#outbreak!joel

   September twenty-sixth. The day he can’t fucking stand anymore. The day he was brought into this unapologetic world, not realizing he’d lose himself along the way.

   Birthdays were supposed to be spent with loved ones. A celebration of life. But what does he have to celebrate anymore? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t have anyone anymore. He’s just… alone. 

   Sarah is gone, dead. And Ellie… she wasn’t coming back. Not to his house, his doorstep. No. She’d just stay away like the plague. 

   Fifty-four-years-old. Just one step closer to being six feet underground. He wishes he was already dead because that’s how he feels. Hollow, broken, lonely. 

   God, he’s so fucking lonely. Ever since Ellie found out about the fireflies. About what he did…

   She hates his guts, hates the way he lied straight to her face for months, hates the reason he did it. She thinks he’s selfish and feels like she was used. But really, he only looks at it one way. 

   He saved her… And he’d do it a thousand times over if he had the choice. To lose another daughter. Well… he just couldn’t. So, he did the selfish thing and got her out of that hospital. Because if he lost her, he’d surely lose himself.

   But he already lost her. Lost himself, too. So why does any of this even matter? It’s useless. He’s useless. 

   He strums along to the melancholy tune, the frail strings sliding along calloused skin, echoing the quiet melody back into the cool autumn breeze of Jackson. Maybe Ellie would hear it, come running back with tears staining her hazel eyes, apologize for moving out and screaming at him to stay away. But she was the one that stayed away. He never wanted to…

   He just strums along and keeps playing. The song that he had written just for her. A song she probably hears in her nightmares now. Maybe it’d bring her back…

   He gets lost in the music, greying curls tousled by the wind, his green flannel clinging to his flexed biceps, broken military watch glistening in the dying orange sky. Just when he starts to get drowned out by the screaming voices in his head, a soft, lilty voice pulls him from the darkness.

   “Hey.”

   His head snaps up and his calloused fingers still from the sudden intrusion. When he sees who it is, he freezes in place. His jaw locked, eyes wide, teeth clenched together. It’s you. The pretty bartender who caught his eye the moment he stepped into Tipsy Bison that first he arrived in Jackson.

   There you are. Hair blowing gently in the brisk breeze, doe eyes locked on his, a half-smile curled against your glossy red lips. Jesus. You’re even more beautiful with the orange sun shining down on you, casting halos over the crown of your head. 

   You’re absolutely breathtaking.

   “Haven’t seen you around Tipsy Bison lately. Was wondering where you’ve been.” You look at him intently, questions spiraling in those pretty shades of moonlit eyes. 

   “Been a little busy, I guess,” he mumbles, keeping his fingers locked tight around the neck of the guitar. 

   “Got your whiskey waiting for you behind the bar. Been saving it just for you,” you smile sweetly, nearly making him drop to his knees at the sight.

   “Thanks, darlin’. You don’t gotta do that, though. Might as well jus’ give it to someone else,” he sighs, eyes dropping to his denim-clad lap. It’s been a while since he went and drowned his sorrows at the bar. He’d rather just do it in the comfort of his own home. A home that was empty now except for him.

   “You okay?” you ask, voice leery as your eyebrows thread together in worry. 

   “’m fine,” he states lowly, eyes hollow and weathered from the pain he wears like weights under his eyes day after day. He’s not fine. He’s far from fine. 

   When’s the last time someone asked if he was fine? He can’t even remember.

   “You don’t sound fine. You look… sad.” Your voice is quiet, subdued, and your eyes look like clouded skies with hurricanes and thunderstorms brewing ominously. You look just as sad as he feels. 

   You’re so empathetic and tuned into other people’s feelings. He wishes you’d stop that. Stop looking at him like he deserves to not feel like that. But again, It’s hard to look away when a beautiful girl who’s kind, caring, and all around good is standing right in front of him, asking him if he’s alright.

   “Reckon I am sad,” he finally mutters, eyes cast down to the fading paint of the wooden boards on the porch. But then he looks up again, and there you are. Beautiful eyes swallowing him whole.

   “You want to talk about it?” You lean against the stairwell on the porch, eyes boring into his, arms crossed over your soft blue jacket.

   He shakes his head and sighs. “Darlin’, I really don’t think you wanna sit here and listen to an old man talk ‘bout how he’s feelin’.”

   You shift your weight and flex your jaw, like he just punched you right in the gut. Fuck. He’s already ruining everything, but what you say next surprises him. “I’ve got time.”

   He stares at you a moment, feeling like he just got struck by lightning. You want to stay and listen? You’ve got time?

   “Why don’t you take a seat then? I don’t wanna bore you with my problems. And God forbid I waste more of your time,” he murmurs.

   You shuffle your way up the steps and sit slowly into the wooden rocking chair next to him. The one he crafted by hand. “Like I said, I’ve got time. I’m listening.” You smile softly at him, and he can’t help but to memorize the outline of your pretty face. Your deep dimples that appear whenever you’re grinning, your light freckles scattered across your nose. The ones you get from sitting out in the sun for too long. You always did love the sunlight. That’s something he picked up on quickly.

   He’s watched you for so long from a distance. Only really saying hi if he was stopping by the Tipsy Bison for a drink, maybe waving at you when you walked past him on the street, the casual back and forth glances the two of you would exchange every once in a while. 

   He’s shy, reserved, an introverted man that likes his space. But he’d have no problem sharing his space with you. Especially when you wear that flowery lavender scent that magnetizes him to you.

   After a moment of comfortable silence, he huffs out a heavy breath and begins. “Look, I’m not the best at talkin’. Especially ‘bout how I’m feelin’. But let’s make this short ‘n sweet. I know you got better places to be.”

   You lean back into the slant of the chair and rest your arm on the smooth armrest, smiling over at him with your sweet demeanor. “I don’t have anywhere to be, Joel. So take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

   He sets his guitar down and leans it against the edge of the porch, carefully scooting back into the worn chair. His thumb taps nervously against the armrest, but you just stay quiet and keep your eyes on him. It helps him breathe a little easier, he thinks. 

   Taking his time chewing over the words, he finally spills them. “I’ve made some stupid mistakes in the past that I can’t fix. No matter what I do, nothin’ is gonna change what happened.”

   You knit your eyebrows together like you’re mulling it over, guessing what he could be talking about. The way you bite your bottom lip and flick your eyes between the open mailbox that says Miller’s and back his way says you do know. “Are you talking about Ellie?” you ask hesitantly.

   “How did you know…”

   You shrug and push a piece of fallen hair behind the slope of your ear. He wishes he could be the one doing that. “This town is small, Joel. I notice things. It’s not a secret Ellie moved in with Dina.”

   He sighs deeply and pushes his fingers back through his slick hair, letting the tousled curls fall back into place. “Guess gossip gets ‘round fast here. Shit.” He lets his head hang low, cursing under his breath when he thinks about the way Ellie stormed off that day. She said she never wanted to speak to him again, and it hurt just as much as Sarah’s death.

   Your voice jolts him out of those dark thoughts. “Have you talked to her lately?”

   He clenches his jaw and shakes his head defeatedly, tears lining the back of his eyes as pain radiates down his spine. “It’s been over two months. She can’t even stand to look me in the eyes. Fuckin’ hates me, and it’s all my fault.”

   And there you go again. Looking at him like a lost puppy with those big doe eyes of yours. You make him so soft. Nobody else can do that. Not since Tess.

   “I don’t think she hates you.” 

   You place your dainty hand on the back of his for a few seconds. Warmth shoots through his skin, races down his bloodstream, nearly chokes him up when you retrieve it and place it back in your lap. In just those few seconds, he felt what it would be like if you were his. But that couldn’t happen. You’re far too young for him, a twenty-four year age gap, fresh out of your twenties. Just now thirty. You’re too pretty, too out of his league, too good. 

   You’re just too good for him. He’d never deserve a woman like you. Not after everything he’s done. 

   I don’t think she hates you. The words permeate and sizzle deep in his brain.

   “No? Well, sweetheart, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but that jus’ ain’t the case,” he scoffs, kicking the heel of his worn boot into the porch to get his point across. 

   You twist your fingers together nervously and look up at him, sparkling eyes shining like starlight. “You know she asks about you, right?”

   His mouth gawks open, and he stares wonderstruck at you. “What?” He can’t believe his ears. “She… asks ‘bout me?”

   A faint smile lifts over your red lips. “Yeah. She sometimes comes up to me at the bar and asks if you’ve been in recently or if I’ve talked to you lately. She wonders about you, Joel.”

   His mouth feels like sandpaper, throat dry and closed up. Maybe the dry air will suffocate him before he gets his hopes up. “Why would she do that…”

   You shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s not my business to ask, but I don’t think she’ll stay away forever, Joel. No matter what you did or how bad you think it is, she’ll come around. I know she will.”

   His grip tightens against the armrest, nails digging like claws into the rustic wood. “I dunno. She really stuck it to me to leave her alone. Don’t think she wants me ‘round anymore. S’why I stayed away. She’ll never forgive me…” His voice is strained, sad, choked up like he forgot how to breathe. He wishes she’d forgive him. Just one word from her. That’s all he wants.

   “Give her time, Joel. I know she will,” you say encouragingly as the wind laces through your silky hair, blowing it just enough for him to see the pretty blush painting your cheeks pink.

   You’re so fucking beautiful.

   His deep bravado voice drops an octave as he looks up through glassy eyes at the sunshine of a woman sitting before him. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

   You just shrug and smile. “I just know, okay?”

   “Mmm.” Sitting back in his rocking chair, he thinks and thinks over your encouraging words, analyzing them like tiny jigsaw pieces. A puzzle that just can’t be put together. You never were the type to linger on sadness. Never seemed to let a rainy day cloud your joy. You were always so carefree, always bringing rainbows after destructive thunderstorms. Always just there.

   Slowly, steadily, your fingers curl around his dark green flannel, hooking underneath his bicep. And your eyes, like a warm summer’s day, shine brighter than he’s ever seen them shine before. Just like shimmering sparkles under a starlit sky. Embers and all. “Hope is like a migrating butterfly. It spreads its long wings and takes off in the morning sky. The butterfly may not return to the same place for quite some time, but it always seems to come back to the place it came from. Eventually, it returns home. She’ll come back, Joel. Ellie will come home.”

   His eyes cloud over, foggy from the tears building in his dark brown irises. And when one slips free and slides down his cheek, falling like a raindrop and landing on top of your hand, you don’t pull away. You stay. No one else had stayed. But here you are, smiling up at him like he’s the center of your gravity. Like he’s worth something to you. 

   And then something happens. Something he hasn’t done in so long. He smiles. He smiles at the pretty girl that turned his entire birthday upside down. He smiles because you stayed when no one else did.

   You stayed.

   “Think you jus’ might’ve struck some hope inside me after that speech, darlin’,” he drawls, brown eyes sparkling into yours.

   “Glad I could be of service,” you giggle, your hand brushing over the fabric of his soft flannel. And there you go. Giving him that breathtaking smile. He wishes you’d never leave.

   “Look at you. Ruinin’ my plans of sulkin’ for the rest of the evenin’.”

   You tilt your head and give him that look. A look like you want to drown out all his sorrows. “Why are you sulking in the first place?”

   Sighing loudly, he rakes a hand slowly down his patchy beard and stares out into the void of the green and yellow leaves littering the ground. “‘Cause it’s my birthday. And I got nothin’ to celebrate.”

   You sit forward in your seat, drawing your hand back to your lap and staring all wide-eyed at him like you just can’t believe he’d be alone. “It’s your birthday?”

   “Mhm,” he hums, feeling the excruciating pain of losing Ellie all over again. 

   “What are you doing spending it alone, then?” you whisper, heartbreaking eyes tearing his soul in two.

   He pushes a hand painfully slow through his windblown curls and takes a deep breath as he thinks of that stupid fight he and Tommy got in. “Me and Tommy had a fight the other day. Reckon he doesn't wanna see me for a few more days after that. Maria’s on Tommy’s side. And Ellie… well. You know. Needless to say, I got no one to celebrate with.”

   Silence permeates through the cool air, a deafening noise that rings through his ears. He wishes you’d say something, anything. Break the lull that hangs like a thick, impenetrable wall in the sky. Maybe you too are having second thoughts of being here alone with him in his suffering.

   “Can you just… wait here for a few minutes?” you ask, pushing yourself up and hanging over the thresholds of his rickety porch.

   He takes a minute to digest your words, thinking you won’t come back. “I suppose. Not goin’ anywhere. Why?” he asks hesitantly, his voice hoarse from the thought of you disappearing too.

   “Just wait here. There’s something I forgot,” you plea, your pretty smile telling him you’ll be back.

   Before you take a step off the porch, he stops you. “You don’t have to, you know. Come back, I mean.”

   You give him a small smile, your hair blowing softly in the wind, tangling around your beautiful face. An angel cast in shadows from the purple and pink painted sunlit skies. “Nobody deserves to be alone on their birthday, Joel. Not even you,” you say in a soft, lilty voice. 

   You hang there a second, just watching each other. Waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what. And eventually, you take that step off the porch. “Be right back! Just wait here,” you shout, running off into the sunset.

   “Alright,” he whispers, watching you go. And then you disappear down the street, practically sprinting back to your house or back to the bar. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he hopes you come back. 

   Please, come back. 

   He fidgets in his chair, trying his best not to pull out the greys from his tousled curls. His chest feels tight, like his button-up shirt is stifling the chilly air all around him. He feels choked up, like something is lodged deep in his throat. Feels like he drank too much whiskey, palms sweating against his jeans. 

   Lord knows he shouldn’t feel like this. Shouldn’t act like this means anything. But what if it does? What if this is everything he’s waited for? He shouldn’t yearn for you, shouldn’t pine mindlessly for the pretty bartender that’s way too young for him to be falling for. But he fell head over heels the first moment you said hi to him in the bar. Your smooth fingertips brushing against his when you passed him a glass of whiskey. It felt like fire smothering his insides, igniting dangerous feelings that he should’ve never developed in the first place. 

   He shouldn’t have fallen for you, but he did. And now, he was wrecked. 

   You come walking back just minutes later, your hands behind your back, something hidden behind your jacket. And when you make your way back up to the porch, you hold out a single muffin with a blue birthday candle placed right in the center.

   “What’s this?” he asks, eyes wide as you place it in the palm of his hand.

   “A blueberry muffin. I just made them this morning. I hope you like blueberries. It’s not much, but it was made with love and care. So here, something sweet that I hope will brighten up your day.” 

   He stares in awe at the fluffy muffin, blueberries scattered around the pastry. His eyes mist over, tears licking at the edges, threatening to spill at any moment. He’s not used to this kind of treatment. Someone being nice, thoughtful, acting like he’s special. 

   He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

   “Th—thank you…” he chokes out, holding back tears.

   “Happy birthday, Joel,” you smile, lighting the candle and making shadows cast over his palm from the flame. “Make a wish.”

   “Think it already came true…” he whispers. 

   Your eyes meet, tension thick in the air, smiles bouncing off each other's mouths. And when he blows out the flame, you give him a quick, fleeting kiss to the cheek. A kiss that’ll surely never wash off his skin. It’ll stick like permanent ink until his mouth hangs over yours.

   “You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?” he asks, his skin tinged red from the blush you’ve painted over his tanned skin. 

   “Sweeter than a shaker of sugar?” you giggle out. A laugh that sounds like music to his ears.

   “Sweeter than sugar, darlin’,” he confirms with a wide grin.

   His hand finds yours, lacing his fingers through until your warmth is mixing with his. And as the sun goes down, stars igniting the sky in glitter, you lean your head on his shoulder while you tell him stories of your past. He could listen to you all night. He thinks he could listen to you forever. 

   You stay there until midnight, fingers entwined together, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, memorizing your perfect smile and dazzling eyes. And just before you go, he pulls you in for a kiss. A kiss that could make the entire world stop. Because in that moment, on your soft lips, he thinks he found heaven. 

   Just as you turn to go, a figure emerges from the dark shadows, leaving him breathless and dumbstruck from the sight. He rubs his eyes, figuring he’s seeing things. Maybe the sleepless nights have finally got to him. But your encouraging smile says it’s real.

   “Joel, look. She came back,” you smile, eyes glossy just like his are now. 

   She hesitates out in the road, jaw locked and eyes watery. Those big hazel eyes haven’t changed a bit. 

   Ellie. She came back. She’s here…

   And just like a butterfly, she spreads her wings and waves, mouthing happy birthday as she lingers by the open mailbox. But that’s enough. That’s one step to fixing a promise he broke. 

   “Ellie,” he calls, voice cracking as tears drop down his face. 

   “Joel,” she nods, giving him a half-smile. “Can I… can I come in?” she asks hesitantly.

   “‘Course you can, kiddo.”

   And it’s then, right at that moment, where everything fell back into place. Right when she stepped back into his life. He has a feeling you had something to do with it, but he’ll thank you for that later. Maybe tomorrow when he stops by your house and asks for some more blueberry muffins. 

You did not remember the rest of the watch, just the gentle shake of Joel’s hand and murmured words, the touch of his hand as he led you toward the tent. 

His shoulders were tense beneath the fabric of his worn t-shirt, so tense that it woke you instantly.

“What’s the matter?” your voice slurred with sleep.

“Nothin’,” he assured you, turning back to touch your shoulder. “I promise. Take’em boots and gun off,” Joel told you, bending down to shake Tommy. 

For all that Tommy slept like the dead, he was alert instantly, gun in hand. 

You reached for your backpack and hesitated. The pajamas you’d worn and ran through Austin were filthy, sweat-stained and muddy. You didn’t feel like putting them back on until they’d been thoroughly washed. 

“See anythin’?”

“Nah, just some frogs.”

Tommy’s chuckle and the light of his flashlight dimmed as he ducked out of the tent, zipping it up behind him.

In the darkness, Joel was shrugging off his blue jeans and had folded them up at the end of the sleeping bag Tommy had just vacated, so you took yours off too. You pulled off your shirt and sports bra, digging for a clean shirt in your bag to sleep in. 

You undid your braid, pulling your brush through the few tangles until it was soft to the touch. Joel was putting his own gun holster and knife at the top of the sleeping bag, within easy reach, and moving Tommy’s sleeping back closer to the zipped door of the tent. You took yours and slipped off the elastic, unwinding it and laying it out on the tarped floor of the tent. 

Joel had picked a couple of good ones; they were flannel inside and some sort of weather-proof coating outside, so at least you wouldn’t be wet if the tent leaked sometime. The flannel would come in handy during the winter months too.

As it was, the heat of the day had fled, bringing with it the crisp coolness of a summer night. Still hotter than you liked to sleep, but better than the daytime temperatures. 

“Is it - would it be okay if I,” he held a hand out toward your sleeping bag, heavily shadowed in the light of the flashlight. 

“If you what?”

“Slept… there.”

“Next to me?”

“Yes.”

The flush you’d seen earlier in the truck was back, creeping up his neck and turning his ears pink. 

You could see him now, eyes adjusted to the darkness of the tent. He brushed his hand over the back of his head in exasperation and fidgeted at the collar of his shirt. His head and shoulders turned away from your figure. “I’d -” a deep breath. “I’d sleep better if you were close,” he confessed. 

You waited, breath catching in your throat. Just as you opened your mouth, he spoke haltingly, as if each word was carefully picked over.

“Not - not like, together, or cuddling or – but just –”

“Near? Touching?” you finished.

He exhaled, relief settling in the way his shoulders relaxed.

“Yeah. Just in case.” 

The words may have been hard for him, but the actions were not. Joel straightened out the sleeping bag Tommy had left unzipped, making a full sized blanket to sleep on. You unzipped yours and spread it as the top blanket before snuggling under it and waiting.

The neck pillow you’d snagged from the gas station was there and you scooted it toward Joel’s side. He held up the sleeping bag and slid in, resting his head on the small pillow and reaching an arm up to check that the rifle was still there.

It was awkward at first; you couldn’t remember the last time you had just laid with a man in bed, much less a man you were attracted to. Your mind wandered back, last spring, maybe? One of Matt’s brothers?

Matt. Matt had been fighting with Amy that weekend, and you’d gone on a double date to smooth things over, but it hadn’t worked so well. Amy had –

Oh, Amy. Instead of the smile she’d worn as the two of you downed ice cream one of the many times she’d dumped Matt, you could see the blood from the cut on her forehead mixing with the blood from the bullet hole in her forehead, sliding down her face.

You hadn’t said goodbye. When was the last time you’d said you loved her?

The hole in your chest threatened to swallow you at once with no anchor to tie you anywhere but the darkness. You inhaled sharply, tears already threatening to spill from your eyes.

It had been in the bathroom at the bar, before she’d danced with Tommy. She’d looked at you with her eyes glazed over and kissed your cheek. “You’re my best friend,” she’d slurred. 

“Always,” you’d smirked back. “I love you, A.”

“And I love you!” she’d gushed back, handing you her clutch as she reached for his hand. 

Oh, God, if you’d only known…

“Hey, hey,” Joel shushed, one arm slipping beneath your head and gathering you to his side. “Easy now, darlin’.”

His large hand was there on your cheek, thumb stroking back the tears that you hadn’t even known were spilling over. His hands were callused and rough with use, but there was a strength there. The strength of hard work, the strength of I have no choice.

“I - I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I–”

“Shh,” he answered. He whispered your name, softly and tentatively. “I - I know.”

“I just… I should’ve - should’ve wiped her for-forehead off.” you were trembling all over with the effort of not screaming the words. 

“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he sighed, lips against your forehead. His hand on your cheek stilled, tipping your face up to his, a face you could not see, but your mind could map as clear as your own hands. His other arm tucked you to him as he rolled over to face you, his hand resting gently on your waist. 

“You can’t go there. You just can’t do that. I’ve been - i’ve been doin’ it all day and it’s eatin’ me alive. I don’t want you doin’ that to yourself too.” 

The words were every bit as hard for him as they had been earlier, but the restraint was slipping. You could hear the emotion within them, spilling out from the lock he had on them.

“It’s not your fault, Joel,” you murmured. You turned your head and kissed his open palm. The shiver that ran through his body was unexpected, but comforting. “It’s not your fault.”

“And it isn’t yours either, sweetheart.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

He sighed, his chest expanding against yours. His hand left your cheek and began to stroke your hair. “I am too. ‘M not gonna say it’ll be okay and it’s alright, you’re smarter’n that,” the twang was there, overlaying the seriousness of the words. “But I’m here. Tommy’s here. You are here – with me, us.”

And as you snuggled down into his arms, you meant with every fiber of your being when you told him, “That’s enough. We are together.”

When daylight spilled through the trees and into the tent, Joel was gone. 

The neck pillow was under your head and you could still feel the warmth of his body in the sleeping bags, but the jeans, boots, and weapons were gone. 

The rational part of your brain knew that he was just outside the tent, but the irrational part of your brain was driving.

And it panicked.

You leapt out of the sleeping bags and fumbled for the zipper of the tent, almost breaking it in your haste to have it open. The zip it made grated on your already fraying nerves and as soon as there was a hole big enough for you to climb through, you pushed through it, tripping as you went and landing on your hands and knees. 

You heard your name and jerked your head up to see Tommy and Joel standing beside the tailgate, the large atlas spread on it.

Unbidden tears spilled over then as you sat back on your haunches. Gasping breaths stole from between your lips as you tried to calm. Your hands were shaking as you brought them to your hair.

Joel was there, hoisting you up to his chest and holding you tightly. “Hey now. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You were - y’all were - just - gone,” you sputtered. “And I - I thought –”

Joel squeezed you tighter. “We ain’t gone nowhere,” he soothed you much like a child, smoothing your hair back and muttering in your ear. You could feel the rasp of his mustache and the long stubble against the shell of your ear. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, you’re okay.” 

After a few moments, the vice of your panic began to release its hold on your chest. Taking deep breaths in time with Joel’s, you gradually released his shirt, almost embarrassed by the creases left by your sweaty, grasping palms.

Tommy had retreated around the truck, popping the hood and muttering to himself about oil changes. “Why’d he take off?”

Joel looked up, hands tightening on your back, just a fraction, but enough. “To give us – you – some privacy.”

“What for?”

He pulled back and looked down, smirking. You’d forgotten you’d shucked off your jeans and bra before sleeping the night before. You stood in front of both men in a t-shirt and panties.

“Oh,” you could feel the blush staining and heating your cheeks. “Sorry.”

He kissed your forehead, lips tilted in a crooked smile. “Go get dressed. We’ll eat some breakfast and pack the truck.”

You dressed quickly, ending with lacing up the boots and fastening the thigh holster as you’d felt Joel do the night before. You ran a brush through your hair and left it down since you’d be riding in the cab today. You zipped up the sleeping bags, rolled them up, and set them to the side. Joel’s rucksack was there, so you took the time to pack away the flashlight and anything else left out from the night before. 

When you emerged, the men had pulled everything out of the bed and backseat of the truck. Everything that had to do with maintenance of the truck was pushed in the back first, then came the camping gear. They took the tent down, packed it up, then the sleeping bags. Everything was carefully tied down and covered with the two tarps in case of rain.

In the backseat, Joel put the two extra rifles, bow, and most of the ammo boxes under the seat. He took one box for each of your guns and stuffed them in the glove compartment and console for easy reach. 

The rucksacks were repacked. Tommy and Joel’s clothing were stuffed into one, the other for practical things that were too small or light to go in the bed, including most of the foodstuffs. They left your backpack on top of the seat. 

You could tell that they both felt better just for knowing where everything was in the truck and their ease put you at ease. 

“We should get close to Texarkana before lunch,” Tommy commented. “We push it and we can be in Tennessee by nightfall.”

“Can doesn’t mean we will,” Joel muttered. “500 miles on the interstates is a lot different than the backroads and two lanes.”

“We could be in Kentucky tomorrow though?” you asked, trying hard to keep the hope out of your voice.

“Hopefully,” Tommy answered. “But we’ll be goin’ around Little Rock and Memphis. Who knows what it’s like there.”

It was enough of a heading. You could see that everyone felt better just by having something to do, to hope for.

Every hour, Joel checked the radio stations and every hour they were met with either silence or static. AM, FM, didn’t seem to matter. 

Joel tried to stop at any gas stations he saw, mostly to see if the pumps would still work (most did), and while Tommy filled up, you and Joel searched. When you found a CB Radio in an abandoned vehicle, Joel was ecstatic and more hopeful than you’d seen him - surely someone would know what was going on or what to do. 

Excited, the three of you finished fueling, using the restroom, and installing the CB on the dashboard. 

“Which channel is emergency broadcasts?” Joel asked, fiddling with the wires.

“Nine, I think,” Tommy answered.

“Y’ever used one?” Joel asked you, looking in the rearview.

You shook your head. “Dad did whenever he was on the road but not me. Have you?”

Joel and Tommy both nodded. “Granddad used to drive a truck. During the summer, we got to go with.”

Joel pulled away from the gas station, face etched in a smile as he drove. You leaned up from the middle seat, resting a hand on each man’s shoulders and squeezing, but it was Joel’s dark brown eyes you met in the mirror. 

Tommy held the microphone handset and pushed the button to speak. “10-32, 10-32. Ears on? Anybody’s ears on?”

He let go and paused. “Come again, 10-32?”

The silence was deafening. He turned to each channel in turn, repeating the same code. After the third, you whispered, “What’s that mean?”

“It’s a radio-check and asking if anyone’s listening,” Joel explained. 

At channel eight, static came back through with a deep, croaky voice sounded through with what you thought was a midwestern accent. “Copy 10-32, we hear you loud and clear, over.”

All three of you smiled and laughed. You squeezed their shoulders again as the three of you looked at each other.

“There’s someone else out there,” you squealed.

The croaky voice came through again. “What’s your 20?”

Tommy pressed the button again. “Half a day ride from Texarkana and headed northwest.”

“Comin’ from the Big D or Houston?”

“Neither. Austin.”

Silence on the line. The three of you stared at one another.

“Austin, come back?”

“Copy. Austin, Texas.”

There was a hesitancy in the voice when it spoke. “We heard it was levelled.”

Tommy closed his eyes. “Confirmed. We watched it happen.”

“True that military did it?”

“Affirmative,” Tommy answered. He let go of the button as he cleared his throat, then, “Bomber jets. Wasn’t nuclear or anythin’ but it did the damage. What’s your 20, friend?”

“Comin’ south from the Windy City by way of Nebraska.”

“What should I even ask?” Tommy asked the two of you. “There’s so much –”

“Need to make sure the way’s clear,” Joel answered, hands tight on the wheel. 

As Tommy lifted the walkie, another voice came through. “This ‘ere’s Angry Bull – New Orleans is flattened.”

The first voice you had heard came through again. “10-4 Bull. Name’s Timber, Chicago wasn’t much better. Who’s the radio check? What’s your handle?”

Joel took the walkie from his brother’s hands. You watched the way his large hand palmed the walkie, fingers stretching around it, the gentle stretch of them as he pressed the button to speak. “Not truckers, just desperate to hear from someone else. Been radio silent since yesterday and haven’t seen a single soul.”

“Copy,” Timber answered. 

“How’d you get out of Austin?” Bull asked. Where Timber was croaky, Bull was low and rough.

“Shot our way out,” Joel answered tersely.

“10-9?”

“That means repeat,” Tommy whispered.

“Repeat, we shot our way out. Military was all over it.”

“It true they killed civilians?” Bull asked, softly. “I was on the road all day yesterday, I only saw the pile ups.”

“Yeah,” Joel’s voice and hand shook. “They shot anybody they thought was sick, so we shot back to escape.”

“Alright then, Shooter,” Timber responded. “What’s your destination?”

“Kentucky,” Joel answered. “Anybody been up that way?”

“Negative.” 

“Negative.”

A new voice came through. “Mannnn, Bull! Am I glad to hear from you, son!”

“That King?”

“Affirmative.”

“Whewwwww, we worried we lost ya, bud! King, you been through Kentucky at all?”

“Negative,” King answered. His voice was raspier than the rest, a product of years of cigarettes, you guessed. “Stopped outside Nashville and heard some talk though.”

“Come on,” Joel’s voice was tight.

“Plane touched down at Nashville airport and damn near everybody but the pilot was infected. He opened the cockpit and they just descended. Tore the fuckin’ plane apart and ran through the airport quick as shit. FEDRA shut down the whole goddamn city but it was too late. Now every fuckin’ road in or around Nashville is blocked.”

Joel narrowed his eyes, glancing between the radio and the road. He looked at Tommy, then you. “FEDRA?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Fuck is FEDRA?” Joel asked into the walkie.

This time Bull came through. “Those dumb fucks from the government. Federal Disaster Response Agency or some shit.”

Then King again, “10-4. Fella I talked to says they came through Nashville with dozers and tanks, shootin’ up everybody whether they was infected or not. Surprised they didn’t bomb’em like Austin if that’s what they were doin’.”

“How?” Joel asked. “How’d they get the muscle for some shit like that? Don’t make no sense.”

Timber’s voice was hollow. “Shooter, the government’s been turned over to’em. Won’t be long before it’s official, I’m sure of it.”

“So what’s the plan then?” Joel barked. “They just gonna kill everybody to contain this shit? They’ll be the only ones left standin’.”

“Might be the point,” Tommy breathed.

“Heard about some quarantine zones,” King answered. “Heard they were startin’ in on Dallas, flip your direction and head back the way you came, hoss.”

“Negative,” Joel said smoothly. “Need to find people in Kentucky.”

“People?” 

“Yeah, got a woman with us lookin’ for her family.” His eyes met yours in the rearview.

“Hate to be this’a way, but you might oughta tell your woman it ain’t worth your lives,” King answered again. “FEDRA’s been settin’ up roadblocks and check points everywhere, far as I’ve heard.”

“What kind of checkpoints?”

“Not sure - ain’t ran into one yet. If I do, I’ll radio back.”

The others confirmed they hadn’t as well. 

“Boys, I’m 10 in the wind.”

At your eyebrow raise, Joel explained. “Means he’ll have the radio on for emergency, but he ain’t gonna be talkin’ unless it’s important.”

“10-4,” Bull answered.

“Copy that.”

“Shooter – keep the channel on in case we hear something. We check in every day 3pm Eastern time, copy?”

“Copy that.”

With that, the channel went dead. 

Joel had cut through as many backroads as he could see on the atlas, but it seemed that everything leading into Tennessee was fucked, just as the truckers had said. 

They’d had luck through Arkansas and had bypassed Little Rock and Pine Bluff (with help from the truckers on the CB), venturing into the northwestern part of Mississippi. But they’d needed to go through or around Memphis and Joel couldn’t find a way in.

He was frustrated and it only increased every time he had to turn around at a blocked road. Trees downed, live and sparking electrical wires and transformers that lay in the roads, car pile-ups, all of it only served to block your way and piss him off.

Even the more sparsely populated roads and towns; it seemed like everyone knew they were headed to Memphis and that was the specific route others were going to take or destroy. 

He was wound tightly; all of you were. It was a roadtrip from hell. 

“Did you take a lot of roadtrips as kids?” you asked, able to stand the tense silence no longer.

Tommy’s head perked up a little and there was a hint of a smile. “As kids, yeah.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Beach, usually Galveston.”

“How far was it?”

“Mmm, ‘bout three hours or so.”

“But not as adults?”

He shrugged. “Too busy workin’ for a livin’. I think the last time I went was in college. ‘Member that, Joel?”

He nods, the tight line of his mouth softening. “Sarah was about three. She –”

Everyone held their breath, overcome with memories and pain. Joel grunts and turns toward the window, his left elbow leaned on the door and his hand on his face, right hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

But sitting in the middle of the backseat, all you could offer was a touch of your hand on Joel’s shoulder. He tensed, but he didn’t shrug you off. When your eyes met Tommy’s, they were swimming with tears.

The FEDRA check point was surprising only in its location; the truckers had warned Joel that more were popping up, especially as the interstates and highways were being shut down or cleared. Joel knew it was coming at some point, but a two-lane at the edge of Arkansas wouldn’t have been his guess.

There were no other vehicles besides the heavy-duty military that cut off the road. The ditches on either side of the blacktop didn’t even leave a foot of gravel for the shoulder; there was no going around them, no escape. 

Joel looked over to Tommy. Their looks of concern were mirrored. 

You’d fallen asleep less than an hour before, curled up against the back window. “Do we wake her?” Tommy asked, voice low and rough. Bracing. 

Joel eased on the brakes as he approached. He saw you there in the rearview, even in sleep your brow was furrowed with stress. “No. Not until we have to. I don’t wanna worry her.”

His grip on the steering wheel was tight again; his shoulders were up around his ears with tension. He wanted a cigarette just to have something to do with his hands. Maybe he should’ve woken you and let your hand rest against the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Play it cool,” Tommy advised. “You look nervous as fuck.”

“I am nervous as fuck.”

We ain’t sick.”

“Not sure it’ll stop’em,” Joel muttered, remembering Sarah and Amy.

Tommy flinched, but there was no time for retort. The soldiers had radios on their shoulders and were already lowering their heads to talk into them. Their M-16s were glinting in the sun; Joel hoped they weren’t trigger-happy.

A soldier in Army camo and a very heavy artillery weapon came to the driver door and rested the muzzle of the weapon in the open window. 

“Mind pointin’ that somewhere else?” his jaw was clenched tight, but the words still spewed the venom that he wanted.

“No,” the soldier’s name tag said Henderson. “Need everyone out for inspection.”

“Inspection?” Joel raised his eyebrows. “We ain’t sick.”

“Won’t know that ‘till we inspect, sorry boys,” he looked back at you, “everyone.”

“This is bullshit,” Joel growled. 

A long arm reached back to take your shoulder, Tommy wanting to gently wake you, but Officer Henderson beat him, beating hard on the window of the extended cab.

You jerked awake, eyes wide with panic and terror, reaching down to where your thigh holster should have been. The twinge of pride in his chest shocked him a little; your first thought was to protect yourself, and he liked that you were making use of something he taught you.

“What’s –”

“Inspection,” Henderson’s voice was blunt. “Out.”

“We’re not sick,” Tommy whispered. “We just need to show them and then we can move on.”

Several officers came up, all wearing the same camo with a “FEDRA” patch on their arms and the same M-16s. One held something that looked like a huge block cell phone with a large green screen.

Henderson backed away as Joel swung open the drivers door and got out. He reached for the small door of the extended cab and opened it too. You stepped down right in front of him, chest to chest, looking up at him with fearful eyes. 

“It’s just a checkpoint,” his voice was flatter than he hoped. 

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your middle.

Tommy had come around the back of the truck and Joel knew that he was slyly checking that the tarps were tied down, giving away nothing that was in the back. Knowing what the truckers had said about these fucks, they’d take the resources just because they could.

Once Joel shut the door, he didn’t fail to note the way Officer Henderson’s eyes trailed your body, lingering on the gray UK t-shirt you wore and the way that your crossed arms unknowingly drew attention to your chest. 

Dread pooled in his stomach and he felt his hands clenching into fists. This was not going to go well.

“Here’s how this works,” Henderson said, “we check ya for bites or scratches, then we check yer blood,” he pointed to the blocky cellphone. “Everything checks out, yer free to go.”

“And if it doesn’t?” you asked, lifting your chin.

Henderson readjusted his gun in his grip. “Then it’s quick, I promise you that, ma’am.”

Joel could feel his lips tightening at the gleam in Henderson’s eyes. He saw Tommy out of his peripheral, the tension in his shoulders giving away his own feelings about it.

“Mayfew, Currier,” two soldiers took a step forward, “take’em each for the search.”

“You,” Henderson pointed at you with a villainous smile, “with me.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Joel snarled. “We stay together.”

His hands were not gentle as they grabbed you, but fierce as he moved your body behind yours, between him and the truck, and he could feel Tommy falling in line to Joel’s left. They could see what that gleam meant.

“Standard procedure,” the officer said, holding up one hand in defense.

“For what purpose?” Tommy barked.

The officer paused and you saw a smile break out on his face. He tightened the weapon in his grip. “Part of procedure is checking for bites and scratches. Disrobing is the quickest way too-”

There were a lot of things Joel wanted to do. The first one was to knock this fucker’s teeth down his goddamn throat. He knew where that would lead, though. The only thing he could do that wouldn’t result in getting shot and leaving you to the mercy of these FEDRA fucks was glare.

So he did.

And whenever Henderson noticed, he cut off mid-sentence.

You reached for the hem of your t-shirt but Tommy’s hand came to your shoulder. He jerked his head, “That fella there don’t seem to think it’s procedure.”

The first officer looked over at his companion, holding the cell phone thing. He was fake politeness, his voice making your skin crawl. “Ah, Private Reynolds. I forgot we have the scanner now. The strip search has been rendered optional.”

“Just happened ta forget that little memo, huh?” Tommy’s voice was icy.

Joel was beyond words. The fury that lined its way up his throat disgusted him because there was nothing to do with it. He’d only get killed, Tommy would die trying to defend or revenge him. Then where would you be?

Reynolds approached Joel step by step, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, barely enough facial hair to cover his chin. The boy was terrified, that was clear, his hands held up in defense. “You’ll feel a slight pinch, then the reading is instant.”

He pressed it to Joel’s skin. The screen was dark for a second, then flashed green. He pressed it to Tommy’s arm, then green.

When it was your turn, Reynolds just stood, staring at Joel, his hands quivering. “Sir - I -”

“What?” he spat.

“Joel,” your voice was soft, like how someone would approach a feral animal. Your hands reached up to his shoulder, gently squeezing. “He needs to test me.” 

The words made sense, but he wasn’t sure what he should –”

“You’re in the way,” you whispered. 

He jolted to the side, mumbling an apology to the officer.

It pinched and you jerked, and Joel knew it was just the needle. He knew it was just the stupid fuckin’ test, but his nerves were already shot and there was just a need thrumming through him.

Protect protect protect.

Keep her safe keep her safe keep her safe.

He kept his mouth shut tight, hands clenched into fists at his side. She was safe, goddamn it.

And then the fucking screen was red.

That meant –

Oh no.

The air rushed from his chest and everything was tight and fast and he –

Oh God, not again, please.

The soldiers all rushed at the sound the red screen made, surrounding them and pressing them back into the driver’s side of the truck. 

Somewhere you were trying to calm them all, to calmly explain that you weren’t sick, but that didn’t matter to any of the men in front of them, weapons and eyes trained on you at Joel’s side.

One of the camo-covered arms reached for you, but Joel was quicker, he pulled you behind him again, arms spread wide around you, fuckin’ daring anyone but his brother to get close.

“We have to–”

“Over my dead fuckin’ body,” he seethed. “She aint sick, point those goddamn guns SOMEWHERE ELSE!”

He didn’t know if it was the volume or the tone of what he said, but they took a step back, a couple lowering weapons, but more not. 

You had pressed into his back, quivering with fear and he knew if he looked at you, he would see that fear.

The same fear thrumming through his veins.

Protect protect protect.

“Check her again,” he bit out, eyes scanning each of them to see if anyone was going to make a move. 

Reynolds, with the tester clutched to his chest, looked over at Henderson.

“S-Sir?”

“I said,” Joel’s voice was quiet and laced with dark and violent promise, “check her again.”

The three of them, even with the rifles in the truck, were outgunned and outmanned. It wasn’t like Austin, where they could shoot someone and flee in the wake of the chaos.

Not only that, Joel knew for a fact that they didn’t care. There was no humanity anymore – hadn’t the last two days proven that? It was every man for himself.

“We normally –” Henderson began.

“What the fuck is normal anymore?” Tommy huffed. “Check her again.”

The silence was heady. A few of the radios buzzed from their soldiers, asking for checkins or come backs or something else fucking stupid.

“Sir,” Reynolds’s voice was very thin. “Haven’t we -” he gulped. “Haven’t we seen and done enough? Let’s just give her –”

“Fine,” Henderson’s eyes never left Joel’s. “But if she’s infected, I swear –”

“If you touch her, I will kill you here and now,” Joel promised. “If she’s infected, I won’t make it away from this road anyway, but I can swear to you that I will fuckin’ kill you.”

The fingers at his shoulder tightened. A soft gasp left your mouth.

Later, later he would think about whether or not that scared you; whether it was okay that he said that, that he felt that, that he would actually do it.

Not now.

Keep her safe keep her safe.

Reynolds edged forward, “Ma’am, can I see your other arm this time? I’ve - I don’t know this, but I’ve heard it’s better in the left.”

Joel looked down, they’d checked his left arm and Tommy’s too, but your right. 

Tentatively you stepped even with Joel and Tommy, holding out your left arm. A flinch, then an agonizing second as the test read your blood. Joel didn’t have the military training his brother did, but he was smart. He was already calculating how to get the truck door open and get you in it when –

“She’s clear,” Reynolds said with relief. “They’re not infected.”

The other men were lowering their shotguns and the tension was leaving them. “Let’em through.”

But Joel stood there, almost toe to toe with Henderson. 

“Go,” he spat, turning on his heel and heading back to the caravan of military vehicles.

Tommy called your name. “Get in the truck.”

It was hours before Joel had settled down enough to speak to either of you. 

He’d pulled over twenty minutes after leaving the check point, claiming he needed to piss, but he’d really gone out into the cover of the woods and vomited. 

There hadn’t been time to save Sarah, he knew that. He’d trusted the goodness and humanity of the person in front of him that they would use their fuckin’ head.

That trust in any other person was gone. He’d never make that mistake again. 

The only people he could trust for certain were those that waited for him in the truck. He knew you’d want to stay with your family once he found them, and he would find them, but he wasn’t sure he could pack up his brother and walk away from one of two people left in the world that he truly trusted.

As he drove, Tommy had railed about those “FEDRA fucks” for fifty miles, making CB contact and telling anyone who would listen to avoid anything going into the Memphis area at all costs. You sat quietly in the passenger seat, knees folded up to your chest.

Wasn’t it odd that last week he hadn’t known who you were, had never seen you before and hadn’t known your name? Was it odd that within such a short time, you’d gone through such tremendous trauma, and because of that trauma, he instinctively knew you could be trusted?

He didn’t even know what you were majoring in. He hadn’t the slightest idea if you’d ever wanted to get married or have kids, or if you’d even liked living in Texas. What toppings did you like on your pizza? What was your favorite movie?

These were all normal questions he would have used in the Before; questions to edge away at someone’s personality until he formed an opinion on whether or not they could be trusted. But now, he trusted you fully without knowing the answers to any of them.

Sarah had been the product of blindly trusting someone without knowing every single thing about them. He wouldn’t have traded Sarah for anything, but the betrayal of a woman leaving when he’d just given that trust away had lingered.

He hadn’t made that mistake again.

Instead of asking those small talk questions and spending time with a person to see whether or not they could be trusted, he had pushed away anyone and everyone, except Tommy and Sarah.

And now you.

He had given you his trust. Was the shared trauma a strong enough bond to justify the trust? Would you take it and run, ignorant of the depth of his trust and how much effort it normally took to give it to someone?

And what if you did?

Even if it wasn’t to purposely hurt him. What if you took his trust and his protection and held it for as long as you were with him… only to go into the care of your parents and wave to him as he left?

His trust was never meant to be temporary once he’d bestowed it on someone, especially a woman. In the best case scenario, you would stay with your parents while he and Tommy did… whatever it was they were going to do.

Your parents would probably shake his hand and thank him for returning their daughter and that would be that.

He’d be expected to walk away from a person he trusted, regardless of how that trust had come to be in the first place.

It terrified him. It fucking terrified him. 

Sarah was… god, she was gone. And you would be too.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

His head jerked to the passenger seat. “Are you?”

Deflection.

You looked down at your hands around your knees. “No. I wasn’t afraid of them, I knew we weren’t sick, but - but once that test read that I was infected, I –”

The tears that filled your eyes began to spill over, and Joel felt his chest aching. The same fear he had felt, he knew.

“They were going to kill me,” you whispered. “Not a single one of them would have cared enough past being upset that they had one less bullet.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not the point.”

“The one with the test… he was the only one with any humanity left, Joel. That is what scares me.”

It scared him too.

But you were looking to him to protect you, to get you out of this fuckin’ nightmare and he knew that a scared protector wasn’t exactly comforting to anyone.

So he moved his coffee cup from the cupholder in the console to the one in the backseat. He raised the console up and put his arm along the back of it. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

He had felt his own humanity fleeing earlier at the checkpoint. That desire within him to do whatever he’d needed to do to protect you, and he hadn’t given a fuck about any of the other people there; if they had families and lives. Only you and Tommy.

But as you curled into his side, legs tucked up under you and knees resting just on his thigh, he put his free arm around your shoulders and just held you there. Your head seemed to fit perfectly in the crutch of his shoulder. Your hand bunched in the material of his shirt, the warmth of your skin leaking into his chest, his heart. 

He could feel his own humanity slowly etching back into him, filling him up and making him human again. 

Thankfully, he had been able to avoid any other major highways as he made his way north. He wasn’t sure he could’ve handled another routine checkpoint.

He could tell you were trying not to get excited as you guided him through familiar landmarks and roads. “They live in the country, so hopefully it won’t be too bad,” you explained to both brothers. “Their neighbors are pretty elderly though, mostly family, so maybe we should…”

“I think we can handle that,” Tommy said. “Sweep the houses, ‘specially if they’re old.”

Joel’s breath caught, the vision of his elderly neighbor crawling for Sarah and –

“I would appreciate that,” you hummed, directing him to the turn off.

Dusk approached, but it was still light enough to see the gravel of the long driveway you pointed out. It was a longer driveway than most, picturesque as it cut through the woods for a half mile. 

A cute log house sat on a pond, it had a large garage in front, a balcony that overlooked the water and a walkout basement reinforced with rocks. You were practically vibrating in the backseat, eager to be reunited, but the same dread began to pool in Joel’s stomach. When he glanced at Tommy, he saw it there too. 

The feeling of wrongness and foreboding only expanded throughout him as Joel noticed the vehicles out in front of the home, the lack of lights on inside. Through the headlights, he could see the basement had a sliding glass door and –

“Oh no,” Joel whispered. Tommy saw the broken glass and deflated, neither man was willing to say anything though, hoping they were wrong.

Parking and leaving the headlights on, Joel got out of the truck and reached for the rifle under the backseat, clicking on the flashlight attached to the sight. “Get your gun,” he instructed you. “Follow close.”

“Maybe they’re just asleep,” your voice was small as you turned on the flashlight.

“I hope so,” Tommy agreed, his own shotgun in his hands. 

The front door was unlocked, another bad sign. Tommy tried the light switch; nothing. That wasn’t surprising, but it added to the eerie feeling. 

Just like in the gas stations, you followed Joel with your gun extended, clearing it room by room. Tommy in back, his light bootsteps a reassuring sound to Joel’s ears.

The front bedroom was empty, your sister’s things still neatly in the drawers. Not a terrible sign. Joel hadn’t any chance to pack before leaving his own home, neither had Tommy.

Your footfalls were heavier than Tommy’s - there hadn’t been enough time yet to teach you how to be quiet with your body and not just your mouth. Still, he could feel you behind him but the sound of your boots was another reassurance. 

But the steps coming down the short hall were not Tommy’s light steps or your own heavier ones. He whipped around, taking two steps before you’d even turned around fully. Tommy stood nearest the door and Joel next, sight set on whatever was approaching. It already knew you were there, surely they could see the shine of the flashlight through the open bedroom door.

Your mother’s gait was awkward; all limbs and stiff through each movement. Joel felt the air leave the room. Her eyes were bloodshot and glazed, the red veins buzzing just beneath the skin, a gray color mottled the skin of her face and arms.

“Mom?” you whispered, lowering your gun.

When her mouth opened, the same tendrils you’d seen in Joel’s neighbor extended.

“Tommy!” Joel screamed.

His arm extended toward you, about to take another step forward. He pulled you to his chest, pushing your head into him as his other hand held up the wobbling rifle, just in case he missed or –

Tommy fired twice. The thump of the body was louder than the gunshot. Even the blood that leaked from her head was loud to Joel. 

“If there’s more, they’ll have heard that,” Joel said, still holding you with his left arm. You squirmed and pushed back against his chest, but still he held tight.

“No,” he whispered. “No, sweetheart, not yet.”

The fight had gone out of you within moments. 

Tommy took a throw blanket from the bed and unfolded it, laying it over your mother and the blood congealing beneath her. Only then did Joel sit you on the bed.

He pressed your gun into your hands and lifted your chin. “Hey,” he said, a little harsher and rougher than he’d wanted. Your eyes snapped to his. “We’re going to clear the house, stay here until I come back.”

“Okay.”

“If you hear someone down the hall, you holler for me and Tommy, understand?”

You nodded.

“Repeat it.”

Your eyes cleared a little as you arched an eyebrow. “If I hear someone coming, I will yell for you and Tommy.”

He nodded too, pressing his lips briefly to your forehead before following his brother out the door. 

By the time they’d cleared the house, both parents and sister had been infected. He was anxious to go back to that bedroom, to check if you’d heard the gunshots, but he was more anxious at the state of the house.

He and Tommy silently took the bodies outside, unsure what to do with them, but Joel had been adamant on not letting you see them like you had your mother. 

When Joel entered the bedroom, he saw you on your side, curled up in the fetal position. His heart ached, the way it had been aching since he’d seen the broken glass, but the ache was sharp enough to cut him now.

“I’ll take it alone,” Tommy whispered.

You hadn’t even lifted your head. You barely noticed when Joel came to the far side of the bed and knelt down in front of you.

“Are they –”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

And he was.

As badly as he’d wanted you to stay with him and Tommy, it was never at this cost. He would have travelled with your whole family rather than wish this pain, the pain of loss.

The tears that had been silently streaming down your face were wiped away as you sat up. You sniffed. “I knew as soon as I saw her,” you told him. “What do we do now?”

He took a deep breath. 

“Well, we could stay here,” he whispered. “Clean things up, patch up the glass, hunker down for the winter or until this mess gets sorted. Me’n Tommy talked about it.”

They had not. 

“It’s far enough from town that I think we’d be okay.”

“No,” you mumbled. “I don’t -”

He nodded. “Then is there anything you want to grab before we go?”

There was. A couple of pictures, some pillows, two quilts, and a necklace of your grandmother’s. 

The dash read that it was close to 2 am by the time the three of you went back to the truck. 

They stopped at the houses of two neighbors. You’d stayed in the truck, unable to stomach seeing anyone else you knew as infected. The brothers cleared both houses and had found the same result as before.

But on the road again, Tommy drove this time. Joel had surprised you when he’d pulled himself into the backseat, sitting behind Tommy and leaning with his back against the door. He gathered you to his side and pulled the quilt tight around you both. 

Blood pools sticky under your head. Voices are filtering in like an untuned radio, gathering static and making you nauseous. Like it’s all one bad hangover or a lucid dream in a realm too far.

“Where are the others?”

Someone else asks the question that you’ve been concentrating on. The knob turns, clearing the radio fuzz just so. You strain to hear, but you don’t dare open your eyes.

“Dead. Not shit on ‘em that was worth stealin’. We gotta fuckin’ go — just leave her.”

A vague twang of Boston wraps around his words. You’d forgotten what it sounded like, how the rs get caught in the back of the tongue and dropped. How the voweled aws are spit at you, the shell of your ear growing numb against the icy concrete. 

Yes, you think. Fucking leave me.

The raider that’s been torturing you for what feels like hours groans as if it’s an inconvenience, an interruption to something he was thoroughly enjoying. Whatever he would’ve done, continued doing, taunts the crevices of your mind. He digs through your bag one last time, and you don’t know what he’s looking for or if there would have been anything at all that would have satisfied him the first time. 

You remember a sliver of skin where his sleeve had bunched, revealing a shitty coupling of star tattoos on his wrist. You can feel your icepick heartbeat behind your eyes, and you wonder if it was a dare over a few beers. A matching tattoo with a lover. The thought lifts you up and out of the crushing burden of pushing air into clenched lungs, only for a moment. It’s no name to grab hold of, but it’s an identifier if you can make it out alive. 

He’d crept up behind you while you were clearing a warehouse that you swore you’d be fine doing by yourself, pushing the cold barrel of something painfully familiar into the back of your head. He was tall, unflinching, unworried, too practiced. He helped you slip the straps of your backpack off your shoulders but staggeringly violent and unkind. Feeling you up for weapons with a disgusting leisure. As if you’d be hiding something gun-sized in your small back pocket.

You’d heard panic and screams outside, and you already knew. Voices outnumbered your friends, and it was almost – almost – funny to think that Tommy said the three of you would be one too many for patrol.

So, when exactly two gunshots hit their targets, it only took you seconds to figure out the score. 

Something significant cracked in you then. Started in your chest and splintered to your heart, head, down to the tips of your toes. There was no fighting back, and you were next.

Now — fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied face, broken wrist, and one concussion later, here you find yourself. The tall one has a thick mustache, something sinister and villainous that seems too stereotypical even for this. At some point there had been a shift, and what started as a robbery now felt like killing for sport.

“Fine. Think she’s dead anyway.”

He kicks you one more time for the cinematic pleasure of it all. 

This time you don’t wince, don’t feel a jerk or twitch betray you. The muscle in your jaw is so tense, the teeth grinding so hard into one another that you expect to open your mouth to a cloud of dust.

An agony you’ve only ever seen in movies is wringing every cell dry. It’s seizing, unrelenting, almost an exorcism in the tensing and writhing of it all. But you keep it beneath the surface, barely clinging to the little control you have. 

You try to count the footsteps that are finally retreating, to breathe around the blood in your nose both dried and fresh. It feels like measuring the closeness of thunder and lightning, some kind of correlation with the distance of a storm. 

The group trails outside, and heavier footsteps of your stolen horses lead them away. Onto the next. Breath idles in your chest, and the clarity that you think will come when you finally unstick your eyelids doesn’t. Everything feels swollen, scorched, raw. Nerve endings clipped and lapped up by the unrelenting lick of wind. A scream climbs up your throat, but the pain isn’t worth the exhale. And you don’t want them to come back for round two.

You drag the dead weight of your limbs out to inspect what you know to be true, and it’s nothing but bloody snow angels and twisted, awkward angles of your friends. You can’t even look at them, turning your head and squeezing your swollen eyes shut when you check for pulses that aren’t there. 

Snowflakes collect on your lashes and drip pink down your face.

—

Daylight wanes, languid and impatient. It’s been hours trying to retrace your steps back to Jackson, the blood loss slowing you to a stop every five dizzying minutes. Your feet trick you into standing, only for your knees to buckle and bring you down into the snow. Teetering on the cliff of willfully alive and mercifully dead. There isn’t pain anymore, not really, and you’re grateful for the numbing cold, but you can feel your body threatening to cave in on itself. 

Tears don’t come as much as you beg for them, for any type of release that’ll ground you. Enough time has ticked by that someone has to notice an absence of three, but you can’t be sure that you’re even on the right path anymore to meet them in the middle. 

When they find you, if they ever find you, at least they’ll know you tried.

There’s a comfort in that, a warmth that reaches out and grabs you and folds you in like a blanket. It’s safe here, it says. Just lie down for a minute. And you don’t fight it.

Someone’s calling your name now, and it’s a gentle tug back into consciousness. There are frantic hands on your face, delicate and urgent when they take inventory of your wounds. When they say death greets you, maybe it’s this. 

But there’s a Texas drawl that’s murmuring you’re okay, I’ve got you and I know, I know it hurts and shouting instructions to someone else that’s lifting you up, up, up. 

Your fingertips scrape a stubbled jaw when you’re pulled away. The light dims like a blown-out candle. And you’re falling, grasping at anything, everything, nothing. 

You forget the rest.

—

Ten months pass, dripping into spring, then summer, and meeting autumn at its doorstep.

Everything has healed, down to the last scratch. That day feels hazy, and you’d assume it was a hallucination if not for the two friends that didn’t come back with you. The recovery was just as strange, trauma shielding you from the gory parts but not the guilt. Never the guilt. 

Sometimes, you test the memory, prod at it, but nothing new comes to the surface. No recollection of who they were, where they were going, if they were anything more than nameless thieves. It’s probably better this way, but there’s no way of knowing if that’s true.

Fistfuls of flowers collected on your porch, and they seemed to appear out of thin air because no one ever came with them. Anonymous condolences that didn’t want to be seen, and it was an easy guess as to why. You heard rumors, retellings of what happened without much accuracy, but there was nothing to say to correct them. Some of them were angry, and you let them be. Call it penance, undeserved or not. 

Ellie would visit occasionally, sometimes Tommy. You let her play guitar without saying a word, let him bring you books to keep you occupied. Everyone else dodged you, and you didn’t know if it was discomfort or because you were the only one left alive to blame. Probably both.

Since then, they’d kept you busy elsewhere. Projects that hadn’t been projects before suddenly popped up. More hands in the stables for getting horses ready for patrol. Planting vegetables and flowers for food and morale. Playing doctor when the patrols would come back with minor injuries from staving off infected. Being underfoot at the Tipsy Bison, picking up shifts when there was a movie night or some string-lit illuminated get-together. 

Slinking into the shadows and being the ambient background noise in everyone else’s conversations. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell them that you had the farthest thing from a green thumb, that you couldn’t bartend for shit, that the most nurse-like thing you’d ever done was slap a band-aid on a skinned knee. 

An otherness that weighed so heavy you thought it would be better to crush you. Poison that bloomed in the belly of a tight-knit community that didn’t know what shelf to put you on. Who felt like collective trauma was part of the deal, and this was just yours. 

But it softened the blow of your abrupt uselessness. You let it happen. Becoming competent was better than peeking out from drawn curtains. Better than sleeping with your eyes open, watching everyone around you move on while you couldn’t.

While nightmares claw their way up your chest at night and leave you in a cold sweat, flicking on every light that’ll burn to make sure you’re really, truly alone.

The roar of laughter snaps you out of the trance, breaks the eye contact you were making with your fireplace. You wonder absently if you’d tuned out the rest or if everyone had finally huddled together in front of the projector down the road for tonight’s showing of whatever DVD was looted during this week’s patrol. You didn’t usually mind — sometimes even joined when Ellie had enough of your sulking and all but kicked your door in — but tonight feels like an organized, cruel punishment.

You pry yourself from your couch, knocking over the stack of books on your way to the coat rack. Anaïs Nin pierces you with a glare, rotting where you left her. You slip each arm into a heavy coat, tucking one of the books into your bag with a lone cigarette as a makeshift bookmark. It’s cold as fuck tonight, but maybe you’ll linger a little longer after closing down the bar. Maybe you’ll wait until the crowd outside dies down to sneak back into your house, light another fire, and count down the hours until your shift at the stables.

Bartending tonight should be quiet, hopefully only encountering a few regulars that usually kept to themselves and tipped you for doing the same. 

You steal one more warm moment before opening the door and stepping into the flinching cold, taking note of the way words stutter and lose traction when your face registers with the nearby crowd. There always seems to be a vacancy of pleasantries. And you don’t exactly invite them.

Tommy gives you a sympathetic look, tipping his chin up in a half-nod. Ellie lifts a few fingers in a wave, knowing you don’t want the pity but hate the suffocation of nothing at all. You will the corners of your mouth to quirk in a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and force your legs into a normal pace, almost locking your knees so you don’t break into a run. The debt of an overdue visit with them burrows in your chest. 

The Jaws theme song hums ominously, and you think it’s only fitting.

A few people litter the bar when you meet the cozy blanket of peanut-shelled air of the Tipsy Bison. A pool cue cracks against a ball and sends it clattering into a group of others, a low crackle of some country something crooning out of the jukebox. You shed your coat and your bag in the back, washing your hands under scorching water to shake some feeling back into your bones.

“Just a few tonight. Been slow – you’ll probably be out early. What’s playin’?”

You smile at the thick, syrupy Southern mama accent by your side. Cheryl is no-nonsense, usually slips you a little extra at the end of your shifts, and feigns ignorance of anything about the ugly parts of your past. All she cares about is that you’re eating. There is an undying gratitude for Cheryl. 

“Ah. Jaws, I think.”

She seems to read your mind with a laugh, patting your shoulder affectionately like only a mother can.

“Maybe I’ll go join the sharks. Joel just got here, wants a whiskey ‘fore I head out. You know him,” Cheryl tuts, almost rolling her eyes but you know she likes the caretaker role if you’re any indication.

And you do. You do know him.

Joel keeps to himself almost as much as you do, maybe a little less when it comes to Ellie and Tommy. He’s sort of your catty-cornered neighbor, but not the sugar-asking kind. More like the kind that glances in your direction, holds your stare for a beat too long, and abruptly looks away before anything discernible can appear. 

The closest you ever come to saying anything of substance to each other is when you ready his horse for patrols and intercept it when he’s back safe and sound. You try not to let him catch your gaze shifting to that shiny scar on his head, and you stifle down the question that’s none of your business. 

Maybe he does the same for you.

And maybe he was there and saved you that day, but neither one of you has ever mentioned it since. You don’t know how, and there’s a brick wall around the subject that won’t let you. Enough time has passed that you figure he’d have said something if he gave a shit.

Yet, there’s a deep yearning for his approval, his attention. It’s a mystery even to you, when you think about how savagely indifferent you are to anyone else’s. But you think it’s the magnetism of having him as a witness. The way he could vindicate you and give you an alibi, a heroic complex, but he doesn’t. 

So, the idea that he’s one of the patrons that you can count on one hand tonight… you can’t put a name to what it’s doing to you.

Cheryl makes sure that you’re okay, but she doesn’t linger. She packs up her things with haste, jogging through the cold to join her wife in front of the bonfire.

No one really pays you any mind as you start your closing duties early, and it’s doubtful that the seats will fill any more than they are as the party picks up outside.

Joel sits at the corner of the bar that faces you, and he’s down to a knuckle’s length of whiskey. If he were anyone else, you might wonder why he’s not at the bonfire — but it’s Joel. Social anythings are like a second plague to him.

The thought of having to refill his drink vibrates in the back of your mind, and lead fills your stomach. Small talk that you never quite have with him. It dissipates just as quickly, when you see the way he’s fixed on the sweat gathering on his glass instead of anything else, and when a gust of wind comes in as the door opens.

Max. Anxiety snaps in your rib cage like a rubber band. Something acrid hits the back of your throat and you think it might be blood the way your teeth connect with the soft tissue of your cheek. 

Max had been a recurring character in your bed once. Before. It was never more than convenience, and the way you fucked wasn’t love, not even close. Liberating to think that you never neared the edge of feeling anything except his hand pressing your face into a pillow, performing orgasms that never came. 

There’s no carcass of affection left, so devoid of emotion for him that it feels like a severed limb.

He’s all ego and athletic strength, sauntering up to the bar with a gait that reeks of hours of pregaming. There’s a permanent sneer when he addresses you, a coldness that has nothing to do with the weather.

“Tequila. Two doubles.”

He’s the type to twist the knife of your tragedy in even deeper, making sure to hit all vital organs. The first to question what more you could have done to save his friends, blaming you for leaving them there to die as if they weren’t dead the moment raiders showed up. As if you weren’t almost dead. Anything you’ve said in defense is inconceivable, an excuse, an admission of guilt. He mourns at your expense and often.

Jackson trudges forward, but Max forces you to stay in grief and remember.

“I think you’ve had your fill this week. Drank through your ration on Tuesday, remember?” you say coolly, but a twinge of fatigue colors your tone, giving you away. You aren’t in the mood, and Max finds it easy to light flame to your resolve as-is.

Maria spends hours of careful inventory, and there’s been more than one occasion where you’ve been instructed to cut off a greedy drunk. The vice, the urge to drink in an apocalypse doesn’t really align with the limited stock, unfortunately.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly see Maria around, do you?” A jeer at face value, but you decide in the beat of silence that follows that rule enforcement isn’t worth it tonight. “Sounds like you’ll think of something. And you fuckin’ owe me one, don’t you? Or would you prefer I collect on that another time?”

It’s not worth it. You’re dropping your glare, squaring your jaw, lining up two glasses so that the rims clink. But the way your skin prickles, there’s an unwelcome visitor in his stare, an x-ray vision that you wished Max didn’t have. 

Somewhere down the bar, glass slams against wood and something you know to be amber-colored sloshes.

You try to steady the angry tremble that overcomes your hands as you upturn the liquor bottle. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four.

He holds the ration card to you, taunting you by pulling back when you reach for it, only to smirk and flick it toward you, uncaring of where it lands. You shove it into the mouth of the register with the violence you wish you were brave enough for.

“You can leave now.”

“That so? Mouthy now that you have an audience?” Max gestures cruelly to the grand total of four patrons, five if you counted Johnny Cash.

It stings, but dully. You’ve heard worse – even if not to your face – and it’s all kind of anti-climatic if you considered the low-budget production they always try to make out of you. The words eventually all sound the same, nothing punches quite the way they intend. Still, your cheeks burn as if on cue, and —

“She told you to get the fuck out.”

A low timbre erupts, easily mistaken as pure venom. There’s a sway in the way your senses glitch and then still, and reality swirls at the edge of your periphery. Pool balls stop their roll, murmured chatter ceases, and even the fucking jukebox settles on an instrumental to lean in and listen. 

You dare to look over at Joel, whose demeanor looks more akin to statuesque and threatening than his curved slouch when you first clocked in. He’s standing, flexing his fists so hard that you think they might shatter.

Max backs off but subtly – you can see the way his puffed chest deflates even though his glare doesn’t. He finishes off one tequila before backing up with the other dangling in his fingers, both hands turned palm-out in mock surrender. 

A deep annoyance plucks at his brow, but he knows he’s flirting with a black eye. 

Max flashes a middle finger, lets his grip relax after downing the glass in his hand, and it crashes to the floor with a wincing shatter. He’s gone before you can string together any curses, and would it have mattered anyway?

Then, there’s scattering, the bar flies wordlessly agreeing that anywhere is better than the awkwardness of being here. Cards thrown down, beers drained, and there’s an uneasiness with the way they shuffle outside towards the rest of the group. A dance around the broken glass that isn’t their problem. You pretend not to notice, though you try to hide the redness that stains your cheeks as you bring a dust pan over to the mess.  

You feel eyes on you and, all too suddenly, you realize that Joel didn’t follow them.

“Careful. Here, lemme do that.”

He’s kneeling, taking the pan from you. Knuckles brush yours a little too long and electrify, zapping you. You mutter something like thanks and it’s too ungrateful, too tired. A woodsy scent fills your nose, and you’re hard-pressed not to lean into his collar and bookmark it.

Glass slips into the trash with a tinkling, shimmering sound. You’re already back behind the bar, hands busying with something else, tidying up the already-tidy. Letting him slip outside with the crowd, heavy with satisfaction that he came to your rescue yet again. 

But he’s sat back down, watching you with an odd intensity. He’s never assessed you like this, at least not that you’ve seen. A different sort of undressing than what Max gives you. You meet his eyeline warily. Vulnerable, waiting for your predator’s jaw to unhinge and devour you whole.

“He always talk to you that way?”

A quiet, lethal question hangs in the air, so quiet that you could’ve chalked it up to your imagination. But evidenced by the white-knuckled grip Joel has on his glass, the measured way he brings it to his lips, it was real. Controlled, scary even. But real.

Your mouth opens to answer, then closes. You consider in a beat’s time how it would sound to laugh it off, then stop yourself. It would be too forced, too desperate of a sound to be convincing. You’ve never been the unfeeling, unaffected type.

It’s clear that he knows the answer, has probably seen it with his own eyes, but it’s like he wants a green light to set his sights on some other more sinister and deserving prey.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s been through a lot,” you say, half to yourself. It’s easier this way.

“Does matter. So’ve you,” Joel says, even quieter, like he’s trying to contain an angry edge that threatens to bleed out. The calm is almost worse. In a way, you wish he would loosen the leash on his rage. Or break something to satisfy the urge in you that wants to do the same – you’d give him permission to do that. This is too unreadable and ambiguous, too much room left for agonizing interpretation in how he grits his teeth and pulses that muscle in his taut jaw. You want to yell, let out what’s long pent-up. Yes! Yes, it does fucking matter!

But you don’t. You keep the rag tight on the lip of the pint glass in your hand, rotating it past the point of needing to be cleaned. The rub of the microfiber cloth makes you itch, and your teeth scrape again at the inside of your cheek.

It leaves your mouth before you can catch it and shove it back down.

“Why do you care?”

Joel looks up at you now and you think that you’ve already overstepped during your first, real fucking conversation. He finishes off the whiskey and puts it back down carefully. He stands up, each slow step over to you spiking your blood pressure, your breath shifting into neutral. 

It’s the way he’s fixated on you, a litmus test for any sarcasm. The way a chill creeps into the base of your spine and slithers up each vertebrae despite the warmth you feel below your waist. And when he comes behind the bar, reaches for the glass in your hand and puts it down gently, you wonder if that tug has always been there. 

Fuck.

“You think I don’t care?”

Tiny hairs at your nape stand at attention in a near-salute. The web of intrusive thoughts tangles between you, and you’re acutely aware that this is the closest you’ve ever been to Joel Miller – that you’ve been conscious for. That feeling rushes back and bursts in your chest, the comforting honey in his voice that’s been haunting you since he found you crumpled in the snow. 

The omnipresent, sharp tang of whiskey sticks to the slightly graying stubble that you want to reach out and touch. That you want to feel the scrape of in places that makes heat pool deep in your belly. His flannel is unbuttoned at the top, the column of his throat ridged and tense. 

Focus.

“Why are you saying this now?” you say, and you want to hold your ground but his admission is akin to mesmerizing.

He thinks for a minute, his eyes smoothing over every angle in your face. They look past you, just over your shoulder, like he’s asking himself the same thing.

“Knew you could handle it. ‘Til you couldn’t anymore.”

There it is. You let it sink in, clicking that last piece into place. Always observing you from a safe distance, the buzz of something unsaid ringing in your ears when he’s around. How he listens to your interactions, but never too closely. Watching for weak spots. And tonight was the weakest of them all, letting yourself be humiliated by the only person that knew where to bite just right.

You feel laid bare, too seen. Pissed that he can witness your struggling, thrashing, drowning with outstretched arms and kicking feet and decide when and if he’ll pity you.

And this time, a laugh does slip out – humorless and breathy.

“The same way you can handle whatever’s making you drink alone on a Friday night? Don’t act so holier than thou, Joel. I’m the wrong one.”

“Watch it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But you’re so angry, a wasps’ nest that’s been taunted and poked at after being left to its own devices for too long. Sometimes violence feels more intimate. Safer.

And he’s using that gravelly, terse tone with you of all people, and you want to fucking lose your mind.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just looks at you and waits, they leave their home in a wave. Burying stingers where you know they’ll hurt. Once more, with feeling.

“Are you looking for a ‘thank you’?”

Joel’s mouth quirks, but it isn’t a smile. It only stokes the fire, and you know what he’s doing. Letting you win, begrudgingly because you’re being an ass. But you haven’t had a win in the last ten months, only loss after devastating loss. He’s throwing you a raft.

“No. Just tryin’ to help, ‘s all.”

Your nostrils are flaring in sharp inhales that you can’t control, and you physically jab at him, your own tightly wound chest dragging in the hive for a final, practiced nosedive. “I don’t fucking need your help, Joel.”

He’s snatching your wrist, holding it in a vise, but there’s a flinch in his expression. Joel hardens, sliding that cool armor back into place. Sizing you up one more time, committing you to memory. A curt nod, plucking that chord of roughness in his tone that makes you ache.

There’s a glare you’ve never seen from him, like disappointment and disdain wrapped up neatly in one package. Delivered with a dagger straight to your heart.

“We’ll see. Not s’good at that, are you?”

And it’s a KO you allow, one you’ll lay with. But he’s leaning in, invading your space. You move to retreat and cower, the way you’re accustomed to, but Joel’s grabbing a fistful of your shirt and fastening you in place. His mouth’s at your ear as if he’s telling you a secret. 

“Good luck bein’ a fuckin’ martyr.”

The pressure loosens, as does his grip, dissipating like some ghostly presence. He leaves without another word, and something inside you snags and unspools. 

—

You don’t see Joel for days. 

Three days to be exact, torturous and fluid days that feel like trickling sand, but blend together in an indistinguishable slideshow when you zoom out. You time your breaks perfectly at the stables so you don’t run into him, and you ask Cheryl to cover for you on Tuesday, ignoring the strange look she gives you – the resident workaholic. 

It’s a sort of avoidance that you don’t want to acknowledge or look directly in the eye. If you did, it would mean that Joel affected you more than you want to admit. Or that he’d sized you up in an expert way that a categorical stranger shouldn’t be able to.

You should be livid, and you are… in a way. But mainly you want to shrug your skin off, your unease for being so dissected by him. Just unzip it all and let it pool at your feet, stepping out of the pile one leg at a time. The pinch, the untethering of you and the man that could read you without translation.

And when it’s 9 o’clock and you’re making tea as you trudge through a book without really reading anything, you glance outside at the house across the street and it’s so dark that you think it may have swallowed him whole.

Or he’s hiding from you, too.

—

It’s finally Thursday, and you can’t put it off any longer. You’re running out of food, you promised Tommy you’d lend a hand with feeding the horses – and there’s a dull itch to see Joel again. You don’t even know what you’d say, if he even wants to bother with you after the other night. Part of you hopes that you fall backwards into the acquaintance of saying nothing, that you have permission to rewind past whatever this nagging feeling is.

It’s quiet outside – a lazy day. The snow on the ground is melting, patchy in spots where sunlight or kid-feet caught it at just the right angle. The greenhouses are so fogged and frosted over that you’re grateful you can’t see the death-rot inside. It’s not quite growing season yet, but close, and you long for the added distraction in your day if this is the alternative.

Anything to pass the time and not think about Joel and his hands touching yours. The fabric of your shirt oozing between his knuckles when he forced you chest-to-chest. 

When you make it over to the barn, his horse is gone and there’s almost – almost – a twinge of relief. You’ll be done before he gets back from patrol. You won’t have a chance to swallow the apology that will rise in your throat like bile, but maybe it’s for the best.

You’re elbow deep in feed when there’s a yelling that cracks in the air. You freeze, waiting to hear a suffix of children’s laughter, but it doesn’t come. There’s a confused sort of shouting, and the gate at the border of Jackson slams and rattles like you’ve never heard before. 

Shaky hands wipe at your pants, and you step out, a hand shielding your eyes from the glare of the sun.

Joel is slumped atop his horse, upright but hardly. There’s a cut somewhere on his head that streams a blurry red, and the horse whines when Tommy sprints to meet it.

“It’s Joel! I need some fuckin’ help here!”

And without fully connecting the dots or measuring the severity, you just run. Colliding with the crowd that’s formed, shoving elbows and shoulders as if in a trance. Like something’s pressing you from behind, throwing all its weight into pushing you forward. 

You blink and you’re helping Joel down, Ellie’s tattooed forearm somewhere in the jumble of limbs. Tommy’s jean jacket stiff from the cold.

You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re pale as a ghost. The moisture strips from your mouth, joints moving as if by marionette. Blood is already drying and caking in the creases of your hands. Knowing it isn’t yours makes you feel sick.

“‘M fine, Jesus Christ,” Joel coughs, a jagged edge in his throat that sounds anything but. There’s something underneath his coat that’s soaking through, blossoming a dark stain on the front. 

Images keep shifting every time you blink, like you’re losing time in between and someone’s slamming the fast-forward button until it jams. Joel groaning on a makeshift stretcher. Ellie’s frenzied feet following as they take him to his house.

The tall one on top of you, squeezing your windpipe. 

Your head cracking against the pavement. 

Two gunshots firing. 

Snow in your bloodied, matted hair. 

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. I know, I know it hurts.”

Ringing grows loud and shrill in your ears. Tommy’s in front of you, calling your name. Shaking your shoulders. 

“– need you to go fix him up –”

And you’re falling back into the present, vision shifting back into focus. You’re nodding, clinical now. You’ve seen worse, and strangely, that’s comforting. 

“– whatever supplies you need, I trust you –”

The weight of Tommy’s confidence steadies you, tying up the loose ends that have untwined deep inside. You run through the mental checklist of what’s in your medical bag at home – stashed in your closet on the very top shelf. Bandages, antibiotics, sutures. But if you’re dealing with a bite…

“I got it. Promise. Keep everyone out, alright? I’ll let you know.”

He pauses, catching up with the subliminal thing that waits in the air between you. Wariness paints his gaze, and you know he knows what you’re afraid to say. 

“That's a sweet knife you got there,” you say, nodding at Ellie who is flipping the blade in her hand while Joel frowns over the map he’s reading.

“It was my mom’s.”

It’s too early and you know that, not miffed by her deadpan voice. You reach into your own front pocket, where a blade is clipped, unlocking the blade from the handle it was tucked into.

“This one was a gift from my father. He thought we should always have one.” You hand it to her for her small hands to inspect it, the pads of her fingers grazing over the resin handle.

“Pretty. How did he find it?”

Your eyes cast down for a second as you recall the image of your father handing it to you in your bedroom, your radio on, playing some Taylor Swift song in the background.

“This was from before,” you start, a tight smile across your lips. “I always liked the old-fashioned ones they had at the museums so I guess that's why he chose this one from the store.”

“They just..sold knives? Like, specifically weapons, in stores?”

“Dude, where I’m from, you could buy a gun before you could drink alcohol legally. Shit was crazy.” Joel’s head finally perks up from his focus on the map.

“Where are you from?”

You squint at him.

“Texas.”

“Yeah, but where.”

“You find where we’re supposed to be heading to or not?”

He just glares at you, “no.” So you walk over to him, putting your hand out to hold the map.

“Prolly cuz your eyes are going. Gimme that.” You look through the lines. “We could just cut across. We’d have to be careful with the steep-“

“Now, why in the hell wouldn’t we just go through the highway. It’s safer than through the mountains.”

“It’s not safer. I barely made it out from some,” you shiver, balling up your fists. “Some fucking wack job settlement…saw them chopping up some person. It was so...” You trail off for a second, the empty heaviness of your stomach making you queasy at the memory. “They grazed me too. Sons a bitches.”

Lifting your shirt, you point to the half-healed scar on your side. Ellie’s eyes go wide.

“Did you stitch yourself up?”

“Well, I couldn’t just keep on bleeding, so I had to.”

“That’s so cool. I had to stitch him up,” Ellie says, beaming with pride as she pokes his arm. He rolls his eyes but when he looks down at her he gives her a small smile.

“Not the best technique in the field but she did a good job,” he says. He turns to you again, glancing at Ellie. “Were they a group of men?”

“One of them was named David-“ she interrupts.

“I didn’t exactly get the chance to introduce myself. They saw me, started shooting, so I just ran. We killed one of them though.”

“We?”

You freeze, not wanting to think about it. You fold up the map and shove it back into Joel's hands.

“We can take 65 north until we hit the creek. I’m sure we’ll have ample time to get there.” They both nod at you, and you're grateful that they don’t push, even if Ellie looks like she’s biting back a hundred questions. Onward, you begin the walk.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

“We can just sit for a second,” Joel says, sitting down on a short boulder embedded in the ground. You and Ellie share a look, holding back laughs.

“He’s got old man knees,” Ellie says, smirking over at him. Once again, he only glares at her. He makes a gesture to her backpack.

“I’m stealing your water, give it.” She rolls her eyes, taking off her backpack and grabbing the canteen inside, handing it to him.

“You have your own.”

“But I would have to reach into my own backpack and I don’t wanna do that.” He gives her a smile as she sits down close beside him, claiming his space as her own. You take it as a moment to also sit, a distance away from them both. The coolness of the rock can be felt through the fabric of the denim. Reminds you of camping around a fire on cool evenings.

Joel takes a swig from the canteen and holds it in his lap, distracted when Ellie makes a face at him. She raises her eyebrows, nudging him, motioning a nod in your distraction. He frowns back at her, his head shake minutely visible. She relaxes into a more disappointed expression, causing him to clear his throat.

“Do you want some,” he asks, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck. You see how Ellie leans forward to watch you, and it makes your chest tighten with joy.

“Wow, thank you, Joel. That’s so sweet of you,” you say, trying to piss him off as much as possible, making your voice as syrupy as you can make it. You lightly place a hand on his arm. “You’re too kind,” you add, giving him a gentle squeeze. He gets up abruptly, scoffing.

“Ridiculous. Can’t even drink water in peace.”

As he stands up, you look back to Ellie, giving her a wink of appreciation. You both get up and run ahead of him, putting some space between both and him.

“So you really didn’t run into them, the crazy church people.” Her voice is low. Soft, but cold. You wince.

“Yes and no. Luckily, we didn’t get caught up with them entirely, but we…were still hurt by ‘em.” You focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“You keep saying we-“

“I don’t-I can't, Ellie. It’s only been like 2 weeks.” And somehow the time had escaped you before, because now as you say it, the number punches the air out of your lungs. “It’s only been 2 weeks,” you say again, feeling its weight. Ellie nods.

“The head guy, fucking asshole. He, uh, he tried to.” She stops, not really sure of how to say the words, but you turn your gaze to her direction and her eyes meet yours.

“Did he?”

“I killed him,” Ellie says, blinking slowly. There are no tears, only a glazed look in her eyes. There is nothing behind her words, no heat or coldness. You nod back this time.

“It does get easier, ya know? And sometimes it hits you out of nowhere, that ugly-ass feeling, but you’ll be okay. It passes and you realize its just that-a feeling. No one is there, it’s just the fear that is left. Plus,” you look over your shoulder, watching Joel as he’s focused on the trees to the side of you. You smile, glad she still has someone. “You got him to help you along. You’ll never be alone” She looks back at him too, which grabs his attention this time.

“What?”

“Nothin, we’re just talking about how you take forever. Try keeping up with our pace.” You motion to where you both are walking.

He huffs as you both slow down for him to meet up.

“I don’t need your goddamn pity.” You roll your eyes in response.

“Hey, Ellie. I think Joel would absolutely love to hear a few jokes right now.” And before you finish your sentence, she’s bringing out her book from her backpack.

“No-“  he pleads.

“How do you organize a space party?” She’s beaming. You nudge his arm with your elbow.

“This is the part where you take a guess, cowboy.” He casts you a sideways glance, and for a second you catch the slight curl of a smile from him.

“I dunno.”

“You planet!”

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

You always find it funny, hearing birds chirp, their song always falling on the ruins of an empty town. It’s too stark of a contrast to not be funny. How ironic that dark humor is the only way to make light of things.

“Find anything, your Highness?” You turn to his voice, scowling. “Well, it's just that we’re running on fumes and you seem to be taking your sweet time staring out the window-“

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” You grumble, looking back through the shelves of the empty gas station. “Bossy as hell,” you add, under your breath.

“Ya got something to say?” He says, stepping towards you. You cock your head to the side in annoyance.

“Yeah. I said you're bossy as hell, and that you stink,” you say, grabbing the deodorant stick you had found earlier, shoving it towards him. “Here. Ya need it.”

He holds it, taken aback by your quick response.

“I’m glad you found this. Now, when we’re starving in the middle of the damn woods, we can just eat this. You’re such a great help.” His voice falls flatly,  brown eyes still peering down at you.

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“Not even in your dreams, sweetheart,” he says, backing away from you to continue rummaging through the shelves. It angers you that he twists your words like that, like you would ever want him, but you can't help but feel heat rush to your face at the pet name. Sweetheart. You know he doesn’t mean it in a nice way, but it's not your fault he has a gruff voice.

“I found this,” Ellie’s footsteps get louder as she approaches you both, holding what looks like a tin can. “It looks like the other one we had in the truck.”

“Finally,” he says. “Somethin’ useful.” You roll your eyes.

“Find any grounds to go with it?” You ask, and she shakes her head. You follow her back to where she’d found it until you find a canister rolled under a metal rack in the back closet. Ellie runs off to look around the store. You get on your knees, eyeing the prize, reaching your arm underneath. As you pull it back, canister in hand, you feel a tight tug on your shoulder. “Fuck,” you grit out. “Ellie, can you come here please.”

The sound of boots walking up to you makes you freeze. They're much heavier than Ellie’s shoes.

“What in the hell are you doing?” God, you can’t see him but you just know that he’s smirking.

“Watching the fucking dust collect, what does it look like?”

“Well, seems you’ve got it handled then.” His boots start to walk away.

“-wait. Fuck. I just- I found coffee under here, but I think my shirt got caught on the shelf.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Get it un-caught?” You say, annoyed that he's making you spell it out for him.

“Gotta start asking nicely, if ya want me to help.” There’s a beat of silence again.

“Fine,” you start, trying to push out the words that are making you twinge with embarrassment. “Can you help me get unstuck.”

“Not even a ‘please’ or nothin?”

You can practically feel his mocking tone, gritting against your patience, making you huff in irritation.

“Please, Joel.” Neither of you make a move, which is when it dawns on you just how tense you are, realizing that you’re bent over on your knees, pleading for his help. He must sense it too, because he is quick to dissipate the situation.

“Yeah, yeah. S’fine.” You feel a presence against your side as his fingers unhook whatever part of the fabric was caught on the metal. You hold back a small groan as you get up, canister in hand, your joints aching from being in that awkward position. He follows suit. You look at the canister as you hand it to him.

“Here. Something useful,” you look up, your eyes meeting his. “And thank you.” He just nods, turning away.

“We should get going.”

-/-/-/-/-/-/

There's not much in this little town. It doesn't look like chaos hit here, only appears as if peace had left. No thrown bikes or burnt cars, all carcasses of a life that was quickly abandoned. There is only quiet. You used to love the idea of a house with overgrown vines and flowers, untouched by an office job and rules, but now as you stare down the street, that is all you see, and it's only eerie. Now it is just a lawless land, covered in green, but somehow still empty of life.

“So, are we just gonna keep going? My feet hurt.” Ellie asks yet another question and it quells the haunting silence of the town.

“We’ll find a place in a bit. The sun is goin’ down anyway.''Joel looks toward you and you nod in approval.

“I’m not facing mountain demons out there. I’d rather camp out here.” Your comment ignites a surge of questions from Ellie.

“Demons?” To this, you hum as an answer, checking your surroundings.

“Like real ones?” She adds.

“Look, all I’m saying is I don’t want to find out.”

Joel chuckles, readjusting his jacket in his backpack strap.

“Yeah,” he begins. “Whole bunch of stories of things roaming out there. Scarier than any infected.”

“Nothing human anyway,” you say, smiling at Joel as Ellie’s eyes go wide.

“Why the fuck are we out here when the sun is going down, hurry up!” She tugs on his sleeve and the three of you set out to find a place to stay for the night.

You do an easy sweep of a house, covering Joel the entire time, synced into his every movement, as if you had done it a hundred times before. The coast is clear.

“I call the batman bedroom,” Ellie quips after getting the greenlight from him. You lean over the couch, just barely peering over the back of it.

“No offense, but I’m not sleeping there.”

He leans over too, getting a better look at what scared both of you earlier.

An infected carcass, dry and grey, after what looks like years of being attached to the cushions, never getting any visitors.

“Wouldn’t ask you to.”

You head towards the kitchen, excited to rummage through the pantry and drawers. God, your parents would be mortified to see you like this, going through a strangers kitchen with no invitation. Your sister would probably compare you to a raccoon. Your sister. There is a gnawing feeling in your stomach and you suck in a deep breath, pushing yourself into the pantry as a distraction.

Eventually, you come across a few cans of ravioli that had rolled behind the washer and dryer. At this point you’re almost heaving your breaths, quickly finding that you can't stop thinking about her. You didn’t look hard enough. She would have still been alive if it weren’t for you. You left her there. You were supposed to take care of her. You were supposed to keep her safe. You failed her. And there was nothing to tell you different.

“You okay?” You hear his voice carry from behind you. But now it sounds softer, hushed.

You only nod, still facing away from his voice, leaning against the doorframe of the pantry, as if it's the only thing holding you up, staring at the empty shelves. He takes a few steps closer.

“You sure?”

Turning around, you take in a shaky breath, holding up the cans of ravioli.

“I found us some dinner.” At any other time, he probably would’ve scoffed or huffed or sighed or any other thing he does when he’s tired of you, but instead he sets his gaze on your face, searching for any sign of what was wrong. Not able to pinpoint a reason, he nods.

“Ellie’s gonna like this. Glad you found it.”

He was right. She absolutely loves it.

“We’ve haven't had these in foreverrr,” Ellie says with a mouthful of food.

“Close your mouth.” 

She side-eyes him, but stays silent until she swallows anyway.

“I wish macaroni and cheese was a non-perishable food.” You say, remembering the joys of growing up on nothing but chemicals and cheese. “I miss it.” Joel makes a disgusted face.

“Of all foods, that's the one ya got your heart set on?” You dramatically place your fork down, eyebrows raised.

“Alright, hot shot, what the hell would you choose?” He looks up for a second, deep in thought.

“Bagel bites.” You scoff, but then shrug, noticing Ellie’s confusion.

“He makes a mean argument. Those were pretty good. Like little pizzas, just had to put them in the oven and they came out perfect.” Ellie ‘oohs’ in wonder.

“See?” He says.

“Eat your canned ravioli.” Shaking your head, you see him smiling a bit while eating his food. For the rest of ‘dinnertime’ the three of you sit there at the table, in the house, on the empty street, in the abandoned town, arguing over foods that don’t exist anymore and about who has a better taste in music. For a moment it feels safe. For a moment all of this is enough to survive off of. You felt safe back then too, and look what happened to her. What happened to you.

“Well, I’m gonna start taking all the posters down so I can put them up when we- For later, I guess. I dunno.” Ellie shrugs, not really caring about being discreet.

“G’night,” you and Joel say, watching as she walks down the hall to the bedroom. It had been covered in Batman and Joker posters. The teen must have been a DC type of guy. We can’t get out of here soon enough, you think to yourself, chuckling because you are hilarious.

“-that way we have space.” You turn to him, checking into the conversation.

“What?” You ask. He huffs in annoyance.

“I said that you can just hand me the extra pillow and I can sleep on the floor. That way we can both have space.”

You frown, walking to the master bedroom and swinging the door open, holding your arm out to the space.

“It’s a king-sized bed, Joel. We have more than enough room to fit.” You watch him quizzically as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I know, it's just..ya know.” You don't let up and he groans in frustration. “I’m just sayin’ I can sleep on the floor. So nothin’ is weird. It’s an option.”

You roll your eyes.

“I swear, it’s like you say stuff specifically to piss me off,” you say, fluffing up your pillow. “I’m fine with it. If you would be more comfortable on the ground, then go for it.” You pause, looking at him as stands at the edge of the room, leaning on his hip, trying to be completely still as if unsure about entering the space.

“Look, it’s up to you if you really don't-”

“Joel. Do you want to sleep on the bed? Yes or no.” You look at him sternly, hand on your hip. His eyes trail quickly over your frame before he speaks again, quieter than before.

“Yes.”

“Then that settles it. But you’re getting the flat pillow because this conversation  upset me.”

“Fine by me,” he says, following your movements and positioning his pillow. There is a comfortable silence as you both untie your boots, getting underneath the blankets, the smell of dust coating them. A glow of blue moonlight falls upon the foot of the bed, being the only light in the dark room. You keep fidgeting in your space, creaking the bed.

“Please stop moving.”

“I can't sleep,” you say, switching from your side to your back, and back over again.

“Don’t care.”

“Then shut it.” You hear a chuckle on his side of the bed so you shuffle around to look over at him. He’s laying on his back, looking over at you now, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Just think it’s funny that you made such a fuss about me sleeping on the bed when you can’t even sleep on it yourself. Maybe you should sleep on the floor.” That bastard. Your eyes are better adjusted to the darkness now and you can make out his smile a bit better than before and you shake your head.

“Asshole. Tryin to get rid of me. I’m staying in this bed whether you like it or not,” you say, finally laying down, your head against the pillow, still facing him.

“Well, at least take me out for dinner first with a threat like that.”

And you thank whatever being is in charge for making it dark enough that he can't see you blush from where he’s laying down.

“Wow, so I guess the ravioli didn’t cut it, huh?” You giggle, watching his face. He stays quiet, slightly shaking his head now. He seems so relaxed, his chest rising and falling slowly with every moment that passes.

“G’night,” he tells you as he rolls onto his side.

“Goodnight, cowboy.”

------>Chapter 3

TAGLIST: @ginger-swag-rapunzel <3 thank you for being my first taglist acct

   You cover your mouth, keeping your body down as you run run run past the expensive statues and monumental paintings of the abandoned mansion. Your throat is on fire the longer you run, your body aching like that of a dying man on his last breath of life. Your legs feel like they’ll give way at any second, but you have to keep going. You can’t give up. Not yet. Not when he’s right on your tail. 

   Tired. You’re so very tired, yet you keep running. Dragging your hollow body down the vine covered corridors of the wide hallways as you gasp for fresh air in your watered down lungs. 

   You fly around a narrow corridor and nearly trip yourself on a bed of dark green vines that bite at your ankles, threatening to take you down as Joel draws closer to you. 

   You can feel his overbearing presence, can taste the whiskey that bleeds inside his thick veins, can feel his large body already crowding yours as if he’s already caught you. He hasn’t caught you yet, but you know he will. He always catches you. 

   This was all a game. A dark, twisted game that started on a cold night in December. You remember the first time he chased you, the first time he tore through all your clothes the minute he captured you and devoured your entirety on that pitch black night. Now, every first Saturday of each month you’d meet him back at this abandoned mansion to play his little game. He called it hide and seek, you called it a deadly game of cat and mouse because you were the mouse, and cats always caught their prey. 

   It’s like you two are stuck in a never ending dance, two souls completely consumed in the other as you spin in circles until one of you collapses. You shouldn’t keep coming back, shouldn’t want to play his dark little games, but yet you come. Every single time, you come, unable to face the reality of a month without his touch, his taste, his growls. You’d let the man do as he wanted because how could you resist those charming, big brown eyes? You couldn’t, you just couldn’t. You were a moth drawn to a flame, and he was the brightest, most dangerous flame of all. Something you wanted to forever be branded by.

   Joel Miller was a fucking menace of society, but he was your menace. So you’d continue the game until one of you stopped breathing. 

   “Where are you, little lamb?” he calls as your breath scorches the vine covered walls. You continue running, twisting around dark corners, running down stone steps, and hiding behind crimson curtains. 

   The next wooden door you come upon is locked tight. No amount of shaking the golden handle or hurling your body into the door will make it budge. You turn your head from side to side. The only way out is from the way you came. The hallway that he is in. Fuck. 

   You gulp down a silent breath and make a run for it, even though you know he’ll be there waiting like a prowling wolf. 

   You take careful steps down the marble hallway and sneak around the cold corner until you see his dark silhouette shining against the reflective flooring. You gasp as your eyes go wide, but before you can run he reaches out a long arm and clasps tightly to your wrist. 

   “There ya are, little lamb. Thought you’d get away from me this time?” he smirks as he wraps his calloused fingers tightly around you and tries to pull you in. 

   “Haven’t caught me just yet,” you laugh as you somehow manage to slip out of his grip and make a run for it. 

   You run down some slippery stone steps and end up at the back of the mansion with vine covered long corridors and twisting mazes of green bushes. You run as fast as you can as the wind sweeps through your long hair, letting the brisk wind set your adrenaline on fire. 

   You manage one glance back and see just how fast he’s creeping up on you. He’s like a lion running after a gazelle, the hunter about to attack the prey with its bare claws. And he will destroy his prey. 

   You take a few more steps, but then you feel a hand claw at your shoulder. He takes you down on the hard floor as you come crashing down to the pit of your doom. Pain radiates through your body, but you brush it off as you crawl forward, trying to escape the man that will take you as his own. 

   “Where do ya think you’re goin’, pretty thing?” he asks darkly as he wraps a hand around your ankle and tugs you in his direction. You hear a squeak escape your mouth like a trapped mouse that just got caught by a giant cat. 

   “I’m running away from you,” you answer back as you kick and try to squirm out of his reach. 

   He obviously has other plans because he drags you back underneath him and turns you flat on your back as he pins your hands above your head, his hips and large thighs caging you in so you can’t break free. He won this round, like he always did. 

   “Didn’t think I’d catch you so soon, little lamb,” he chuckles deeply as the weight of his body hangs over yours entirely. 

   “You just caught me off guard,” you sigh as you see his dark chocolate eyes honing in on yours. They’re so captivating, so damn pretty that you can’t look away. He’s so gorgeous even when you should find him intimidating. 

   “Now you’re mine,” he smirks as his chocolate eyes become darker, more blown out as he hovers his plush lips over yours. “Just what am I gonna do to you tonight, hmm?” he asks as lust fills the void of his dark eyes, making you squirm with anticipation already. You know what you want. You want him. 

   “Maybe I should be a little rough with you, hmm? That what you want?” he asks with the tick of his sculpted jaw, his thick eyebrow raising as he looks at you like he just won the most valuable prize in town. 

   You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be feeding his sick mind as he plays his dark games, but you can’t help it. You want it just as bad as he does. You want him to be rough with you. 

   You look at him with wide eyes and smirk right back at him, challenging his dominant side to give in. “So be rough with me,” you whisper back. 

   You see his dark eyes grow large with need as he huffs out through his nostrils. “Open,” he demands as he grabs a hold of your jaw and squeezes, just enough for your lips to part open slightly. He bends his head down and inhales deeply as he spits into your mouth as you feel the warm spit cover your tongue. 

   “Swallow,” he growls as you fully oblige. You close your mouth and swallow as you taste his spit slide down your throat. All hot and moist as you taste him in the back of your throat. And somehow you think it’s so goddamn hot. 

   “Good girl,” he praises as he shifts his weight down and starts unbuttoning your faded denim jeans. 

   “Now, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, right?” he asks as he starts to drag the denim down your legs, feeling a wave of slick slide down your lace panties as your adrenaline kicks in. 

   “Mhm,” you nod as you watch him strip your legs bare, next going to tear off your sticky pink t-shirt while he hovers over the fine lace of your bra, his calloused fingers circling your back as he slowly undoes the clasps. 

   “Gonna let me taste every inch of you, little lamb? Gonna let me fuck you till you can’t take anymore?” he asks as he undoes the last clap and slowly starts to slide the bra free, leaving your full breasts exposed to the chilly night air. The only thing left is your slick covered panties, and then you'll be completely bare. 

   “Yes,” you breathe as he cups your breasts and slides his tongue along the crook of your neck, all teeth and tongue as he nips and bites at your flesh. 

   You can’t help the burn, can’t help the absolute need that courses through your body as his weight encompasses your chest. His hot breath bleeds into your lungs and it’s as if you can breathe fresh air for the first time. His woodsy, whiskey scent makes you dizzy as he slides his wet tongue along your bottom lip as he hovers his weight above you. He’s like a wolf that comes to feed on you in the night, and you’ll gladly let him devour you whole. 

   He snakes his hand down your abdomen and slides his hand underneath your ruined panties as he presses his thumb in between your folds, collecting slick as you groan at the feel of him spreading you wide. 

   “Open up, darlin’. Wanna give you a taste,” he whispers. He slides his thumb in your mouth, and you press your tongue around it, tasting the sweet saltiness of your own arousal as you let it slide down your throat. 

   He opens his mouth and sucks the rest of the slick off as he moans at the taste of you in his system. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’. Wanna just eat you up,” he groans as he hovers his lips back over yours, inching closer and closer until you’re practically begging him to drop down on your lips. 

   “Please,” you whine as your hands fist at his green flannel shirt, desperate for him to get closer to you. 

   “Please what?” he smirks as his dark eyes weigh into yours, pools of lust overflowing the edges as his pupils now expand into complete darkness. A predator about to eat his prey up entirely. 

   You have to use all your strength to get any words out, desperate for his touch. “Take me, all of me,” you plead as your eyes search his black pits that burn you alive. 

   “Oh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take it all,” he smirks. 

   Before you have time to respond, he drops his lips on yours and fists your hair as he tugs hard and pries your lips apart as he slots in his wet tongue. He glides his tongue against yours and circles your mouth as you moan against him and drink his whiskey breath down. 

   He breaks apart from your mouth and nips playfully down your neck as he kneads your breasts together. His tongue comes down to circle each nipple, bringing them to life as they harden and pebble for him as you writhe underneath him in pleasure. 

   His experienced hands are everywhere, burning your skin alive as he skates his calloused fingers up and down your glistening body that’s now caked in sweat. He shoves your legs apart and slides the lace down your legs as he sits back and examines your entire naked body that’s on full display just for him. Glistening skin and slick coated folds splay out in front of him, and he looks like a mad man the way he’s looking at you. 

   His nostrils flare as his eyes grow wide, the big black pits scavenging your body as he drags a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper scruff as he groans out a heated response. “Goddamn, little lamb. You’re so fuckin’ wet and ready for me. I can hardly stand it,” he moans as he slides between your legs and pushes your thighs apart, his calloused fingers spreading your folds apart as he spits down in between them and starts running meticulously up and down your open folds as he starts circling your clit slowly. 

   You moan and writhe underneath his fingers, but he just presses a big hand to your stomach and holds you still as he works his fingers up and down your soaked pussy. And it feels so good that you want to crawl out of your own skin as the flames alight in your lower regions. 

   “Fuck,” you moan as he licks a thick strip from your dripping hole all the way to the top of your clit as his nose brushes against the coarse hair that sits above your clit. He inhales a large whiff of you as he groans and wraps his arms around your thighs as he holds you down against the cool ground. 

   “That’s right, little lamb. Gonna have you screamin’ my name by the time I get done with you,” he chuckles darkly as he dives back in. 

   His tongue devours you as he slides it up and down, drawing tight circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves as he sucks you deep into his mouth. He glides his middle and ring finger into your dripping hole and works them in and out as he curls up and hits your spongy walls again and again as his tongue feasts on your clit and his fingers go knuckle deep into your pussy. 

   Your eyes start to roll back as your head hits the hard floor, your body feeling like it’s floating on a cloud as hot heat starts to slide down the base of your spine. Close, you’re so close. Almost there. 

   He growls up at you as he demands your attention right now. “LOOK AT ME,” his voice echoes off the vine covered walls as his dominance sheds through the dim light of the hallway. 

   Your eyes snap up to find blown out dark pupils looking up at you as he sucks you in his mouth expertly. His nail beds dig into your thighs as one of his fists sit knuckle deep in your pussy. You’ve never seen him so wild, so much like a starving wolf that it makes more slick slide down his fingers as he pumps in and out of your drenched walls. 

   He pops your bundle of nerves out of his mouth as he gives you one more long lick as he growls up at you with pure dominance in his words. “Come for me, little lamb. Want ya to scream my name, tell me just who’s makin’ you feel good. Come on, darlin’. Show me how you break,” he smirks as he quickens the pace of his fingers and drops back on your clit as he circles circles circles until you’re seeing stars in your vision. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… gonna,” you whine as you feel your orgasm start to break apart. 

   “Go on. Come for me. Be a good girl now and obey,” he growls as he pulls you back into his mouth while his fingers press up into the spongy walls as you feel yourself coming hard for him. 

   You clench up around his fingers and feel slick start to rain down his fingers onto your thighs as you throw your head back and scream his name as your moans echo through the long, dim lit corridor. Your body feels like white noise washing through it as your toes curl and your fingers slide through his tousled curls. 

   He groans as your fingers dig into his scalp while he licks up every inch of spilt slick in between your thighs. You feel your high start to come down as you take nice, deep breaths and focus on the buzzing in your ears. 

   Joel sits on his knees and views the mess that he made in between your legs as you splay across the floor with your legs still wide open for him. He must enjoy the view because he can’t keep his hungry eyes off you. 

   “Such a good girl, you know that? Now, gonna let me take ya all the way? Gonna let me fuck ya now, sweetheart?” he smirks as he starts unbuttoning his green flannel shirt, undoing the buttons quickly as he slides it off his thick arms and throws it in a heap next to the vine covered wall. His rock hard abs sit glistening in the night light while a happy trail of dark, coarse hair sits just above the waist of his jeans in a v shape. It makes you want to get on your hands and knees and crawl to him as you beg to have just a little taste of him.

   “Yes, please. Fuck me,” you moan as you push your breasts together as your center feels on fire for him. 

   “Oh, I’m gonna fuck ya deep, little lamb,” he smirks as he knits his eyebrows together in concentration. 

   He unbuttons his dark jeans and threads the leather belt through his belt loops while he shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs while he stands and hovers over you with his hard cock hitting the base of his hairy stomach as the tip sits weeping and swollen, just waiting to get inside you. 

   You lick your lips together and stare at the swollen tip as saliva starts to coat your mouth. You can practically taste the salt on your tongue, can almost feel the precum sliding down your throat as you beg him for just one more taste. He looks so delicious, and you want to just eat him right up.

   He smirks down at you as he sees you staring at his thick cock that screams your name. “Want a taste, little lamb?” he smirks as you nod your head mindlessly. 

   “Get over here then and do somethin’ ‘bout it,” he demands as he pulls you up by your hair and plants you on your knees in front of his large body. 

   “Go on then. Let me see how good you can choke on this cock, darlin’.” He flashes his pearly whites at you and wraps his fingers around your hair as you take your hand and start sliding it up and down as you spread the precum all over his thick length. 

   You lick the tip lightly and swirl around slowly as you tease him while your hand works up and down the base of him. “Fuck, there ya go,” he groans as you take him inside your mouth as you taste salty goodness drip down your throat. You take him deeper as you choke on him, feeling the drool coat his cock as you go back and forth on him slowly. 

   He grabs tighter to your hair and starts to fuck up into your mouth as you feel him bottom out at the base of your throat as it constricts around his thick length. You choke and gag around his length as he deep throats you over and over again. Your vision blurs as the tears lick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t care. You love when he chokes you out, when his cock is deep in your throat as you hear his stifled moans get caught in his throat the more your mouth deep throats him. 

  “Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel growls as his thrusts become rougher and deeper, enough to where you’re gagging on your own drool as it coats your mouth as he slips deeper inside. 

   Before you think you can’t take anymore, he releases his cock from your mouth as a bead of drool connects from his tip to your lower lip as you choke for air with his fingers still firmly wrapped around your hair. 

   “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he releases you and shoves you back to the ground as your back his the cold floor. “Now spread those legs, sweetheart. Gonna fuck ya nice and deep now,” he instructs as he spreads your legs and gets down on his knees.  He throws your legs over his shoulders and lines his cock up with your folds as he slowly slides the tip up and down your folds as your spit on his cock collects with the messy slick in between your legs. 

   “Jus’ relax now, darlin’. Let me help fill this pretty pussy up,” he smiles as he shoves his cock through your folds and fills you up. 

   You gasp at the stretch, he’s so fucking big that you never quite get used to the stretch. There’s a tinge of pain, but mostly you’re so full of him that all you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel. He fucks up into you deeper as he bottoms out inside you over and over again. 

   His body hovers over you as his lips nip against your neck as he slides in and out of you faster faster faster as you start to feel wildlife burn through your whole body. He folds your legs in half like a pancake as he fucks deeper inside you, making your walls squeeze his large length tight as you get close to your second orgasm. 

   You study his appearance, focusing on his knit eyebrows that are sewn together in concentration as he loses himself in you entirely. Sweat sticks to his forehead as his curls stick together in the glistening sweat. His broad back is flexing and tightening around you as your nails claw his tan skin, making him moan into the shell of your ear as he licks against the edge of your ear with thick pants leaving his mouth. 

   You kiss along the edge of his jaw, nipping at his scruff as you moan his name eagerly into the base of his ear as he speeds up his thrusts, bottoming out again and again until you can’t take it anymore. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna come,” you pant out as he presses his forehead against yours. 

   “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel ya,” he commands as he thrusts up inside once twice three more times until you’re squeezing his cock with your walls and pouring yourself all over him. You moan his name and scratch your nails down his back as he moans back in satisfaction. 

   “Oh, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he continues rutting up inside you until he’s choking for air with his own tongue. 

   “Christ, I’m gonna come. Fuck, I’m gonna…” He doesn’t take long till he’s shooting thick ropes of come inside your walls as you feel warmth bubbling all inside you. He takes a minute to let it all out, releasing all his spend inside you as you breathe in his whiskey coated scent. 

   “Fucking hell, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of that sweet pussy,” he groans as he pulls his cock out of you and lets his spend slide down your milky thighs. 

   He collapses onto his back and pulls you into his side as you wrap a leg around his waist and inch your head up to the crook of his neck as your arm wraps around his broad chest. 

   “Some game, huh?” you pant as your exhausted body splays over the entirety of him. 

   “Some game,” he agrees as he rakes his fingers through your messy hair and kisses the top of your forehead as you relax all your weight into him. 

   “Think there’s ever gonna be a day where you won’t catch me?” you ask curiously as he smiles down and shakes his head at you. 

   “No, sweetheart. I’m always gonna catch you. Even if I have to run a couple miles to get to you. I’ll always catch you, my pretty girl.”

   You smile as he pulls you tight against his body, and you spend the rest of the night just lying on the floor in the abandoned mansion where this all started in the first place. A twisted game that ended in two lovers running back to each other again and again. 

   Maybe some games aren’t meant to be played, but this one was specifically made for you and Joel. The cat and the mouse who started off running away from each other, but it ended with both of you falling apart together. 

You want to run, want to sprint out of bed and run as far as you can, but you can’t. He’ll find you, stalk you till he hunts down your scent and discovers you hiding. You pray that he won’t, but he will. He always finds you. And when he does he takes and takes until you have nothing left, feeding his anger and bitter soul, using your body to escape whatever hell he had been through in the past.

You know he’s lost something special, something close to him. You can see it in the wrinkles that encase his forehead. See it in the dark brown flecks of his tired eyes. See it in the way he carries himself, worn and tattered like the old leather boots on his feet. Can feel it when he crowds your body as he lays over you in the middle of the night. Can feel it on his calloused fingers as he bleeds you dry from the inside, hollowing you out and sucking your lifeless soul and taking it as his own.

You never know what he’s lost, can never figure out what it was that was stolen from him. He doesn’t talk about it, will never let you in even though you beg him to. But you can feel the pain, the absolute agony that holds close to his cold heart. It’s whatever he’s lost that drives his rage, his desire for retribution. And it’s that loss that feeds his desire to take, destroy everything in his winding path. That’s why he comes, always at night, always at the dead blackness of night. He comes crawling to you, needing a way to soothe his scorching temper, needing a way to bury the agony of it all.

He’s broken, just like the shattered black military watch he wears on his left wrist. You try to ask him about it, try to graze your fingers over the broken glass, but he growls at you. Gnashing his sharp teeth as he releases the caged up wolf inside him. You know better, but you push back. Let me in, let me in, you scream. But he never does. That just pushes him further, bringing out the beast from within.

He’s coming closer. Almost here, almost here, the ghosts whisper in warning. You can feel him, as if he was already there at your doorstep, as if he was already clawing his fingers into your fragile skin. Tearing you apart piece by piece just the way he likes it.

Your body starts sweating, you toss and turn against the cold sheets that cling to your damp skin. He’s coming, they call. And it’s then that you can feel him as if he’s standing right outside. You can feel the weight of his steps on the cold, snowy ground. You can hear his shaky, quivering breaths as he trudges through the patches of white snow, can feel the warm breath as he blows it out, can reach your shaky fingers out as his breath kisses the sky. You can feel it, can almost taste it as it whips through the wind, landing up against your fogged up bedroom window.

Run. Hide. He’s here, he’s here, the voices warn. But you don’t listen, can’t listen. Joel’s deep voice washes the voices out, makes them flee from your mind. Mine, mine, he screams in your head as he claims you over and over again with his hands. Those big, rough hands that you so desperately want wrapped around you.

You shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t desire it, but you crave him like you’ve never craved anything in your life. He’s like a disease. Festering and invading your body, making you sick with want, with need. Pulling at your insides so much that you can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore the deep ache in between your thighs as you yearn for his touch, for his entire being. And you’re certain that you’re just as fucked in the head as him now.

He makes you sick. Sick with need, with desire. You shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t want this. Most days he’s unkind, barely speaking, barely able to tolerate his own self. But he gives as much as he takes, and you crave the way he gives. And now you’re just as bad as him, just as selfish and needing as him. Mine, mine, you call in your mind. He’s yours just as much as you are his.

Your eyes open wide as you look at the small clock that hangs on the wall, the hand ticking and ticking as it reaches 1:00am, the time he usually comes after his late night watch shift. Your body quakes from the anticipation of him. You can hear him now. He’s here.

You feel the weight of his heavy feet against the wooden floorboards as he opens the front door, hearing it shriek as it closes behind him with a soft shutter as it knocks against the glass window. He’s coming, he’s coming.

You hear the narrow stairs creak as he climbs up the steep steps. He’s coming for you, coming to claim you, to devour you. He’s like a wolf in the night as he stalks his prey. His dark eyes search for you, your scent hanging in the air as he comes for it, chases it, wanting to taste it. Wanting to rip you to shreds under the weight of his body as he claws and pounces on you. Claiming you as his one and only as he dominates you. But you fully oblige, always surrendering yourself to him completely.

You’re little red riding hood, and he’s the big bad wolf that wants to eat you alive as you spill yourself for him, letting him mark his paws all over you until you can only see the blacks of his eyes as he claims you. My, what large eyes you have. But he’s talking to you as he’s in between your legs, lapping up your flavor as he looks up at you with those dark pits and smiles with his sharp canines glistening in the night. And God, you’re already wet thinking about it, already trembling in the sheets as you wait for him, waiting for him to completely ravage you and destroy you until you’re no more.

You want to touch yourself, want to put an end to that aching throb in your center as slick pools inside you, fighting hard to hold back the urge. He’ll be mad if you don’t wait for him. If he sees you fingering yourself before he gets to you, he’ll be furious. He’s selfish, always so fucking selfish with you. He wants to be the one that makes you feel good, under his conditions. He’s dominating, controlling, wanting your orgasms to come from him and him alone. He’s greedy, but he always gives, feeding into your sweet desires as he revels in your body, in your arousal, in your taste.

You hear the rusty doorknob twist and turn under his grasp, hear the door start to creak open as his dark form clouds against the darkness of the hallway. Take me, take me, you beg in your mind. And you swear he can hear you as he stalks towards you with his massive form.

He’s tired, you can see it in his weathered stare as his dark eyes search for you under the silky sheets. He throws off his tan, heavy coat and tosses it to the side of the room. As he makes his way to you, he pushes up his plaid, green sleeves slowly, exposing thick veins that spiral down his arms, ending in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight, taking in the way his arms flex against his sleeves. They pull and tug so tight that they’re bound to rip at any moment as his bulging muscles encase your nimble body.

He stops at the end of the bed, pulling back the clean sheets as he takes in the sheer nightgown you’re in. His eyes trail over your body as his deep scowl turns into something primal, dominant. “Get up,” he demands as he yanks you up by the wrist and pulls you to a standing position. There’s never such a thing as a hello or hi, beautiful. Only ever demands and commands as he comes for one thing, your body.

He pulls up the wooden chair that sits in the corner of the dark room and places it in the middle of the floor. He looks up at you with the darks of his eyes and curls his index finger, coaxing you to sit in the chair. Your body is hypnotized as you dance your way over to him under a waning spell that puts you at ease.

“Sit,” he says firmly as he pushes you down gently, your back hitting the hard wood as you sit up straighter, preparing yourself to give yourself to him. Your hands fall flat against your thighs as the sheer nightgown barely reaches the tips of your knees. You can feel the cold wind as it blows hard outside your window, can almost taste the white snowflakes that linger on his leather boots.

Your breathing goes ragged as he circles the chair. Circling and circling as he trails a calloused finger over your bare shoulders as he takes you in with his chocolate eyes, inspecting you as he drinks in your features. Your throat goes dry as you watch him stalk around you. He’s a hungry wolf and he’s starving for you.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl today?” His words drag against his teeth as he snarls the words out. He continues to circle, making you audibly gulp at the words that leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, your nails digging into the flesh of your aching skin.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks as he circles you again, peeling his hands over your arm as you shiver from his rough fingers.

“N-no,” you stutter out, falling over your words. Except you had. You did earlier in the shower, thinking of Joel’s hands, pretending his fingers were yours as you made yourself feel good, spilling yourself all over the tiled floor as you called his name. Joel, Joel.

“You filthy little liar. I know you did. I can smell your arousal all over your fingers.” He grabs your hand tight and pulls it up to his nose as he inhales deeply, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. When he opens his eyes up, he takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks slowly, watching you with cold, heavy eyes. Your eyes go wide as you watch him slurp your taste up. A wave of slick runs down the seam of your lacy underwear, and you have to squeeze your legs shut at the growing throb that’s now aching to be touched.

He releases your fingers slowly as you watch him pool his saliva all over you, watching it slide over your hand as he drops it back to your knees with a slapping sound that echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He makes a slow, steady circle around you as he halts right next to you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as he bends and places his hands on his knees, slowly curving his spine as he eyes you with a hard line strewn across his lips. You gulp and sit up straight. You’re in trouble, you know it too.

“I, I didn’t mean to…” you squeak out carefully.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he growls. You automatically go quiet, afraid to interrupt him again. “The next time I find out you pleasured yourself without me, I’m gonna make you fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch, you got that?” he hisses.

Your mouth drops open at the mention of you fucking his fingers yourself, and you have to gulp down a moan at the thought of it. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Repeat it!” he yells, anger seething up in him.

“Yes, I understand,” you say with your eyes low, looking down at your shaking hands.

“Good.”

He skates around and stops in front of you, bending down as he places his rough hands on your knees. “Now, what are we gonna do with you, huh? You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks as he moves your hands away and places his own on the end of your sheer nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky as he inches your nightgown higher, grazing his calloused fingers over your thighs, feeling that low tingling sensation start in the back of your spine.

“Good. That’s good,” he groans as he pushes your nightgown up higher and higher, climbing up your thighs until no more material is touching your legs. The only thing left is your white lacy underwear that are ruined from how drenched you are.

“Now, tell me. What were ya thinkin’ about in the shower?” he asks as he slowly pushes your thighs apart, trailing his fingers up nice and slow as he teases you, getting you all worked up for him.

“You, I was thinking about you,” you gasp as he pushes your legs even further, causing more slick to build up from the action of his rugged hands.

“Were ya thinkin’ of these fingers curling up inside you as I make you cum? Or maybe my tongue swirling around that pretty pink clit of yours?” he purrs as he glides his fingers against the edges of your lace, almost touching you where you need him as he ghosts over your center.

“Y-yes, both. Please, Joel,” you beg as he teases you again, ghosting over you without so much as a light touch to your aching center.

“Please what?” he asks with his brown eyes growing darker, the edges of his pupils expanding into dark coal.

“Touch me, please,” you beg, licking your lower lip in anticipation. He sees you slide your tongue over your lip and you see his eyes grow sharper, arousal swirling all around his black pupils.

“Well, since you asked nicely.” He glides his fingers through your clothed folds, and you gasp at the feeling of your budding arousal. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he groans as his chest rises and falls in waves, pulling his fingers away again as you huff in frustration.

He loves to tease you, loves to torture you as he builds you up and then makes you beg for it. He wants to hear it, wants you down on your knees as you plead and moan for him, calling his name as you beg again and again. Touch me, taste me, fuck me.

“Joelllll,” you beg again, dragging the last syllable out as you call his name, needing his fingers on you, needing his tongue, his cock, his everything.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teases, trailing his fingers over your seams again as he slowly unhooks the material from your hips. He slides the wet material down your legs and disposes of them on the ground, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

He pushes your thighs apart and smooths a thumb over your center as he slides it all the way up, collecting slick as he goes along. You shudder under him as you feel yourself drip on the wooden chair, so turned on that you feel like you could orgasm right at this moment. “Goddamn, you're drenched,” he groans as he takes his thumb in his mouth, sucking all the slick off as he stares into your eyes intensely. And fuck, it’s hot.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and show me exactly what you were doing in the shower. Go on,” he nods at you. “Show me how you touched yourself.” He stands back against the wall and leans on it, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, watching as his flexed muscles pull at his plaid shirt. “Any day now,” he says sternly. “Touch yourself. Now,” he growls. You automatically obey and nod up at him.

You gulp saliva down your throat and slowly bring your right hand over your center, gently pressing your fingers to your throbbing clit as you circle yourself, leaning back into the chair as a quiet moan escapes your mouth as you feel the pressure building fast. You’re so close, already so close.

“Eyes on me,” he commands as the low, guttural sound emits around the room.

You pull your head up and lock eyes with him as you focus on your breathy moans, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. You hear the pulsing blood rush through your ears, feel your body tense as you close in on your orgasm. Almost there, almost.

“Place a finger inside you,” he commands, his voice vibrating through your bones. You obey and slide your middle finger inside as you feel the drenched, tight walls cave around your finger. “Another,” he demands as his eyes go pitch black watching you play with yourself. You slide a second one in and curl them up, hitting the spongy walls that threaten to make you cum.

You let out a loud, aching moan as you curl your fingers again and again while your thumb circles your clit in meticulous circles. Your mouth shapes into an O position as you feel your walls clench around you. You pull out a deep rising orgasm that starts low in your spine and spreads over your heated cunt as you climb higher and higher into bliss.

“Good girl,” he growls as he watches your orgasm wash over you. White, hot heat spreading through your entire body as you ride out your first orgasm, throwing your head back as your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling the wooden chair become soaked with your slick.

You take a moment to come back down to earth, back to where you can breathe again. Feeling your ragged breaths become even as you open your eyes and focus on Joel as he stands in the corner brooding and revelling in your pleasure. He’s breathing fast as his broad chest moves up and down, can practically hear him as his breaths come out choked and fast. He’s turned on, you can see the bulge in the outline of his dark jeans as he takes you in with his eyes, trailing over your center again.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a deep voice rasping in the back of his throat.

“Yes, so good,” you breath out tensely. “Want you to make me feel good though,” you beg as you open up your legs for him, feeling his eyes scrape over your soaked outline.

“Oh? Think you learned your lesson?” he asks curiously with a raised brow.

“Yes, promise,” you confirm, already biting your lip at the anticipation of his fingers on you.

“Mmm, alright. Since you did what I asked, I guess you earned a reward.” He stalks toward you, bending down before you as he gets on his knees and brings your legs up over his shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers up your inner thighs as he works you up again, getting you ready for your second orgasm.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soppin’ and drippin’ for me. Want me to make you wetter? Want me to make you see stars?” he purrs as he blows on your center, making you buck your hips up at the breezy feeling as it tickles your most sensitive areas.

“Fuck, yes,” you squirm, begging for his touch.

“Mmm patience, little lamb. Gonna take ya nice and slow. You gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?” he groans as a deep growl escapes his chest.

“Yes, fuck. I’ll be the best girl, your best girl,” you whine out.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” he praises. Before you can respond, he licks a long, slow stripe up your center as you moan out his name.

“What’s that, little lamb? Couldn’t hear you over your moans,” he teases.

He pulls you lower in the chair as the wood scrapes along your back, feeling his rough hands wrap around your thighs tight. He inhales deeply and then spits on your cunt in a degrading, ravishing way. He takes his thumb and spreads the warm spit over your folds as you writhe under his touch.

“Hold still,” he warns as he presses his other hand on your thigh. You nod up at him and let him continue stroking his thumb up and down you, spreading your wet folds as he gently presses slow circles around your bundle of nerves. You let out a low, drawn out moan as he slips two fingers inside you and flicks his tongue back and forth in slow, lapping circles, so close to bringing you to the heavens again, so close to orgasm already.

One more thrust inside of you and then he’s pulling his fingers out, leaving your clit as he takes his mouth off you and backs up, dropping your legs from his shoulders as he stays straddling in between your legs. Why did he stop? Why did he fucking stop?

“Joel, I need to…I need to…” you whine out. He hushes you with the swipe of his finger to your lips, and you quietly pout as your eyebrows furrow together. Need to cum, need to cum.

“Think you deserve it?” he asks as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, building you up even more as you beg to cum.

“Yes,” you cry out, your clit throbbing with need, your body sick with desperation to let go.

He chuckles a low laugh and smirks up at you, his dark eyes honing in as the black pits expand around him. He’s cruel, wicked, a devil in disguise as he torments you. He knows what he’s doing, he knows.

Filthy trickster, vicious teaser. Cruel, cruel, cruel, the voices whisper in your mind, filling you with regret and longing as you dig your nails into the wooden chair, feeling your body screaming at you. Let go, let go. Need to cum, need to cum. Joel sees the torment in your needing eyes, sees the way you’re scraping your nails into the wood as you beg him to release you with your watering eyes.

“You know, the female orgasm is a complex thing. I can feel you screaming inside to let go, can see the way you ache for release.” He grunts as he pushes a wet, hot finger inside your mouth, slowly pushing a second in as he slides his fingers further up, feeling your saliva cake around him.

“Suck,” he commands. You do as he says and suck his fingers, feeling your sweet arousal slide down the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he praises, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers inside your panting mouth.

“It’s just so hot to watch you suck my fingers with your dripping slick all over them,” he says as he bites his lip, sending his fingers further down your throat as you gag and choke on them, seeing his eyes become full black pits as he watches with pleasure. “Such a good girl, choking on my fingers. Wanna see you choke on something else,” he growls as his sharp incisors beam up at you in a smirk as he slowly releases his fingers from your mouth, pulling saliva with him.

You groan at the sight of his disheveled, tousled curls, at the grey patchy beard that encases his face, at the smoldering stare he’s giving you, at that devilish smirk that’s taunting and teasing you in the most torturous way.

“Your mouth. God, your mouth looks so inviting, and your teeth. They’d feel so good closed around my neck,” you whine as you beg him to finish you off, let you cum in peace.

“Mhmm. The better to eat you with, my dear,” he smirks. The little red riding hood quote takes you for a ride as you feel your cunt clench up around nothing, needing a release.

He smirks up at you once more and winks before he dives back into you, his fingers curling up inside as they jab up into your spongy spot, his mouth pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the bubbling sensation, feel the waves crashing around you as they pull you under, drowning you in a wave of bliss and white heat as it explodes around you. You scream his name loud and desperate as you feel yourself let go. You clench around his fingers and then release, spilling your slick all over him. But what takes you by surprise is that’s not all.

You feel another orgasm take over as your body crumbles underneath him as he continues licking up your slick, working his fingers up and down you as he draws out more, spilling all of you, taking all of you for himself. Selfish, so selfish. But he builds you up so good that this is the best release you’ve ever experienced, like you’re walking on cloud nine as you feel a squirting sensation take over. Feeling yourself inject him with your slick as it sprays all over the front of his plaid shirt.

“Goddamn!” he yells as he pumps his fingers inside you, slowing his rhythm as he works it all out of you. You feel your legs shake and shutter around him as he holds your thighs open, not letting you close until he’s gotten every last drop out of you. After a few seconds of total bliss, you feel your body relax as there’s no more. That was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you wanted more. Needed him to continue to do that for however long this would go on.

“See what happens when I make you wait, when I tease you,” he smirks. “Makes you feel that much better,” he smiles, a devilish grin taking form on his face.

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller,” you respond out of breath, your eyes glazed over as you look over his aroused face.

“A menace, huh? Is that what I am?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns, slowly sliding his hands over your pale skin as he drags over your thighs, ending at your knees.

“What if I don’t?” you mock, wanting to test the waters, wanting to feed his anger. Keep quiet, keep quiet, the voices whisper. But you don’t listen. You never listen, always pushing them aside.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you see his features turning from day to night. He’s furious, his anger fuming inside him as you challenge him. Back down, back down, run, the ghosts scream. But you don’t. You stand your ground, let him rip into you as he takes control. You want him to, you need him to. He’s ruined you like the dead soil that lies in the snowed over dirt outside. He fucking ruined you.

You watch as his eyes turn frigid, his blood running cold as his eyebrows furrow up, his rage conforming to every bone in his hollow body. He’s on you in the next second, his hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes just slightly, not enough to hurt you. He’s warning you, declaring his dominance over you. Telling you that he owns you, controls you.

He hovers in front of your face as his hot breath blows over you, smelling a hint of coffee and whiskey as it surrounds you like a cloud. You could get drunk off his scent, drunk off him. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, little lamb. You know what happens when you open that pretty fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He narrows his eyes as they stare into you like sharp daggers.

He squeezes your neck tighter and you try to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not to the point of pain. He never goes too far, only gets you close. It feels good, so good the way he’s squeezing, the veins in your neck begging him to put more pressure into it. You’re sick, infected with his poison with the way he mind fucks you into doing anything he says. You're a puppet, and he’s pulling all the strings.

Get out, get out, they scream. He comes to take, he comes to destroy, they warn. But you don’t care. Let him destroy. You want him to, need him to destroy your body. You let him take, let him consume you as he throws you to the wolves. Except he is the wolf, and he is the one that tears you apart piece by fucking piece. A lamb to a wolf’s slaughter.

He ghosts his lips against your ear, slowly biting down on your earlobe as he pulls down sharply. You wince and he lets go slowly. His rough tongue glides up your jawline as he squeezes lightly around your throat, building that sweet pool of arousal up again as he twists your emotions. You can barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. He’s been so rough with you, has done so many demoralizing things as he takes and takes from you, feeding his hatred and anger from the ghosts of his past. But he makes you feel so good, so fucking good. You can never deny him, can never run from him. You want it, you want it. So you’ll have it, you’ll have him.

“I could just eat you right up,” he purrs as he bites at your lower lip, pulling it back and releasing as it slaps back into place. You feel the sting of his teeth mark your throbbing lip, but it feels so good. So good.

“So do it. Take me,” you beg, choking out the words with his strong hand wrapped around you.

His eyes go black as he smirks up at you, his eyes smoldering into yours. “You asked for it, little lamb. Now c’mere.” He growls as he releases his death grip on your neck and yanks you out of the chair, slamming you into the white wall as he pins your arms above you and shoves the sheer nightgown up your body. He rips it over your head and tosses it to the floor in a heap.

You feel the cold air across your bare skin as his body crowds you, his lips sinking deep into your neck as he bites at the thin flesh. He pulls and tugs and sucks in a needy, aggressive way. You release breathy moans as the pain turns to pleasure, as you fall deep into the wolf’s trap as he claws at you. Taking, taking, taking. He’s rough, insensitive, always taking what he wants, what he craves. But you let him, you always let him.

He rolls your nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs, gathering your breasts as he kneads them together, making you pebble underneath him as he bites at them, leaving marks all over you. He claims, he takes with no regard for you. It’s what he needs, but you need it just as bad now. He’s brought you to ruin again and again, and he’ll continue to take advantage. You’ll let him, you’ll let him.

He glides his tongue back up to the crook of your neck and bites hard as you scream in both pleasure and pain. It’s too much, too much. But you take it, allowing him to have his way with you. He needs it, he needs it.

You feel the edge of his bulge against your leg as his hips dig into you, feel the shape as your body shakes around you. You want it, you need his cock. Your hands are still held against your will above you, so you lift your leg up slowly, skimming the base of him as you feel his large length through his denim. He grabs your leg fast and shoves it down as he grabs your chin and brings your eyes to his level.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” he snarls as his jagged teeth shine in the moonlight.

“No…” you whisper scarcely.

“No is right,” he snarls with bared teeth. “You do as I say when I say it. Got it?” he asks as he shoves you up against the wall, keeping his hand planted firmly against your jaw.

“Yes, sir,” you respond with a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he smirks. “Now, let me teach you a little lesson on how to fucking do as you’re told,” he growls. “Stay,” he commands as he leaves you clinging to the thin wall. He saunters over to the wooden chair and takes a seat as he spreads his legs, palming himself slowly as one hand unlatches his leather belt and drops it to the floor with a clank.

“Get on all fours, now,” he commands as he swiftly unzips his jeans, slowly yanking them to the ground as he kicks off his leather boots and pushes the jeans to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. You gawk at the size of him, of that massive twitching erection as it plants firmly against his tight stomach, a bead of precum glistening on the swollen tip of him. He’s so fucking pretty sitting there, about to palm himself as he watches you. Something about that brings out the sultry, unruly side of you. You want to taste him, need to feel him inside you.

You’re on all fours, waiting for his commanding call as he allows you to come to him. You need to feel him, need to taste him, need to smell him as his hot arousal encases the air, taking over every logical sense of your brain as he calls to you in your mind. Come out, come out wherever you are, little lamb. Time to come play with the big, bad wolf.

“Crawl,” he growls from the middle of the room, glaring his dark black pits into your soul. You generously oblige as you scrape your nails over the wooden floor, feeling your knees drag behind you as you make your way to him slowly and steadily. You feel your eyes gloss over with pure lust as you stare up at him, watching him pump his hand up and down his large cock, spreading precum all over himself. You gulp at the sight, at the massive length he has on him.

God, he’s so big. So big that when he takes you, he stretches you to your limits. Splitting you in two as he drives into you over and over again. It’s never vanilla, it’s always rough. So very rough. But you like it. Like the way he feels inside you as he claims you, dominates you. You’re mine, all mine, he grits through his teeth as he takes you, digging his nails into your skin as he rips at you, shredding you to pieces.

Take me, take me, you beg through your mind. And you swear he hears you by the way he sits up straighter at full attention and smirks down at you with eyes full of pure lust. And he’s telling you now with his smirk, with his eyes. You’re mine, he growls. And you know it, you know it. His to take.

You grovel over to him, batting your long eyelashes up at him as if that’ll stir the desire in him. You bite your lower lip and flick your tongue across the edge seductively as you smolder for him. Take me, take me, you scream.

The anger builds in him as he snarls down at you and hisses as he continues to pump his large length. The thick veins cascade around his thick cock as shots of precum drip down around him, ending in his coarse, wiry hair. You want to taste him, need to taste him. You’ve never craved anyone like this in your entire life.

He wrapped his twisting vines around your wrists and pulled until he had a forceful hold on you. He dragged you through the pitch black forest and devoured your body, claiming you as his own in the first week he met you. And you were hooked ever since, never being able to say no to him. You could even hear the forest shrieking its warning calls. Run away, leave, get away from the wolf with dark eyes. But you didn’t listen, only hypnotized by the dark, dominant beast of the night.

When you finally reach him and work your way in between his legs, he grabs your jaw with his rough hand and forces you to open as he squeezes you tight. “Tongue out,” he presses and you fully oblige.

You stick your wet tongue out, and he brings the tip of his cock to you as you slowly lap at the end with your tongue. “Fuck,” he groans from deep in his chest as he stares down at you with a snarl. You slowly draw sensual circles with your tongue along his most sensitive spots and lap up precum into your mouth as you generously swallow the salty flavor of him. You smirk up at him as you lap at his tip, giving him your best smoldering eyes that you can.

You watch his eyes turn coal black as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your eyes up to his. You wince at the pain simmering through your skull as he holds you tight, unable to move an inch from him. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me,” he growls as his piercing eyes sear through you like a knife. He pulls your hair tighter and you cry out in pain. “You gonna be a good girl and behave?” he asks with a twinge of anger in his deep voice.

“Mhm,” you nod as he stares his hard eyes into you.

“Better be.” He bares his teeth as he lets his grip drop from you, and you catch yourself on his knees. “Now be a good little lamb and show me how good your mouth fucks,” he growls as he sits back in the wooden chair and scoots his hips up, waiting to be pleasured by you.

You’re quick to appease him. You wrap a hand around his thick cock and slide your hand up and down, spreading precum all around his length, and then you take him in your mouth. You work him nice and slow as you bob up and down, up and down, gathering spit all over his cock. He moans a deep, sated sound out of his throat as he watches you with hollowed out black eyes.

You continue flicking your tongue and sucking his thick, substantial length as you work up and down to please him. You can tell he’s right on the edge of release by the way he’s clenching his jaw and breathing out ragged, concentrated moans. But he won’t end there, not tonight. He’ll push your boundaries, he always does.

As you pull back to his tip, he reaches down and grabs your hair hard and thrusts up into your mouth. He brings your head forward and forces you down as his large length hits the back of your throat, making your eyes start to water from the action. He doesn’t let up, he just keeps thrusting harder and faster as he mouth fucks you forcefully.

You choke and gag on him as he hits the back of your throat over and over again. Your mouth is a swimming pool of saliva as it drips down your chin, caking his cock with slick drool. You feel like you're drowning and can’t breathe underneath him, but he keeps going. He’s almost there, almost there. Need to breathe, need to breathe. Your eyes water as tears spill down your crimson cheeks and fall to the cold floor. He’s pushing you, always pushing you to your limits as he pushes past them. He loves when you choke on him, loves to hear the gargled, gagging sounds as your throat constricts around him. And when you look into his black eyes and see the way he bares his sharp teeth down at you, you know you made him feel good.

“You look so goddamn pretty choking on me, little lamb. Feels so fucking good when you deep throat me, when I fuck your mouth with my cock,” he moans as he pushes you deeper, nearly suffocating you under the weight of his massive cock that’s coated in drool. “Now you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow for me,” he commands as he thrusts inside you.

You can’t take much more. You’re out of breath and you’re digging into his thighs as you continue to take him, barely able to hold on anymore. You see him clench his jaw again, his breath speeding up as he groans curses out of his mouth. He’s there, he’s there. His dark eyes roll back as he holds your head in place and releases his load all through the back of your throat. You feel the white, hot liquid slide down your throat as you swallow the salty taste of him.

“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes releasing himself in you. You watch his body go slack against the back of the chair as he breathes hot, whimpered moans from deep within his chest. He drops his hand from the back of your head, and you pull back, finally able to breathe again. You catch your breath and cough as you choke on more saliva and cum. You brace your hands on the cool floor and sink your nails into the wood, getting a grip on reality again as your body comes back to earth. Your voice is so shaky, so raspy as you wipe the drool from your chin and swipe the tears from your eyes.

He takes, he takes, the voices whisper. But you let him take, you let him ravage you as much as he wants. Don’t give in, don’t listen to the beast. But you do, you always do. The beast has claimed you as his, and little lambs always listen to their master.

The shrieking wind blows against your window, warning you of the beast that lies inside. Warning you that there’s danger near, and it’s lurking. That danger sits in your wooden chair, revitalizing himself before he crowds your body over the bed. He’s not done with you just yet. He needs to feed, needs to devour the entirety of you. He needs to destroy every last part of you as he claims you for himself over and over again.

He slowly pushes himself out of the wooden chair and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the cold floor as he grasps you tight. “On the bed,” he commands as he bares his teeth and pulls you over to the queen sized bed. He pushes you down as you fall on your back into the cool, satiny sheets.

He slowly unbuttons his plaid shirt as he stalks toward you with dark eyes that look like they want to devour you whole. When he gets to the last button, he pulls off the shirt and drops it to the floor, leaving him completely bare. He’s so goddamn handsome that it hurts to even stare for too long.

His broad shoulders and thick arms make it hard to breathe. His bulging veins that spider down his arms and cover his massive hands makes you want to whine in need. His tousled curls and brown flecked eyes make you want to come undone just from one look. They’re hypnotizing, spellbinding. And if you look close enough, you swear you can see the flash of yellow in his eyes as he stalks toward you, ready to pounce as he comes in for the kill.

Run, go now before it’s too late, the voices warn. The wolf comes to steal, the wolf comes to kill, they shriek. Let him, you whisper to the voices. You’re his to take. You want him to take. Take me, take me, you beg. And he will, he always does.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as he drags his body over the edge of the bed, slowly crawling on top of you as his massive form hangs over you. His eyes are black pits as they stare at you, tempting you to come into the darkness as he drags you down again and again. Your eyes go wide and your pulse races in your neck as you stare up at the man made of nightmares.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Scared of the big bad wolf?” he asks as he smirks down at you, his eyes pooled with darkness.

“No, I’m not scared,” you whisper out as you gulp down your fears.

“Then why can I smell the fear on you?” he smiles, his teeth like white, jagged razors.

“I’m not scared of you. No. I’m scared you’ll run off into the night and never come back.” Your voice comes out meek, breathy. Why the fuck did you just say that? His smile drops from his face and his eyebrows knit together. You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t tell what he’ll do. Don’t go, don’t go, you whisper. You need him. You need him.

His jaw flexes and relaxes as you see his waning features in the moonlight. He grazes his calloused fingers over your jaw slowly and comes to cup your chin as he pulls your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, little lamb. Even if I run, I always come back. You’re mine and mine alone. Tell me who you belong to,” he growls possessively, making you desperate for his touch. You need him, you need him.

“You. I belong to you. I’m yours,” you gasp out, not able to hold on much longer. Touch me, taste me, devour me.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

Before you can comprehend what happens, he crashes his lips down to yours and devours you. Sucking, biting, kissing your throbbing lips as he shoves his tongue in your mouth and glides his rough tongue against yours. He swirls and swirls, filling up your senses with the taste of him. He tastes so fucking good, you could get lost in his whiskey taste, needing to drown in it until it fills up your lungs completely.

When he releases from your mouth, he cages his arms around your shoulders and crowds your body with his. “Little lamb, little lamb. What pretty eyes you have,” he purrs as he slowly pushes your legs apart with his knees, spreading you wide open for him to take. You bite your lip at the gentle praise and feel yourself become wet with arousal at the sight of him spreading you.

He lowers his head to your neck and licks a stripe up the side, right in the sensitive crevice of your neck. “And you taste so fucking good, I just love eating you up,” he groans as he bites down on your most sensitive nerve ending in your neck. You moan at the sharp, hot sensation as a wave of slick runs down your inner thigh.

He trails his hand slowly down your center, starting at your chin, gliding down your sternum, sliding over your abdomen, and ending at your wet, hot center. He spreads your soft folds and draws tight, slow circles around your clit as you hear the sloshing noises from your arousal.

“Joel,” you moan out, whining as it takes you under a sea of hypnotic pleasure. “Take me. Please, take me,” you beg.

“That’s right, little lamb. Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” he praises through your thick cloud of pleasure. “Gonna fuck you now, little lamb. Gonna show you how good I can make you feel,” he says with bared teeth.

“Please,” you beg as he takes his thumb off your clit and pulls you down further in the bed, angling your hips up as he wraps your legs tight around his back.

“You’re mine, little lamb. Mine,” he growls as he plunges his thick cock in you, spreading you wide and splitting you in two as you moan out in pleasure.

He keeps his strides steady and slow, quickly picking up the pace as he fucks up into you over and over again. Driving your moans out of you as he bottoms out inside you, pounding over and over again against your tight walls. He throws your legs over his shoulders and digs his nails into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, repeatedly hitting the soft, spongy area inside you over and over again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. You whine out as you moan his name over and over again. So good, it feels so good. You can feel the pressure building, feel your orgasm about to take form as your walls flutter against his cock.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, little lamb. Feels so fuckin’ good. Let go for me, want you to come for me. Tell me who fuckin’ makes you feel good. Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to,” he growls as he fucks inside you harder, pressing the pad of his calloused thumb against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he circles and circles, drawing that sweet orgasm out of you.

You feel the tingling sensation wash over your head, down your spine, and ending at your aching cunt as your toes curl around him. You keep your eyes trained on him as you’re barely able to keep them open. You feel your mouth drop open wide as you let out a loud moan that’s meant for Joel.

“You. I belong to you, Joel.” You scream out his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling your walls clench up around him and then release white slick all over his cock as he continues to thrust up inside you, as he continues to circle your pulsing clit. White, hot heat spills through you as you completely lose yourself to him. Your body feels staticky as your mind goes fuzzy and your brain fogs over, only thinking of the man with dark eyes that takes you over completely.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls as he leans over your body and hovers over you, driving his thick cock in and out, in and out. Bottoming out so many times that you see stars. He’s there, he’s almost there, he’s about to cum. Four more thrusts and his body tenses up, his black pupils expanding as he throws his head back and clenches his jaw. He spills his seed inside of you as you feel the sticky cum coat your walls. He claims you, he claims you, and you love it, can never get enough. Mine, mine, mine, he growls possessively. And you’re his, you’re all his.

He slowly pulls out of you as you feel his seed drip down your inner thighs. “Did so good for me, little lamb. So good,” he praises as he cleans the mess from your thighs, wiping away the evidence that he had been there. He collapses next to you in bed and pulls you to him as he wraps his strong arms around you, crushing you to his chest. It feels good, this feels good.

He always leaves right after he finishes, never stays to comfort or hold you. He’s selfish, mean, but tonight he holds you. He holds you. He stays. You don’t say anything about it, don’t ask him why he stays because he’ll just get up and leave, leaving you empty and alone.

You feel the heavy weight he holds close to him, feel the heartbreak he carries with him day after day, can feel the cold glass of the broken watch grazing against your back. But you don’t ask, don’t chance it. You feel the loss cover him, feel his anger seething somewhere underneath his calm demeanor. It’s there just waiting to pounce, waiting to lash out at whatever stands in front of him.

He’s the wolf that stalks Jackson, the wolf that terrorizes the forest, the wolf that haunts the whispering ghosts that lie buried in the cold, dead ground. He goes around destroying, rampaging, slaughtering in the thick of the night. He’s a menace that looks for anything he can sink his teeth into and bleed dry. He’s a looming threat over every area he enters, threatening to destroy and kill. He takes, he takes. Again and again. But that’s what wolves do. They hunt and they take and they dominate while their prey cower before them, just waiting for the kill.

Joel is a wolf. A reckless, vengeful, powerful wolf. He loves to devour, loves to control, loves to dominate you. But he also gives, never letting you go starving for his touch. He always comes at the dead of night, always pulls you from your deep sleep to tumble around with the wolf in the sheets.

He’s like a melodic, captivating melody that hypnotizes you, calling you into the forest night after night with his deep howl. You always go, never ignoring the call that’s meant for you and you alone. And when you go, the ghosts reach for you from under the dirt and try to pull you away, warning you of what you’re about to face. But you ignore them, stepping over their graves as if they were never there. You go, you always go. Never betraying the lonely wolf with the sad, dark eyes.

It’s now while he holds you tight in his arms that you realize maybe you were meant to find him. He’s broken, a lone wolf that walks the hollow streets of Jackson just trying to find a purpose to keep going, to keep fighting. And when you showed up a few months ago, it's like a little light turned on inside him when it was all around black before you came.

You see him now for what he really is. He’s not all bad, not all teeth and claws. He yearns to break free from his wolf form, begging to run free with the rest of the pack instead of being cast out like he is. You see it in his wrinkled forehead, in his jaw that repeatedly clenches and relaxes, in his dark brown eyes that hollow out when you stare into them.

He’s so close, so close that you smell his mahogany forest scent that clings to him as it pulls you in, intoxicating you into a relaxed state. He stares at you with those dark eyes, his chest breathing in and out in shallow waves. You try something new, feeling brave all of a sudden. You slowly reach out your hand and brush it through his tousled curls, gently moving away a dark piece that falls against the side of his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lash out at you like a wild animal. He stays calm, just staring at you with a soft expression. His eyes change to a chocolate brown instead of the deep black pits he usually has. And then he surprises you by reaching his hand up slowly to your face, hesitating at the gentleness of himself. He trails his calloused fingers over your cheek, as light as a feather as he takes in your tranquil features.

He changes, he changes, the voices call. No more teeth, no more slaughter, they chant louder. A quiet victory to the ghosts that haunt the forest.

And just like that, you have tamed the wolf, controlling all his pent up rage, giving him the restitution he needed all along. You can see it in his big brown eyes, how he looks at you as if you saw him for the first time when no one else did. When no one else could give him what he needed. He needed someone that could understand all the hurt and loss he had been through. You’ve lost, you’ve died a thousand times through grief, but you found your way again through him. The hungry wolf that you were searching for all along.

And so the lost, scared lamb found herself in the face of the big, bad wolf. He came to destroy, to take, and to use. But you found a way to tame the claws, to tame the gnashing teeth. Somehow you controlled the beast, showing him that he truly wasn’t alone. Never leave, never leave, you call to him in your mind. And it’s like he can hear your thoughts because he drags his thumb lightly down your jawline and responds.

“I’ll stay, little lamb. I’ll stay,” he whispers. And he does, he does.

Maybe not all wolves are out to steal, kill, and destroy. Maybe there are wolves that are just lonely, broken, needing to know that someone understands them. Needing to know that they’re truly not alone. Joel is that wolf. He just needed to find you. He needed to find the lamb that wouldn’t run and cower in his presence. He needed a lamb that would stay by his side, that would show him the way out of the dark and into the light. He needed restitution. He needed you. He needed you.

And so he stays, he stays. The lonely, bleeding, broken wolf finding resolve and contentment with the quiet, gentle lamb. He stays.