.

“You’re taking so lonngggg,” you whined, dramatic.

“Let me savor this,” he said playfully, kissing your skin again, warm mouth against warmer flesh, the heat of the two of you seeping into ever pore. He moved slowly, lips pressing, tongue tasting, his beard dragging in little teasing strokes along your thigh that made your skin pebble. He took his time climbing the soft inside of your legs, and he could feel you trembling, tightening in anticipation.

When he reached the apex of your thighs, he stopped to stare, because the firelight had turned you into something unreal. Glistening, soft, swollen with want. The smell rising from you was honey and sweat and something sweetly feral, and it pulled at him like gravity. He laid one hand gently over your pubic bone, the other hooking under your thigh to pull you closer, closer, until you couldn’t move away even if you wanted. He leaned in and blew across your glistening folds. 

You whined, hips jerking in his hold. “Hurts, Joel,” you whimpered.

“What does, baby?” he asked softly, voice teasing at the edges. “This?” He blew again, gentle and warm, and your puffy pussy twitched in response.

You shook your head, “Waiting—it hurts, she wants you. I want you.” 

She. As if his brain wasn’t already scrambled enough, you were using pronouns for your sweet, velvet keep. He felt his pulse pounding in his fingertips. Humming in a sort of understanding, he lowered his head. 

“Might feel a little weird, okay? You ever touch yourself before, hunny?” He asked.

You nodded, nibbling on the nails of your right hand. He kissed the top of your mound, eyes on your sweet face. “Have you ever had an orgasm before?”

“Yes,” you sighed, eyes beginning to close as he kissed along your soft thatch of curls. 

Joel let out a deep breath, reverent in his hunger, the sound shaking through his chest. He lowered his face until the bridge of his nose rested just above your entrance. He knew he was torturing you, stringing you along like this. But what if this was the only time he ever got to touch you like this? Every other woman had come to him once and left satisfied, done with him. If they returned, he always turned them away, told them he wasn’t built for more than the favor he gave. But you… you were different. He wanted to keep this. To savor this.

He wanted to remember how you looked right now for the rest of his life.

“S’gonna feel a little different,” he promised, voice rough as gravel. “But daddy’ll make it feel good. I promise.”

“Okay,” you breathed, reaching down to pet your fingers through his hair. The moment your nails scraped lightly against his scalp, another sound rumbled out of him, low and almost pleased enough to be a purr.

He could no longer deny you. He could no longer deny her. If he held himself back another second, he didn’t think he’d survive it. And he’d never be able to call himself a good man again if he dragged out this torture.

He started slow, a kiss to your little pearl, and it pulsed between his lips when he kissed again, suckling gently, your soft whines and breathy sighs rising above him like a symphony.  He licked a fat stripe from your perineum, his tongue like a basin for catching your nectar, drinking you, inhaling you, eating you. He tried to be kind, gentle, but once he’d had a taste, he couldn’t stop himself. 

Joel was a menace. He knew it. Growling under his breath, his breathing heavy and ragged, the beast in him was closer to the surface than he’d let it get in years. Muzzle off but leash tight, he licked and drank and sounded like he’d never eat again. He moaned into you, harmonizing with your sweet, desperate sounds, both of you moving without thinking, your hips pushing into his mouth while he rocked up against the bottom of the couch, the precum from his cock already staining the fabric of his pants.

“Oh,” you mewled, trembling, “oh, Joel—Joel, I think… oh god—”

The sound of his name like that on your lips, pleading and filled with want was a blow to his gut. He paused his grinding, knowing full well he could finish in his pants if he let himself go even one inch further.

He couldn’t take his mouth away from you. He wanted to tell you everything, wanted to praise you, to worship you, to admit how beautiful you were, how unreal you tasted, sweet and warm and soft like velvet against his tongue. He was losing his mind, forcing his heavy‑lidded eyes to stay open, to watch you fall apart for him. 

The hand that was placed upon your mound had started thrumming at your little clit so he could fuck your keep with his tongue, pushing and drinking you in, forcing your back to arch, your lungs to heave, throat crying out. And that’s when he felt the pulsing swell of your orgasm crest and rush through you, thighs shaking, heels pulling him in, digging into his shoulder blades as you brought him closer.

“Yes,” he swore, “That’s it, baby, fucking soak me, come all over my face, atta girl,” his voice was raw with desire, aching for it, and you let out one final scream of pleasure as he kept you there to ride it out, tongue pushing in, thumb circling your clit.

And as you settled, thighs trembling, he saw your throat bobbing, hoarse, eyes heavy and moist as you looked at him again, “Holy shit,” you whispered, giggling a bit. 

Joel wasn’t in the mood for playfulness anymore. Not with the way that feral, starving thing in him was thrashing now, begging, snapping at its leash. His cock strained violently through his sweatpants, painful and insistent, and he crawled over you like gravity had taken hold of him. His hands cupped the bowl of your skull, holding you steady as he kissed you, deep and claiming, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he commanded between breaths, “taste how fuckin’ good you are,”

You moaned into his mouth, and he thought he might scare you with how badly he wanted you, it scared him a little too. But you could feel his cock, and you were grinding on the outline of it, creamy folds pulsing around the cotton covered mold of him. He was groaning and pushing into you, sawing his hips hard into your cradle. 

“That feels so good, Joel, oh god, please, I want it, I’m ready, I’m ready,” you babbled, mouth soft and open for him as he kissed down your chin, along your jaw, to the shell of your ear. He sat back on his haunches, fingers shaking as he tugged his waistband down. He didn’t care to discard them fully, he was too lost in his need, his hunger. Monopolized by it, it’s all he could think of, giving you this. Giving you him. 

But as he brought his cock to lay across your belly, too heavy to bob up against his own, your eyes widened, a prickle of fear through them as you looked up at him. 

His hand slid to the crease of your hip and thigh, thumb settling right into that soft pocket of skin. He stroked you there, slow, reassuring. “S’alright, baby. You ever seen a cock before?”

You shook your head. “In pictures,” you whispered. “But not… not—” You lifted your hands to your face, peeking through your fingers like you were bracing for a jump scare. “It’s not gonna fit, Joel. Absolutely not.”

He chuckled before he could stop himself, but it wasn’t soft. It sounded rough, a little feral, like something wrenched out of him without permission. "We'll make it fit, honey," he said with finality.

He tried to school that feral part of him back, but then your hand moved.

You were reaching down, touching, your finger tracing the ridge of the head, making him hiss. You jerked your hand away, startled, but he caught your wrist with surprising gentleness. “S’okay,” he breathed, eyes falling shut as he tried not to lose what little control he had left. “Feels good. Maybe too good.” He guided your hand back, lacing his fingers over yours, helping you cup the weight of him. He rocked into your hand, slow and tight.

“So warm,” you whispered to yourself, “Soft, too, like velvet,” 

Joel hummed, lost to the way your delicate fingers felt around him as he rucked against you. The friction wasn’t enough, and he brought your hand to his mouth, spit into it, your eyes wider, and brought your hand back down. His head thrown back and mouth open, he let you play, no longer guiding, letting you explore. Your wet fingers traced him, teased him, wrapped around him, and he felt his vision spark white at the edges. He wanted to watch so badly but couldn’t, the feeling of your wet exploration, your learning of him, far too delicious to focus on anything but touch alone. 

“I want to try,” you said at last, “maybe just…just be slow,” 

Joel looked back down at you, but you weren’t looking at him, instead, you were staring at your own hand, enraptured by the way it moved over him, touching him like you were trying to memorize every vein and ridge. When you reached further, cupping his balls gently, he let out a groan that tore through him, a sound he couldn’t have held back if he tried. 

He gripped himself, shifting so he could slide through the slick honey you made for him, his cock jumping at the feeling of your warm keep. 

You moaned at the contact, hands flying to his forearms, gripping as you whimpered at the notch of when he finally prodded the entrance. 

“M’nervous,” you whispered. 

Joel leaned down immediately, cupping your cheeks in both hands again, kissing your mouth once, soft and grounding, trying to soothe the tremble running through your body. “I got you, baby. Daddy’s got you. Gonna take it slow, I promise. You ready?”

You nodded, arms slipping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him close like you couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

Joel’s mouth fell open, jaw coming unhinged as he pushed, slowly, like molasses, through your walls. They clenched down, as nervous as you were to his intrusion. He kissed you again, distracting you with his tongue, coaxing you through it, letting you mewl sweetly into his mouth as your body adjusted around him.

“Oh!” you squealed, “you’re—you’re in my belly,” you hissed as he pulled back a little, settling there. 

He pushed your hair back, your forehead dappling in sweat, “It’s alright,” he murmured, over and over, his voice a low litany. “It’s alright. Gonna hurt for just a minute. That’s halfway, baby. Only halfway. You’re doin’ so good. She feels like heaven.”

You were moaning, whether in pleasure or pain, Joel knew he needed to wait. He felt your walls pulling and pushing, constricting like a fist, all the blood in the thick vein that rushed along his shaft pulsing. He kissed your neck, your jaw, all to keep himself in line, to keep that shred of restraint, waiting. 

“Bein’ so good for me, baby,” he whispered, “How you feelin’, hm? Talk to me.”

You drew in a deep breath. “Feels funny,” you admitted, “but better.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering. “Keep going. Please. I want to feel all of you.”

Joel looked into your eyes then, searching, both of you a mirror of desire, of nerves, of want, “Okay, okay,” he cooed, pushing in a few more inches. Your neck arched back, eyes squeezing shut, and he tapped his thumb against your jaw, “Look at me, honey, daddy’s got ya,”

Your eyes opened, and your breath came heavier, and soon your grimace was turning into an ‘o’ of pleasure as he seated himself fully, his balls pushing into the cheeks of your ass. 

“Ohhh…” Joel groaned, “Ain’t that so good, sugar?” 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” you were whispering. 

Joel eased back just enough to look down between your bodies. You followed his gaze, chest heaving, watching with him as his cock slid out, slick with your release, veins streaked with white cream, the thick length glistening under the low light. His hair was damp, peppered with sweat and ecstasy.

“Holy fucking shit,” you breathed, eyes wide, watching him push back in, your neck arching with the stretch, head tipping helplessly into the pillows. “Please, please don’t stop—it feels—oh my god—it feels so fucking good—”

And finally, fucking finally, after what felt like ages of restraint, of being good, of holding himself and muzzling that mean dog in him, Joel let go of the leash.

He started fucking into you with full force, sawing deep, hard, relentless, watching the way his cock disappeared and reappeared inside you, dripping with slick. His jaw clenched, his body shuddering as he gave in to the hunger.

“You’ve got no fuckin’ clue,” he growled, “how long I’ve wanted this.” His hands moved to grip your hips so hard his knuckles blanched. “How long I’ve thought about you like this. Moanin’ my name with my cock deep in you.”

Your eyes were wide as you watched him, moaning his praises. Oh, god, oh god, tell me, daddy please tell me—

He couldn’t stop looking, watching himself move in and out of you like it was the only thing left in the world, and his mouth spilled every unclean thought he'd ever had. “You got no idea, baby. Wanted to fuck your throat every time you gave me lip. Wanted to bend you over the cabin floor that time we got snowed in, make her cry for me. God, I wanted you so bad.”

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, falling onto your belly, hot against hot. The room blurred at the edges, fire and muscle and want, just you taking everything he gave.

“Ain’t my fault,” he murmured, a crooked little smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. This ass. That face. You’re perfect, baby. All mine now. My perfect girl.”

“Yes, Joel, I’m yours—I wanna be—it’s all I’ve ever—” you were gasping, hiccuping on a moan, nails dragging down his arms. “Please, come here, closer—”

He dropped over you again in an instant, kissing you hard, bellies sliding together, soaked in sweat, his rhythm never slowing. The couch rocked beneath you as he kept fucking into you, kissing you as if it might kill him if he stopped.

“I’m yours,” you whispered against his mouth, nails scraping into his scalp. “Fuck me like I’m yours, Joel.”

He bit into your neck, rough and deep, and you wailed, body tightening as he sawed into you. He forced himself to keep a steady rhythm, he would not ruin this by being an animal. He told himself he’d teach you one day how to take a good fucking, maybe bent over the armchair or over his kitchen counter, or maybe in the shower, but tonight he needed to still be gentle and good, keeping it steady for only you. 

His thumb found your clit and you jolted like you’d been shocked.

“N–n–no, too much,” you cried out, writhing, your hands pushing at him weakly.

“Say your word n’ I’ll stop, baby girl, come on, know you’re tough, know you can take it,” he growled, “wanna feel how fuckin’ tight she’ll get when she comes around me, come on now, be daddy’s girl and come for me.”

You were wailing, tears beading in your eyes, but you didn’t say your word, you nodded, kissing him, salt and wet and delicious as your breath came shorter and shorter. And then you froze, legs widening until your thighs were planted on the bed, taking your orgasm, letting him fuck you through it, your velvet keep a vice around his cock, a fist, threatening to choke the life out of him as you came. 

"I'm gonna come inside," he wanted, "I have to, I can't—"

"Yes, yes, yes," you whispered.

He was babbling praise in your ear as he held on through sheer force before his own body went taut and he was coming inside of you, unable to talk himself into pulling away. That’s a good girl, atta girl, what a sweet little thing takin’ daddy’s cock so good, that’s it, that’s it, yes.

And in the after, the two of you lay like that, bodies tangled and unwound, catching your breath while the sweat cooled and soaked into the old couch cushions beneath you. He kept his mouth on your shoulder, slow open kisses that tasted of salt and the faintest sweetness of your skin. Your fingers stroked gently at his hair, a soft and steady petting that calmed him. He felt the heavy rise and fall of your chest begin to ease, your heartbeat settling back into its natural rhythm, the thrum of it against his sternum.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words faint and almost shy.

Joel hummed against your skin, his lips still wandering, kissing whatever they could reach. He did not know how to answer you without saying too much.

“What happens now?” you asked even quieter. 

He lifted his head, brushing a kiss to your chin, then the swell of your bottom lip, then the tip of your nose, giving himself time to think. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can...” He paused when he saw your brow crease, the worry clouding the softness that had been there a moment ago. “What is it?”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you whispered. “I don’t want this to be the last time. I want…I meant what I said, Joel. I’m yours, if you’d have me.”

He went still, just for a moment, watching the worry flicker behind your eyes. He hated that worry. Hated that he might be the cause of it. You were brave enough to say it, and he knew what that cost.

He’d lived a long time doing favors for folks, keeping to himself, giving women what they asked for without stepping past the boundaries they laid down. Jackson’s Cherry Picker. That stupid little nickname had stuck, and maybe he’d earned it. But he never took what wasn’t offered, they never stayed long after, and he never asked for more. They came to him wanting a lesson, a night, a rite of passage, and he’d give them exactly that. No promises. No expectations. 

And most days he convinced himself he liked it that way. It kept him unbound, kept things simple. And it kept him from wanting what he’d already lost too many times.

But simple had turned into lonely long before tonight, and he hadn’t even noticed until now, with you in his arms. You had been the exception from the beginning. But now…now…

He lifted his hand to your cheek, thumb brushing the heat there, and saw how much you meant every word you’d said. It would be the easiest thing in the world to tell you to go, to stick to the script he always used, to keep his life small and untouched.

But he couldn’t picture you leaving. Not after this. This was mind altering, a seismic change, like fault lines rearranged in his heart for you. A spell cast between you, irreversible and unseen. Whatever line you’d crossed together, it wouldn’t be uncrossed. And that’s what he wanted. He wanted to keep giving, to let himself soften and offer and pour whatever he had into your hands, if you chose that path with him.

“Stay here,” he said, more certain than he had felt in years, “Stay with me.”

"Someone whose best man must be clueless. I'm surprised all those guys were even able to make it," you tell Addy, handing over the last of her drinks from your place behind the bar. There has to be at least thirty guys attending the bachelor party. "Do you need help carrying them up?"

She looks over her shoulder, knocking her drooping Santa hat out of her field of vision. The loft overlooking the bar where you work is where parties are always held and the staircase to get up there tends to get crowded.

"No, I think I'm good. Thanks, though. I'm sure I'll be back in ten minutes with more orders," Addy replies, rolling her eyes. She stoops down and lifts the tray of drinks to balance on her shoulder, then begins to weave her way through the crowd.

It's busy. Always is before a holiday. People who are usually not in town come back to visit their families and, once relatives turn in for the night, they try to make plans to catch up with old friends. Given your bar is the favorite amongst the locals, it tends to be one of the busiest nights of the year. You and the other girls you work with have found over the years that dressing up a little earns you more tips from patrons who are already feeling rather generous and in the holiday spirit. Tonight is no exception. Wearing a Santa hat, a tight black tshirt, and a short velvet red skirt with a thick white trim to match your hat has already earned you more money tonight than you made all of last weekend combined.

It's so loud and you're so busy fielding as many requests as you can that you don't even hear the crash of glass until Addy returns with a sheepish look and a completely soaked shirt.

"I should've taken you up on that offer to help," she says, looking down at her ruined clothes. "I fucking reek of beer, oh my god."

"Oh, no! Here, I brought an extra change of clothes," you say, leaning under the bar for your tote bag.

"No, no, I can't do that! It's freezing out, you need your jeans for later."

"I'd rather you take my jeans for the night than leave me to handle that party upstairs," you say, shoving the bag into her arms. She gives you a grateful smile and hurries away to clean up. With the help from another girl, you remake the dropped drinks and volunteer to take them up yourself.

"Excuse me!" you shout over the music, pushing people out of the way with your free hand so they don't accidentally bump into your tray. You take the stairs carefully, sidestepping one of the busboys who is cleaning up the broken glass, and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it to the top unscathed.

A quick scan of the group tells you the men seem to be a few years older than you. Most are probably married or settled down in some way. Those are usually the best kind of bachelor parties—they aren't too rowdy and they tip well.

It seems like they just wrapped up eating and now are milling around the room. Some are staring at some sporting event on the television and pointing out had it not been for that pesky knee injury, they could have gone pro. Others are laughing at the mostly empty table over some story from their glory days. But one man unfortunately noticed you before the rest and stumbled over with a sloppy smile and reddened cheeks.

"Are you our new waitress or did you just get hotter since you left?" he slurs. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust and when you bend to set the tray of drinks down on the table, you try to be conscientious of your short skirt.

"Just thought I'd help Addy while she cleans herself up," you say, gaze cast down and focused on the drinks. But the guy doesn't take the hint.

"Aw, that's a shame. But you can hang out with us, yeah?"

You shake your head and blindly begin passing out the beers.

"I'm tending bar downstairs, I gotta get back, but I promise you're in good hands."

Stale breath sweeps across your cheek and he says—not as quietly as he thought—"Think I like your hands better, sweetheart."

Your back and forth must have pulled the attention of others because a boisterous conversation happening across the table dies down. You're trying not to look up for fear your face will give away your disgust, but when you hear a familiar voice, your head snaps up.

"Ho, Ho, Ho-ly shit!"

When you see Tommy Miller with the group in front of the television wearing a half buttoned flannel and a tacky button pinned to it that says, "I'm getting married, buy me a drink!", you smile and straighten up.

"Tommy!" You toss your arms around him for a big hug and it takes about five more seconds before you realize it:

If Tommy is here for his bachelor party, then that means...

"Joel! Look who it is!" Tommy turns with a cheeky grin, one arm still slung loose around your waist, the other pointing to you like Joel didn't already see you when you walked up the stairs.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to find him amongst the now mostly quiet group. Downstairs the music is still playing, people are shouting and laughing, yet for a second it all fades away when you lock eyes with Joel.

He's hard to read. Always has been. But his expression looks taught and you're pretty sure he's angrily chewing on the inside of his cheek as those soft, dark brown eyes flicker between you and his brother.

You clear your throat and take a step away from Tommy.

"Hey," you nod to Joel, voice obviously void of the excitement you harbored just a moment ago.

He grunts and looks away, then back up to his brother.

"This is why you picked this place?" he asks. You bristle, wishing you weren't working so you could give him a piece of your mind, but instead focus on distributing the rest of the drinks.

Tommy laughs. "No, no, it's just a good spot, is all."

"Did you know she worked here?"

You scoff under your breath but Joel still hears it.

"What?" he snaps. You roll your eyes.

"Like you didn't know I work here?"

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I ain't sittin' 'round thinkin' 'bout you."

As much as you wish it didn't hurt to hear the iciness in his tone, it does. You do your best to brush it off and hurry back downstairs, but then an unexpected hero comes to your rescue.

"Hey... that's why you look so familiar." Their friend, the one who was clearly way too drunk to process what was going on, spoke up. He points lazily at you and you look up. He's slowly piecing it together, you can see it, then his eyes light up when he figures it out. "You're the one in the, in the wallet! In Joel's wallet! Asked him—hey, hey, Joel—" He turns to find Joel glaring at him from his chair, arms pulled tightly across his chest. "She's the one from your wallet, 'member? When I was askin' earlier—"

"Shut the fuck up, Charlie!" Joel shouts.

"Alright, Joel, enough. Don't ruin my night, okay?" Tommy scolds. You have to stifle a grin when Joel's neck flushes bright pink with embarrassment and you figure that's enough payback for his shitty comment, so you collect your now empty tray with renewed confidence and fix the Santa hat on your head.

"Well, it was great seeing you, Tommy. Congrats," you say, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. You can practically feel the daggers Joel is staring into your back and you smirk to yourself before heading towards the stairs, throwing your hips a little more than usual so that your Santa skirt sways as you walk away.

When you make it downstairs and back behind the safety of your bar, you finally exhale a loud, shaky breath. One of the other girls notices and gives you a look of concern.

"Everything alright?"

You nod and snatch up a shot glass. Pouring from the closest bottle, you toss it back with a wince before answering.

"Yeah," you say, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth. "Just saw my ex-husband upstairs. Merry fucking Christmas to me."

---

It was a long night but mercifully, busy enough to keep your mind from dwelling too long on Joel. And after tip out, you made enough to cover half your rent for the month. Awkward encounter aside, it was a good night, but you're bone tired and freezing your ass off as you shuffle to your car across the empty parking lot in just that stupid Santa skirt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you whine once you're inside your car, teeth chattering and hands shaking. Once the engine starts, you blast the heat, but your car is old as dirt and you know better by now than to expect the thing to actually heat up in less than the fifteen minutes it takes to get home.

The roads are empty, like they usually are at this hour. It's usually calming but tonight your fingers grip the steering wheel as you desperately try to warm yourself up.

Taking the back roads is quicker, so you always go that way. Hardly anyone ever takes these streets, especially in the middle of the night, so when your headlights flicker dim for a moment followed by a loud sputter from your exhaust, you know you're absolutely fucked.

"No!" you scream when the engine dies. You're able to slow down and steer just off the road so you're safe, but you're freezing even more and now on the verge of tears.

Once you're safely in park, you pick up your phone and groan.

"No signal," you mutter, but you try anyway. After the third attempt you give up and let the tears flow. All you want to do is go home, get under your covers, and pray that look Joel gave you earlier doesn't haunt your dreams. Instead, you're going to freeze to death on the side of some country road wearing a tiny Santa skirt and matching hat.

After about ten minutes of feeling sorry for yourself, you stop crying but don't bother to wipe the dried tears from your face. You're already about to have the worst night ever, who cares if you have mascara streaked down your cheeks?

Just when you're thinking about using fast food napkins as a blanket, you spot headlights in your review mirror and you gasp.

"Oh, my god!" You're scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt so you can flag them down, but it turns out you don't need to—the truck slows and parks behind you, already anticipating your cry for help.

"Oh, thank god," you mutter, watching with relief as the shadow of your savior steps out of the truck. You lean back in your seat with a sigh. "Yes, yes, yes, yes—"

But when the man's broad body blocks the bright headlights, revealing an all too familiar face, your joy vanishes.

"No, no, no, no."

Joel leans down with a friendly smile and lifts his hand to knock on your window, but when he sees you, he freezes. His face immediately falls into a scowl and with a defeated sound, you open your door.

"Just leave me here, I'd rather die," you say.

Joel scoffs and steps back. He tries to catch himself, but you saw the quick once over he gave you before angling his body towards the woods—and even though you've been cursing this skirt since you stepped out of the bar, you're a teensy bit grateful for it now.

"Fine by me."

"I'll wait for someone else."

"Yeah? Dressed like that?" Joel nods angrily towards your ridiculous get up. "Gonna freeze to death but be my guest."

Then he turns to head back to his truck, boots crunching loudly over the snowy ground. You shift your weight and anxiously chew your bottom lip before throwing your hands in the air.

"Wait!"

Joel stops but doesn't turn. You take a deep breath.

"Can you... can you help me?" You hear how pathetic you sound and can only imagine how pleased he must be to have the upper hand.

"Yeah? Why should I do that?" he calls over his shoulder. You think about it for all of two seconds.

"For old times sake?"

Joel huffs. His shoulders tense and he begins to walk away, then you try again.

"Joel, please! It's Christmas!"

He skids to a stop with his hand on the door of his truck. From here, you can see his jaw work as he thinks things over. You wrap your arms around yourself and bounce from foot to foot, legs practically made of ice at this point. Finally, he sighs and turns to you.

"Fine."

He moves to open the backseat of his cab and you crane your neck, trying to see what he's doing. He shuts the door and heads back to your car carrying a toolbox.

"Get in the truck."

You squeak happily, grab your purse from the front seat, and hurry past him to his truck. Warmth wraps around you like a hug when you open the door and you could cry you're so happy. Rubbing your arms and legs while hovering near the fans, you desperately try to bring life back to your limbs while Joel pops the hood of your car.

Ten minutes and some feeling in your fingers later, Joel returns.

"I'm gonna give you a jump but it takes some time to charge the battery," he says from the backseat. He's rifling around for something under the driver's seat and you nod.

"Thank you."

He grunts and slams the door shut, and you watch as he takes jumper cables over to your car. He does something you can't see before he returns and hops behind the wheel. You sit in silence as Joel moves his truck then turns around so your cars are facing one another, then he slides back out to attach the cables to his own truck. The hood is popped so you can't really see him, but you can see his hands—the way they move, twisting cables, examining other foreign looking objects under the hood... he does it so smoothly, like he's done this a hundred times. He barely has to think about it. He's always been one of those men who learns things very fast. He's smart, you used to tell him so all the time, but he didn't think so, no matter how many times you pointed out what a remarkable memory he had or how he just had an innate ability to understand how something—or someone—works.

Heat flares between your legs and you quickly shut it down by forcing your attention elsewhere, but your mind wanders against your will, back to simpler times when you were young and in love, breathlessly telling Joel how amazing he was when he was making you fall apart with his fingers or mouth or—

"Alright. Got 'bout twenty minutes."

Joel climbs into the cab and shuts the door with a shudder. You watch as his hands cup the fans on his dashboard, capturing the heat between his palms before bringing his curled fists up to his mouth to exhale, warming them up faster.

You shiver and look away, then his gaze is back on you.

"You coulda died out here wearin' that."

"I know."

There's a pause. Then—

"What the hell were you thinkin'?"

You sigh and lean back into the worn grey fabric seat. "It wasn't my first choice. Your waitress dropped drinks all over herself so I gave her the clothes I was gonna change into after work."

You stare out the window as a thick silence settles between you once again. Just when you think this is going to be the longest twenty minutes of your life, Joel says something that surprises you.

"M'sorry, 'bout earlier."

Your brows shoot up in shock and you look at him, but he's staring straight ahead, like what he's saying is causing him actual pain.

"Shouldn'tve been rude. Just took me by surprise, is all."

You're speechless. The last thing you expected from him was an apology, you're not prepared at all, but you know you need to say something because too much time is stretching on and Joel is starting to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"It's okay," you finally say. His eyes dart to lock with yours and in that moment you swear you can see the man you fell in love with all those years ago, buried somewhere underneath all that gruff. The longer he stares at you the faster your heart races and you can't stop the shiver that rolls down your spine. Joel sees it and frowns.

"You're cold, here," he says, shrugging off his oversized brown coat. Before you can protest he has it wrapped around your shoulders, and when you inhale his warm, comforting scent, your eyelids flutter shut and you shamelessly bury your nose into the collar.

The corner of his mouth lifts but he turns his face away before you see it.

"So, uh... how long you been workin' there?" He's staring down at the speedometer like it holds some valuable information—anything to find a reason to avoid your eye.

"Three years," you tell him. "But I also substitute teach for Oakmont Elementary."

Joel hums. "I can see you doin' that. You'd be good at that."

You grin, trying to hide it behind his coat. "It's fun, I don't mind it."

"You thinkin' 'bout doin' it full time? Bein' a teacher?" When he looks at you now it's so soft and sweet that you temporarily forget all the pain you went through together.

"I'd have to go back to school, I don't know..."

Joel shrugs. "You could do it. Always were good in school."

Your cheeks warm under the compliment. "It'd be a lot of work. Going to class during the day, working at night. That's hard."

"Yeah, but when you stick your mind to somethin', you just do it. Never let anythin' stop you before."

He graces you with a shy smile for the first time all night and you have to look away or else you're afraid you might say something stupid.

Change the subject, you think.

"Did Tommy have fun tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," Joel says, leaning back in his seat with a light grin. "Just dropped him off, as a matter of fact. Shitfaced like you'd expect. Almost wandered into his neighbor's house."

"Ah, so that's why you're out so late."

"Promised him I wouldn't drink so I could get 'em home."

"Well, that's nice, considering the shit he pulled for your bachelor party."

It's a risky move bringing up anything related to your marriage, you knew that. But he just seems so relaxed and you're finally getting the warmth back in your toes and feeling much better than you were thirty minutes ago, so you go for it. And Joel pauses, taken off guard, but then he chuckles low and deep, the sound causing a familiar pull between your legs.

"My god," he murmurs, then rolls his head to the side to give you a look. "To this day I ain't ever hear a woman bring a man to his knees the way you did to me and him that night. Never saw you so mad."

"I warned you—no strippers."

"And I told you I didn't touch any of 'em."

You throw your head back and laugh, missing the way Joel's gaze lingers on the curve of your neck, the plushness of your lips, the smoothness of your skin.

"Bullshit, Joel Miller! You can tell me the truth, we're not married anymore."

When you find his eyes again, there's an energy that pulls between you and it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed.

"I ain't lyin'," he swears, palms up in the air. "The other guys did but I didn't. Scout's honor."

"Yeah, okay," you say, rolling your eyes, but you can't erase the smile he put there a moment ago.

"I didn't need another reason for your old man to hate me, I did what I was told," he says, hand over his heart. You giggle and shake your head.

"Oh, I don't think that would have mattered much. He never liked you."

Joel grins and lets his gaze drift as a comfortable silence settles in the cab.

"I heard he passed a few years back. M'sorry," he says softly, and you meet his eye once again. He looks genuinely sympathetic, despite everything your father did to tear you apart.

"Thanks."

"What was it?"

"Cancer," you tell him, then shrug one shoulder like it didn't mean anything when you both knew it did.

"Ah, shit," he sighs. "You livin' in that house?"

"Nah. Couldn't do it. I sold it," you say, staring down at your hands tangled in your lap. Joel makes a sound like he understands and he lets it go, lets the quiet envelope you once again like he knew you just needed a few minutes to think. He was always good at reading you, you never forgot that.

"I'm sorry, too," you tell him. You hear him twist his head to look at you but you keep your face angled down. "For the way he treated you. He was never good to you, Joel, and I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's alright. No need to be sorry."

You sniffle and finally raise your chin with glassy eyes. "It's not alright. He said some horrible things to you—"

"He was just scared for his little girl," Joel says, extending a hand across the seat to rest carefully on your knee. "Didn't like some guy six years older than her sniffin' around, had you sneakin' out and shit... hell, lookin' back, I don't blame 'em."

"Well, I do. I blame him," you mumble. Then, to your dismay, one lone tear streaks down your cheek when you add, "Am I horrible? For not forgiving him for what he did to us?"

Joel's eyes widened and his hand instantly lifts from your knee to cup your face. "No," he breathes with a light shake of his head, "No, you ain't horrible. Don't think that."

His thumb brushes over your cheek and you close your eyes.

Well, there's no going back now, you figure. Might as well go all in.

"Why didn't you fight for me, Joel?" you whisper, lower lip trembling. Your eyes slowly open and two more tears fall. "Why didn't you—"

"'Cause I couldn't come between you 'n your family," he says urgently, his own eyes darting back and forth across your face like it was of the utmost importance you understood. "He was gonna disown you. Said he'd never speak to you again unless we got a divorce. And I couldn't be the reason that happened, honey, I just couldn't—"

"But you were my family," you whimper. "I only wanted you."

"I wanted you, too," he says back, voice strained like he's holding back tears. "Thought I was doin' the right thing by lettin' you go. I was young and dumb and scared, I just wanted you to be happy."

"Well, I wasn't," you confess, and one of your hands comes up to curl around his, still pressed gently against your cheek. His hands are big and a little rough, just like you remember, and you close your eyes, leaning into his touch. "I cried for years over you, Joel," you whisper, "Every time I'd hear someone mention your name or I'd see a sign or truck for your business I'd get so fucking angry. Do you know why?"

You force your eyes back open and through the unshed tears, you see him shake his head.

"I hated the idea of you out there, living your life, meeting new people, meeting new girls and forgetting all about me when I could hardly get out of bed most days."

"You meant everythin' to me," he says, jaw tight as he leans closer across the seat. "Still do."

A sob lodges in your throat, but you swallow it down and force out the question that's been on your mind for years.

"Then why are you always so fucking cold to me whenever I see you? Like tonight?"

"'Cause seein' you reminds me of the biggest mistake I ever made, and I fuckin' hate myself for lettin' you go."

The confession falls from his mouth like it had been waiting there for years to be said. No hesitation whatsoever. Just raw emotion packed behind years of regret. You don't know what to do with it, what to say. You just stare at one another, searching each other's eyes like you could find the answers to your problems right there until it dawns on you at the same time—that maybe you never really had any problems at all, aside from meeting a little too young and moving a little too fast.

But nothing is holding you back anymore. You're not freshly out of high school marrying a guy who was struggling to start a construction business with his baby brother. You both have five years of wisdom now, and even after all that time, those feelings you have for Joel still burn hot under your skin.

And that has to mean something.

"Joel?" you whisper, and his brows pitch up ever so slightly in response. His shoulders still like he's holding his breath, waiting for you to say it. So you do.

"Kiss me."

A breathless sound slips past your lips when his mouth presses firmly over your own, but just as quickly as you feel him, he pulls back. His eyes find yours and he searches, like he's looking for an answer to a question he's too scared to ask. You gaze back at him with tear soaked cheeks and a trembling lip, hoping he sees what you feel. Then his throat bobs and his shoulders sag like a weight has been lifted and his mouth finds yours once again.

Desperation fills the cab of his truck. Your mouth falls open and his tongue slides smoothly against yours, never missing a beat. His fingertips dig into your cheek and you pull him forward by his flannel, searching for more. The sharp brush of his beard rubs into an upward motion against your lips and you know he's smiling at your eagerness.

"C'mere," he mumbles before both his hands find your waist and he leans back, hauling you over the seat and into his lap without breaking the kiss. He pushes his coat past your shoulders and tosses it behind him, giving himself better access to your body.

It's all happening so fast that when his hands skate slowly down your sides to curve and cup your ass under your skirt, you jump like a frayed wire. Every nerve ending is alight, as if your body has been waiting all these years to be brought back to life by his touch.

"Easy," he chuckles in between kisses, "it's just me. Just me, baby."

It nearly destroys you. Joel—your first and probably only real love is right here, back in your arms. You kiss him harder and he groans, needy tongues swirling together like you may run out of air.

"Joel—" you gasp, but he cuts you off.

"Christ, I missed you." His mouth sloppily sears over yours with a groan before separating again. "Missed you so much. Then I finally see you and..." His gaze flicks down but you're too busy trailing a path of wet kisses down his neck. "And you're wearin' this slutty little thing. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout it... c'mere." His chin drops to seek out your mouth and you let him, moaning softly when your lips reconnect. He kisses like a madman, you always loved that about him. Every kiss feels like it's important, like he needs to show you how he feels because there are no words in existance that do it justice.

"You should see what I wear to work on Valentine's Day," you giggle when he gives you a second to breathe.

"Can't wait."

Then he quiets you with another deep kiss.

Can't wait. Can't wait. Two simple words that hold so much meaning. Two words that assure you whatever happens tonight won't be a one time thing. It sets your heart on fire and you whine into his mouth when his hands dig into the curve of your hips, pulling you down harder into his lap.

Joel leans back with a filthy grin so he can watch you drag your hips back and forth, over his cock straining against his zipper.

"Shit. Christmas came early," he mumbles in a daze as he continues to watch you move.

"That better be the only thing that comes early," you tease before clutching his face in your hands for another lust soaked kiss. And even though there's no real rush, your hands move hastily anyway. They slip between your bodies as your tongue dips into his mouth and he groans when your palm presses over his aching cock. His own slide back under your skirt to wrap around your underwear and he tugs, growing frustrated with the thin piece of fabric.

"Take these off," he demands roughly.

"There's no room," you say, biting at his scruffy chin. "Your steering wheel is digging into my ass."

With one harsh, loud tear, your underwear fall loose. You gasp and open your heavy eyes to watch him pull the black shreds from between your legs, then he tosses it somewhere behind his seat.

"Joel! I already hardly have any clothes as it is!" you exclaim, but he shushes you with a quick kiss before his mouth drops to your throat.

"Don't worry. I'll warm you up," he grins before his hands make their way up your skirt once more. He moans against your neck as his palms glide over your soft skin. Desperation claws at your throat when his fingers glide through your folds, dragging your arousal up to circle your clit. You curse his name and press your body tightly against his chest.

"Please, Joel, please," you beg as you rub the outside of his jeans. His jaw falls open and his head rolls back against the seat before he pulls his hand from between your legs. You whimper at the loss, but then his fingers slip into his mouth with a rough noise and you fall silent, watching him greedily taste you with heavy lidded eyes.

You feel dizzy, short of breath and aching with need when your fingers find his zipper. Pulling it down while he works on the button of his jeans, you moan a little when his cock is finally freed, all thick and heavy between you.

"Sit on it, baby," he pants while watching you lift onto your knees. He pushes up your skirt so he can see you notch the thick head of his cock at your opening and he feels drunk, his brain a cloudy, needy mess at the sight he's dreamt about for years.

Every day that passed without you, the memory of how you felt faded against his will. But having you on his lap now, your scent invading his senses as you slowly sink down on his cock, all those memories come flooding back: your warmth, the tightness of your pussy, the fucking noises you make from your pretty mouth... it's enough to bring him to tears.

One falls and you see it. You're holding your breath, still impaling yourself on his cock and reveling in the stretch, but you still cup his cheek and wipe the tear away. The sweet gesture just makes another one fall and when your hips finally grow flush with his lap, he releases a strained, choked sob, unable to look away from the depth of your gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you," you whisper, pressing your forehead against his.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, blinking away the tears and wrapping his arms around your waist. The tip of your hat gently taps his cheek and he grins when you lift it off your head just to drop it on top of his messy curls.

"There you go," you say with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. "Now you've got the Christmas spirit."

"Already got what I asked for, anyway," he chuckles before the palm of his hand cracks lightly across your ass. You yelp and giggle, falling forward to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

"And here I thought you had a permanent place on the naughty list." You begin to move with more purpose, moaning softly against his collarbone as the tip of his cock catches just right inside you.

"You oughta talk," he scolds with a small smile. It's equal parts frustrating and relieving to have this with him again. Had you just talked things out instead of snapping at each other every time you crossed paths, you would have saved so much time, and yet you can't be mad because you're too grateful to have him at all.

It's so easy to fall back into the familiar rhythm. Just like muscle memory, you both remember what the other likes. Without being asked, you tug your black shirt up and over your head so he can bury his face in your breasts as you ride him. His hands grip and pull you, helping you move and deepen the angle until your thighs start to shake. When his lips suction over your nipple, you arch your back with a sweet moan. His tongue is so warm and wet against your skin so you chase it, bouncing on him a little faster and he rewards you by switching to the other one.

"Yeah, baby, just like that," he pants, warm breath fanning across your wet skin. "Oh, fuck—ju-just like that."

You're stuck staring down at him, at the way the shadows stretch across his face, at the softness around his eyes, at the way he struggles to breathe. A sound catches in your throat and his dark eyes find yours before your mouths crash together in a hungry kiss.

"So good," you whisper against his lips. "So, so good."

He groans and lifts his hips, snapping them up into yours, driving himself deeper. You gasp and one hand reaches out to scramble for leverage, but your fingers just slide down the foggy window next to you. The Santa hat askew on his head falls off somewhere behind him but you're both too soaked with desire to notice.

Your legs shake as you work to keep up with his pace but your whole body is shuddering in his lap and for once, it's not due to the cold. He's slamming into you, pushing mercilessly against a sweet spot hidden away deep inside, and it's tearing you down.

"Oh god, Joel," you cry through clenched teeth, then your head tips back and your eyes squeeze shut and his mouth is on your throat, then your jaw, then your face—quick, urgent kisses that desperately try to make up for lost time.

Joel feels your muscles tighten and he grips you harder. He groans into your skin and fucks up into you, moaning about how good you feel and how tight you are and how he wishes he could have gotten his mouth on you, if only for a few minutes.

"But next time, I'm gonna eat this pussy til you're screamin', hear me?" He's grinding into you, forcing you to take him as deep as you can and stealing all the air from your lungs. "Never gonna let you go after this. Not gonna—shit—not gonna fuck this up again, okay?"

Tears slide down your cheeks and you nod before you gasp sharply and your body spasms with relief on top of him. He groans around the squeeze of your cunt and fucks you faster.

"M'sorry," he whispers over and over. But you're in a love drunk haze, you can barely hear him. Your body slumps forward to rest against his shoulder and a moment later, he comes with a rough curse in your ear. You sigh, pressing your cheek against him as he floods your pussy. He's holding you close to his chest and filling you up until he has nothing left to give and his body sags into the seat.

Your lips seek out the sweaty skin of his throat and you leave little kisses there while he catches his breath.

"Can you come over for Christmas Eve?" he asks suddenly, and you giggle before straightening your spine and leaning back. His eyes are deep and warm and he's giving you that sexy smirk you remember all too well. Your heart flips and it feels like you're falling in love with him all over again.

"Are you sure?"

He nods. "'Course I'm sure. So long as you're ready, 'cause Tommy's gonna give us a lot of shit."

You laugh and his face softens at the sound.

"Okay. I think I can stop by."

Joel smiles and looks down at your skirt fanning over his lap, hiding where you're still connected.

"Can you wear this?"

You smack his shoulder and he laughs. It's so lighthearted that you can't remember any of the heartbreak. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair and he gazes up at you sweetly as his laughter dies down, both of you staring at one another with matching smiles.

"Battery's probably good by now," he finally murmurs, still looking at you with stars in his eyes and a goofy smile on his face.

"Oh, shit, I forgot," you say, glancing over your shoulder at the steamy windshield. Joel fishes around to find your discarded shirt and hands it to you before helping you off his lap. You both groan, muscles aching, then you swing your leg back over to the passenger side. When you slip your shirt back on, you squeeze your thighs together, cheeks burning when you catch his sticky release dripping down your leg.

"You good?" he asks. He's already done his jeans back up and his hand is on the door. He's got his coat back on, ready to finish fixing your car, and your chest aches for him.

Typical Joel. So good at taking care of you.

"Come here," you whisper, then the corner of his mouth lifts before he releases the door handle and he stretches across the cab to press his lips softly against your own.

"Merry Christmas, Joel," you say, kissing the tip of his nose.

He smiles warmly before coming in for one more kiss.

✩ Western Nights by @cozymochaa (little self promo)

series summary: You'd go to great lengths to protect the people you care about, and so will Joel. Regardless of how he feels about you, that's one thing the both of you can agree on. (Story starts during the first winter after S1) This is a WIP series, but I'm enjoying writing it :)

✩ Ghosts of a Past by @shadowqueen2024

Summary: You and Joel grew up together in your town in Texas. But because of your father, you were forced to leave Texas and Joel behind. You continued writing but eventually stopped. 20 years after the outbreak happened, you land in the Boston QZ, where you see that the ghosts you thought you buried came back. When I tell you that I am locked in when a new part comes out, I mean that.

✩ Life Goes On by @the-sophverse

Summary: When things go wrong Joel has to do what you ask him. But how could he continue to live on? Genuinely, my jaw was on the floor while reading this. Soph ily

✩ I'll Be Home for Christmas by @punkshort **

Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house. I think I read this in three days (??) It was that good.

✩ The Bar Where We Met by @cherrycokeispunk

Summary: She didn’t hate Joel, not really. He had given her Sarah, and now baby Seth on the way. Joel was perfect, when he wasn’t drunk on anger. He was sweet, when he wasn’t high on adrenaline. He was romantic, when he didn’t abuse her. In the end, she didn’t want to hurt him, and taking Sarah would’ve been a death sentence. hey, so this story was insane! camila, you will be receiving my therapy bill.

✩ Beneath the Surface by @hollyseb

Summary: after getting injured badly on patrol with Jesse, Joel is waiting at the gates to take you in this was so fucking good hello ??

✩ Saddles, Sunsets and Second Thoughts by @reedispunk **

Summary: After your fiancé takes a job at Miller Ranch, adjusting to your new life there becomes so much harder when you meet his boss. im still in the process of reading this but holy fuck.

✩ Feral by @mcthsman **

Summary: Part man, part beast, Joel Miller lives in solitude a few miles away from Jackson. At fifty-seven years old and without a Soulbond, Joel can't coexist with others— a man without his mate crazed by time and age. Until the day he sees her, the girl with tangerine blossoms in her hair and a laugh that echoes through the trees. So, he tracks her down. Hunts her through the woods, and brings home a girl that is not the wilting flower he expects. also still in the process of reading this, but when i tell you 🤭

✩ The Workbench by @milla-frenchy **

Summary: Joel wants to be sure you know how to clean your gun, before going on your first patrol with him i have no words. i need joel NOW.