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𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K Words]

Summary: Marlene thinks Joel can save the fireflies. You’re not so sure.

Word Count: 10.2k!!!!

CW: LONG FIC. You have been warned! Slow burn Enemies to Fuck Buddies. Joel is 40 here, 10 years before the events of the game! Military and political themes because, say it with me now, “Jas loves plot”. Moody Joel, before Tess. Aggression. Slight gore. Power play. Hair pulling, f masturbation. Angst. Based off Game!Joel

Tease: “Look at you,” Joel growls. “Totally shameless.”

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

The white graffiti paint drips down the chipped terracotta walls of the hallway you were designated to patrol. Your feet ache in the brand-new leather boots gifted to you in the last donation drop-off, and you want nothing more than to crawl back to bed and ignore the arrival of this smuggler that had Marlene promising that she could take control of Boston in a fortnight.

“What a bunch of bullshit,” you scoff bitterly, picking at your cuticles. The skin is red raw under the fluorescent lighting, crimson blood pooling around your nails. It's a nervous habit you picked up since joining the Fireflies, marginally healthier than staying up all night but still torturing your body somehow.

There was no light to this way of life, no promise that the darkness would ever subside. It was a brutal cycle of killing a handful of soldiers only for them to execute swathes of Fireflies. You saw it in your dreams, your colleague's brains splattered across the streets in the exclusion zone, a carmine reminder that the military would not tolerate any form of mutiny within their controlled zones. Too many had devoted themselves to suicide missions, but still, you had nothing to show for it. How much longer could Marlene continue to hurl young lives at a promise she couldn't fulfil? The likelihood of finding an immune individual grew smaller and smaller each time squadrons of Fireflies failed to return home, and even the most faithful of individuals were beginning to lose hope that this martyr would ever arrive. That was despite your dogged leader insisting that there must be someone out there that could help provide the vaccine that would eradicate the Cordyceps virus.

You hiss sharply as you subconsciously pull a hang nail down your first knuckle, resulting in a stinging sensation that rips you from your pessimistic thoughts. It's light outside now, and you wonder how long you will have to wait to meet this smuggler that Marlene speaks of so highly. She had claimed that she knew the man's brother, stating that Tommy had fought valiantly for the cause until he found himself unable to justify putting his life on the line for someone that they weren't sure even existed.

As Firefly numbers dwindled, so too did the morale that held the frayed edges of the organisation together. Everyone had sacrificed something and lost someone dear for seemingly no reward. Marlene's fantastical idea that one lone smuggler could change the course of the firefly's suffering left you feeling that options were running out.

As you begin to resign bitterly to your seemingly inevitable end, a pair of footsteps sound down the corridor in an indication of your saviour’s arrival, broken bottles crunching beneath his boots. When you look up from your throbbing finger, now stripped to ribbons, you are caught off guard by the view.

Marlene's expression is grave; eyebrows pulled together in a stark and silent warning. Soldiers aren't coming home today. You had seen that gaunt visage before. Hell, you'd seen it almost every week recently. However, the most shocking sight was the person who accompanied her.

The man is old, much older than you had been expecting. His mousy brown hair, trimmed short, is greying to match the thick, peppery beard that coats his jaw. The edges of his eyes are creased, no doubt carved with the years he spent fighting to survive. His thin lips turn downwards, and his eyes are cold and hardy, indicating his desire to get the job done and escape Marlene’s control.

"Soldier," Marlene addresses you with an air of authority that can only indicate she is attempting to impress her guest, "You will be coming with me."

"Yes, ma'am," you stand at attention and cast your eyes over the guest of honour, who is yet to introduce himself. He doesn't look as though he intends to. He watches you with an air of caution as though he doesn't trust you. It doesn’t surprise you. Everyone in this new world order is a threat. Perhaps this wariness is how he survived so long.

Falling in line, you follow behind your superior. There is an uneasy silence settling amongst you. The Commander and The Smuggler don't seem comfortable in each other's presence.

"So, say you take back Boston. What then?" The man's gruff Texan accent cuts through the silence like a dull blade. It's agonising, an unwanted intrusion to the apparent mutual decision to remain quiet.

"I think you know," Marlene speaks with frustration, "Restore democratically elected government control.”

"Didn’t you say that at the beginning? It ain’t as though you are any closer than 10 years ago." The smuggler points out, his assessment lacking any form of amusement. He doesn't seem to revel in the Fireflies' losses, yet he has the confidence to call Marlene out on her ridiculous ambition.

Marlene shoots the stranger a look of indignation, clearly not appreciating his accurate assessment of the Fireflies’ track record. She doesn't attempt to argue, instead leading him into a room and ushering you inside.

“Joel,” she begins, naming the enigma that had walked in and undermined the entire principal of the organisation he had joined momentarily. Marlene closes the door and locks it for good measure before turning to face her ‘last hope’. “I need you to tell me the plan. I can’t just let you blindly lead the last of my men into a war zone-“

“Didn’t expect you to,” he answers lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his flannel stretch across his broad biceps, buttons straining slightly against his frame. You assume that his physique is thanks to lugging around the oversized backpack that rests over his shoulders, the worn nylon fabric practically bursting at the seams.

Marlene offers Joel a look, the kind that indicates she doesn't feel like joking around. He inhales slowly through his nose, then exhales as if preparing to begin a presentation at a job interview. In a way, that is exactly what this meeting was.

"Y’all can only gather the number of weapons you need from one place. You won't find this shit just lyin’ around. We'll have to take it from the military themselves."

You nearly choke on the oxygen in your lungs, rocked back by Joel’s confidence in his ability to steal directly from under the noses of the US Military. You knew that Marlene had faith in him, but this was lunacy.

"And just how do you suppose we do that?" Even Marlene, ever the optimist, looks at Joel as if he is crazy. There was no way to infiltrate the military bases that the Federal Disaster Response Agency sanctioned. They had the place secure, triple-locked to keep out humans and infected alike.

"We'll catch them on one of their supply runs," Joe answers her question simply, as though he thought of this already, “If we ambush during the night in the Outskirts, they’ll lack the defences to hold us off. At most, there'll be four of ‘em in the delivery vehicle.”

It's an insane plan. The soldier’s on the border of the quarantine zones are armed to the teeth to defend against the infected. The team would need to be stealthy, catching them off guard and dispatching them before they had a chance to call for backup.

Perhaps it's the kamikaze-like nature of Joel's plan, or maybe the lack of detail he’s sharing, but understandably Marlene seems unsure. "Do you think it'll be worth it, all that risk?"

"What, armin’ yourself and strippin’ them of their next lot of ammunition? Seems beneficial to me."

You can't help but wonder what Marlene is trading for Joel to run headfirst into a death trap like this. Likewise, is it wise for her to place all her bets on one man who seems intent on being captured and sentenced to execution?

The heavy sigh that rattles through Marlene's lungs indicates to you that she has nowhere else to turn. In exchange for Joel's basic scheme, she extends a nod of approval.

"You will be escorting Joel." It takes a second for you to realise that Marlene is talking to you, still caught up in shock. When you do, Joel looks less than pleased at the concept of having a babysitter. He drags his eyes over to you, expression flat. You can't say that you're precisely thrilled, either.

"Yes, ma'am," you offer confidently despite wanting to beg for mercy. She doesn't offer you the chance.

"Joel, gather all the men and firepower you’ll need." With that final comment, Marlene turns toward the exit, leaving the two of you alone in the unfurnished room. She seems animated and enthusiastic about getting this plot up and running.

Joel makes no move to leave, instead leaning against the wall and peering at the Firefly pendant that rests on your collarbone. You know what he's thinking, but he himself fails to speak the ‘why’ out loud. There’s an awkward edge to him, indicating a man who had grown too accustomed to surviving as a lone wolf.

"I heard your brother was a Firefly," you beat Joel to it, asking the question before he has the opportunity to interrogate you. This area of the conversation appears to irritate Joel, his eyes turning to the ceiling.

"Yeah, he wasn't happy with the way I did things. Said it was too violent. Instead, he joined you and continued his brutal crusade here despite criticisin’ mine." Joel scoffs, picking at the thread-worn sleeves of the flannel he wore. His words are bitter, leading you to believe that the brothers don't talk anymore.

"It's less of a crusade than an attempt to set things right," you justify.

"You're killin’ people," Joel accuses bluntly. It's as though he's tarring you with the same pitch-black brush as those who killed for their own benefit. It sparks a rage in you, the words spilling from your lips before you can stop them.

"You kill people to survive this world. I’m trying my best to revert it to the old one. If I have to kill soldiers to do it, who, by the way, act worse than the infected most of the time, then so be it.”

Joel appears to let your argument settle before he nods, pushing himself from the wall and making his way to the door. His boots scuff the flooring, the grating sound punctuating the silence as you await his response, which he delivers with an air of finality.

"Yeah, you just keep tellin’ yourself that bullshit."

—————————————————

Joel has a wealth of knowledge that can only result from his smuggling adventures and the network of insiders he worked with. He is somehow aware of the military's next supply drop-off date, which just so happens to coincide nicely with his arrival. It gave the team two days to plan their attack. It was almost too good to be true.

Your suspicions against the smuggler grow with your inability to discern his reason for aiding Marlene. There was no question that he was no longer involved with his brother Tommy, the two seemingly ending their relationship on less than amicable terms, and there also appeared to be no love lost between your sergeant and Joel.

Yet despite his apparent limited reward, Joel was focusing all of his efforts on ensuring that this mission was successful. His rucksack, which he had held close to him since entering the Fireflies’ hideout, was filled to the brim with rudimentary grenades and modified firearms. He admitted his knowledge of creating these weapons had come from manuals scavenged throughout his time as a smuggler. Reluctantly, Joel shares the blueprints, and the mission squad are armed with Molotov cocktails and nail bombs by the end of the evening.

You wish you could say that Joel's helpfulness had warmed you to his presence; however, you find yourself increasingly irritated by his constant attendance. You see him arrogant and consistently standoffish despite your fellow member's attempts to appease him with light conversation.

Following the half-a-day-long effort to sufficiently arm the team, Marlene had pulled all on-site members of the Fireflies into a meeting room. She stands at a table, an aged, worn map of the Boston quarantine zone spread across the surface. From where you're standing, you can see circles marked in red ink along the border.

Something akin to optimism clings to the air of the dusty meeting room. You feel it when the group goes silent as Marlene raises her hand for attention. Joel stands by her side, eyes assessing the map as he awaits the beginning of the briefing.

"Everyone listen in," Marlene orders, authority drenching her tone as she commands her army, "I want everyone confident in their role on this mission. We only have one chance to get this right."

You swallow thickly, readying yourself to hear how Marlene had taken Joel's absurd mission plan and cultivated it into a scheme for which her troops would feel comfortable risking their lives.

"We have information that the military is due a supply drop from FEDRA in two days. We are almost certain that this restock will contain firearms and ammo that could help us take down the military presence in Boston." A series of murmurs sound, those in the room comforted by the prospect that they may no longer need to ration their supplies.

"It is crucial that we obtain these weapons to take control of the Boston quarantine zone. With civilian support, we could increase our numbers and once again focus our efforts on obtaining a vaccine for the Cordyceps virus."

It was an unspoken truth that the Fireflies' efforts to acquire a vaccine had ultimately fallen by the wayside, the lack of soldiers, weapons and equipment making it increasingly difficult to travel across the country to the medical facility at Salt Lake City where the trials were taking place. The Fireflies focused most of their resources towards protecting the medical officials integral to finding a cure. Taking control of the militarised zone would provide more than enough manpower, vehicles, and firearms to travel safely and restart the process of searching for an immune individual who could help turn the tide of the war against the virus.

"I can confirm that most supply drops are handed over on the east side of the quarantine zone. Our best option is catching the vehicle containing the cache in the Outskirts before it reaches the wall.”

The Outskirts are notoriously dangerous, their desolate plains unlit and infested with runners that try their luck getting past the military blockade. If you somehow managed to survive the creatures, you then had to contend with the snipers on the wall. Many Fireflies had lost their lives crossing these lands to supply the medical facility in Salt Lake City at the peak of testing.

"I will be handing the mission over to Joel to ensure we have the best chance of obtaining these critical supplies,” Marlene finishes, stepping back and letting Joel take control of the meeting.

Wasting no time, Joel points towards the circled area on the east side of the quarantine wall. "They plan to hand over the cache at the gate on the East wall. If we can intercept ‘em before they reach the lit areas surroundin’ the zone, we should be able to take out the soldiers and grab the weapons before they can call for backup."

You're unsure where your frustrations come from. Perhaps it's the simplicity with which Joel delivers his plans, but you find yourself questioning whether or not it was possible to succeed without losing enough men to bring the Fireflies to their knees.

"I assume you expect us to travel through the underground tunnels beneath the apartment buildings. Who's to say we won't run into Clickers and Runners that drain our resources or leave us late and unable to complete the mission?" You question Joel with sincerity, but he looks at you as though you’ve queried his authority.

Marlene opens her mouth to interject and scold you for insubordination, but Joel raises his hand.

"I am gonna do a run of the smugglin’ tunnels myself and sweep for any infected so that the path is clear for tomorrow evenin’," Joel answered smoothly, despite the obvious irritation laced between his words, "Shipment is due at 9 p.m. tomorrow. We're gonna move out at 5 to make sure that we have enough time to get to the Outskirts and set up for engagement."

Still, you find yourself concerned with Joel’s leadership. None of you knew him. He hadn’t developed trust between the team and himself; instead, he kept you all at arm's length and maintained distance.

“How do we know you won’t hand us all in and take the weapons yourself? You’re a smuggler; you’d earn a lot from them,” you accuse, not unlike the tone Joel had taken with you hours before.

“Soldier-!” Marlene speaks up, running out of patience with your disregard for her ‘smuggling saviour’. Once again, Joel keeps his hand aloft to quieten her and fight his own corner.

“This is a job,” he states with a gravelly tone that betrays his relaxed posture, “I ain’t for your little militia group, and I’m not against it. I will lead this mission, hand the weapons over, take my ration cards and my cut of the firearms and leave. You wanna distrust me and end up dead? Be my guest.”

You can’t help but scoff, taken aback by his inability to choose his side of the moral compass. To fight for good with the Fireflies or battle to maintain the new world order with FEDRA. Instead, he doesn’t even sit on the fence. He’s situated in the shadows, benefitting from either side only for himself.

Joel’s expression serves as a warning to interrupt him again, pointing to the map as he begins to detail the step-by-step of his mission.

“Plan’ll go like this….”

—————————————————

You can’t exactly claim to be surprised that you had been left out of the mission squad and ordered to remain at the hideout after questioning Joel’s leadership. ‘One loose link’ and all that. However, you find yourself wracked with nerves as you return to your room for the night. What if they needed you? What if everything went south, and you were the one pair of hands required to maintain a grip on the delicate situation?

That wasn't to say that you didn't have faith in your fellow soldiers to carry out the mission successfully. Joel had picked the brightest and most skilled of Marlene's troops to carry out this night raid, and you knew they had enough experience to achieve this critical assignment. But what if…?

Marlene had delivered her scathing reprimand following the meeting when she had dragged you down a corridor and insisted you get your act together. You hadn’t been able to look her in the eye, believing her reckless for putting the lives of her troops, your friends, in the hands of a man who couldn’t care less what happened to them as long as he got his payout.

Were you being naive? Was it foolish to believe that every surviving person not aligned with FEDRA should stand opposed to the regime and attempt to restore some level of order? Or had humanity evolved beyond the return to everyday life, much preferring to fight for themselves, to remain in the dog-eat-dog system this virus had granted them?

You find yourself fearing the answer.

As you enter the doorway to the barracks, you hear the rapid pacing of footsteps down the hallway approaching you. The sound drags you from your thoughts, but not before a hand firmly grips your collar and pushes your back to the wall so hard that you hit your head off the jagged brickwork.

Pushing his forearm across your chest, Joel stares back at you with rage burning in his pupils. The metal of a watch strapped around his wrist digs into your collarbone painfully, but you grit your teeth in response, standing firm against Joel's display of intimidation.

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, seemingly infuriated by your display in the meeting room. Despite his fury, his voice is relatively even. "You gotta problem with me?"

"Ha," you scoff, "That's funny. What was it you said? ‘Be my guest’?”

Joel answers first by applying pressure to your chest, his forearm balancing his weight and crushing your bones beneath it in a painful warning. You grab at the skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeves and dig your nails in, though it does little to de-escalate the tension.

"Look,” he sneers, brows creased together, “You don’t gotta like me. Ain’t even gotta respect me. But what you’re not gonna do is put doubt into your fellow soldier's heads. That shit’ll get them killed. You want that?”

"What's it matter to you? You don't care how many die as long as you get your payout," you dig in, not allowing Joel to think he could muscle you into submission.

He inhales shakily in anger, glaring at you as you attempt to pry his arms off. "The role Marlene gave me ain't to ensure the survival of your friends. My only goal is to guarantee y’all get your hands on those weapons, no matter the cost. So I suggest you assure their best chance of survival by keeping your mouth shut and your opinions of me to yourself."

"Aye, Aye, Captain,” you sneer.

"Atta girl."

The sarcasm dripping from those three syllables sets you off again. You grit your teeth while pushing hard on the limb that has you firmly pinned down, but your limited strength has little effect until Joel pulls away completely. Almost instantly, a bruising ache settles across your skin, and you suppose it's Joel's version of a parting gift.

There is a pause between the two of you as you take in Joel's command. He appears to be watching your expression for any sign of acknowledgement towards his order. You both breathe heavily, on the comedown from your respective anger aimed at each other. It's intense, the crackling tension in the air shared by both of you.

You're unsure how or why the mood shifts so violently in the room, but you can feel your heart racing as you watch Joel settle his hands on his hips. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip as he exhales what must be the last of his anger. In this quiet moment, you note how handsome he is despite his weathered appearance. His usually aggressive, guarded expression is momentarily brought down and exposes the warm, earthy brown tone of his irises.

"Just…" Joel hesitates, searching for the correct words as he looks you in the eye. He's quiet for a long, drawn-out second as if processing you. "You ain't gonna like the guilty conscience of believin’ somethin’ you said is the reason your friends died. Trust me."

The gentle tone Joel offers indicates he has experience in what he's warning you against. When he offers this advice so calmly, who are you to deny this slither of kindness? So you just nod in acknowledgement, refusing to extend him any more appreciation.

Joel steps away whilst clearing his throat, appearing satisfied with your non-answer. He, too, provides little recognition, instead turning around and exiting your room in the direction he came.

You watch as he paces down the corridor, his broad back disappearing around the corner and leaving you alone to dissect what the fuck just happened.

—————————————————

On the morning of the mission, you see very little of Joel. It's all hands on deck, the mission team working hard to ensure they had the supplies needed for the hijacking. Every so often, you would catch glimpses of Joel's red tartan flannel or hear the rough intonation of his Texan accent. It was silly, but you began to think he was purposely avoiding you.

Yes, he had acted carelessly last night by cornering you the way that he did, though you're not sure that is entirely out of character for him. Instead, you believe that whatever happened that caused your heart to race when he pulled away was a shared experience.

Rather than concerning yourself with why he was skirting around you, intentional or not, you focus on enacting your promise from last night. You work hard to ready the troops for the deadline, a subtle nod that you approve of Joel's leadership to urge their confidence in him.

It is painful, but you take your time with each of them. There is almost a certainty that some may not return home, and so you commit them to your memory. It's something you did every time someone left to enter the field, but it felt especially pertinent considering how close the Fireflies were to shifting their luck. Those who died tonight wouldn't get to appreciate the spoils of their sacrifice.

By mid-afternoon, Marlene considered her soldiers ready for battle and ordered them at ease to relax and rest up before heading out. Some opted to share their last meal; others played card games while recounting the time they had spent together with fondness despite the difficulties shared.

Quietly, you had slipped away from the main halls and left them to their final goodbyes. You weren't going out there, so it felt disrespectful to sit amongst those waiting for the call to arms. Alternatively, you made your way to one of the medical bays to ensure that someone set up enough equipment for those who may come back wounded.

By now, you had set out multiple antibiotic syringes, readied bandages and sutures and prepped gurneys so that everything was ready should there be an emergency. You felt better this way, as though you had aided in the effort.

So caught up in the process, you failed to notice Joel leaning his shoulder against the doorway until he cleared his throat to alert you to his presence. When you look up, the sound having startled you, you find him watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Do you… Uh-do you need something?" You offer awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Joel shakes his head, eyes flitting down to where you had laid out the medical equipment.

"No. Everythin’ is ready, and the tunnels are clear of infected. Just comin’ to tell you I'm headed out." He walks across the room towards the desk you are sitting at, stopping at the foot of the wooden table and laying his palms flat along the surface. You can see the veins raised through his skin.

You look at him through your lashes, swallowing back the nervous energy you feel creeping to the surface as he leans over the table.

"Why should I care?" You ask. You intend for it to appear nonchalant, but it just sounds breathy even to your ears. Joel raises an eyebrow in question.

"Woah Woah, easy. Still bratty then, I see," Joel points out, his tone flat. You cringe inwardly, knowing that that must have been his attempt to extend an olive branch. "Thought we could put this little disagreement behind us before heading out."

"There isn't one."

"Could’a fooled me," Joel chuckles, but it lacks humour. His gaze slips over your body and appears to take note of all the tiny details. You hope it's all in your mind, but you can feel your face heat up and your heart thrum in your chest again.

"You know, you really remind me of Marlene."

Of all the things you expected Joel to say, that certainly wasn't one of them. You look back at him slack-jawed as you feel the warmth of what you assume was a compliment wash over you.

"Huh?”

"She doesn't put up with none of my bullshit neither. Always tellin’ me to take a hike when I'm outta line and put me back in my place," there's a hint of a smile and Joel's face as he recounts their strange dynamic. A fondness touches his eyes, a fraction of warmth you hadn't yet seen in the hardened smuggler. "Thinkin’ that's maybe how she managed to keep Tommy in check for as long as she did."

You hesitate in your response, unsure how to approach this conversation due to the awkwardness from this morning. Turns out you don't have to because Joel continues.

"Only difference between y’all is that you have the balls to question things you feel ain't right. That's a high-value quality in a leader."

You feel as though you've been bowled over. Yet another compliment from the man who had attempted to strangle the life out of you nearly 12 hours ago. They were starting to make you think that maybe he'd succeeded and that you had entered a strange alternate dimension.

Laughing awkwardly, you shift the syringes around the tabletop in an attempt to keep your nervous hands busy. "Don't let Marlene hear that, shall consider it mutiny."

That earns you another elusive chuckle, the Texan shaking his head in amusement.

"Yeah, well, it ain't mutiny if I ain't part of her little militia army. Don't think I got much to worry about." This dynamic isn't friendship, you figure, though it's undoubtedly more amicable than tussling in your bedroom. It may be the closest Joel ever got to anything akin to amity.

It's not hard to assume that almost 20 years of solitary survival might make it challenging to establish emotional ties. Plus, you know nothing of Joel's ordeals getting to this point. Still didn't excuse his arrogance, though.

Again, silence creeps between you and you feel your stomach somersault while Joel maintains his close proximity. You dread to think what you look like, horrified that your expression could give away your internal panic. Even if it did, it wasn't Joel causing it. It wasn't.

"I'm off," Joel grumbles, standing up and pulling away from the desk and allowing you to breathe a silent sigh of relief. You watch him stroll leisurely towards the door, his hands on his hips. "I'll see you in the mornin’."

Most people in the Fireflies were surprisingly superstitious. It wasn't often you heard someone announce with such certainty that they would return from a mission. Regardless of its abnormality, it manages to ease your nerves – not that you were concerned about what happened to Joel.

"Good luck."

The flippant comment causes Joel to stop in his tracks, pausing in the doorway. He peers over his shoulder at you as if to make certain that you said it. He appears surprised.

"Yeah. Thanks."

—————————————————

Pacing.

You're pacing uncontrollably, circling the room in a failed attempt to ease the nervous energy pent up in your system. No matter how hard you attempt to block out the repetitive dialogue in your mind, it rushes back to the surface of your brain. What if, what if, what if –

Joel and his squad had moved out the minute the clock struck five, just as he had promised. Although Marlene had provided Joel with a walkie-talkie, the mission's reliance on stealth meant that no one intended to use it. You were completely cut off, uncertain of Mission status or if the squad was even alive.

Hoping it would make your wait more bearable, you turned your ticking clock to face the wall and put your watch inside your bedside drawer. It had helped initially, but now the sun had set, and you were expecting their imminent arrival. Every second your colleagues don't step back into the compound, your faith dwindles.

Though she maintained a stony expression, you knew Marlene was equally anxious. The most wanted woman in America, though able to defend herself, still depended heavily on her armed personnel. Reliant on this mission being a success, she had offered them up to Joel in the hope that their experience would assure victory. You can't help but wonder if she feels exposed without them.

What if they didn't come back? Could she survive without them?

It’s bordering on the edge of midnight when Marlene informs you she’s turning in for the night. You can’t say you blame her, needing to sleep on the off chance the team didn't return. She had informed you upon the group's exit that if the mission failed, the two of you would be heading to Salt Lake City at dawn.

You opt to stay awake, knowing well enough that you won't sleep until you are confident there will be no return.

Continuing your anxious circling of the room, you pick at your wounded cuticles. They are weeping blood down their knuckles thanks to hours of torture, yet you can't bring yourself to stop the self-destructive behaviour. Not while you wait for news.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest at the sound of the main doors creaking open. It's so quiet you almost miss it in the silence, the sound of your blood rushing through the shell of your ear nearly drowning out the barely audible noise.

Grappling for your pistol, you release the safety and suck in a shaky breath. No one had announced themselves, and without guards on the door, there was no way to discern that those who had entered the building were Fireflies.

You shake with nervous energy, carefully stepping across the rickety wooden floor to conceal the sound of your movements. Had the US military found your hideaway? Surely not; they would have moved in before any threat to their organisation could be enacted

Leaning your back flush to the door frame in an attempt to conceal yourself, you listen out for any advancing danger. It's quiet at first, but you hear the scuff of a boot against the uneven floor cut through the silence. Inhaling swiftly, you ready yourself before lurching out from behind the door frame with your pistol aloft.

Shock wracks your body upon setting your eyes on the intruder that stands before you. Joel. Covered in blood from head to toe, his hands drip the viscous liquid onto the floor. The shoulder of his flannel is ripped open, loose threads sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

"Oh-oh shit-“ you gasp out, horrified by the state you find him in. Given the state of his clothes and the sheer amount of blood that continues to run from his hair down his temples, your immediate thought is to check for wounds-but you can't see any. Sure, there is a scrape on his shoulder where the fabric of his flannel has ripped open and a cut that spans the length of his whole knuckle that you can see when he wipes the sweat from his brow, but other than that, you can't see any wound that would cause that much blood loss.

Joel, however, appears relatively unfazed as he points over his shoulder.

"Most came out with minor wounds," he states calmly, his gruff voice laced with exhaustion, "Lettin’ Marlene know we are back and that I have her guns."

It's as though Joel had just completed a simple sweep of the hideout parameters rather than one of the most dangerous and vital missions since the fireflies began their fight for humility, all without having received a single major wound.

As he walks away and leaves you gawping after him, frozen in place, you hear your team filtering in through the main doors behind you one by one. They are shouting your name and proclaiming their victory as they surround you, holding their hard-won weapons aloft. Despite their hollering, you can barely hear them over the frantic thoughts buzzing through your mind.

How?

It takes hours to ease the excitement and adrenaline buzzing through each of Joel's soldiers. You stitch up the wounded and listen to their battle stories in awe. They are enthusiastic about informing you of Joel's brilliance, frequently admitting that they could not understate how much of this victory they owed to him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one laughs incredulously. "There were more than we had expected, but it didn't phase him. He took out two of them on his own, and when his gun jammed, he knocked them out with his fists!”

Turns out that the four soldiers the fireflies had expected were accompanied by another five unaccounted for. Joel hadn't let it affect the team, pushing them ahead with the mission. By blinding them with smoke grenades, the team had been able to ambush successfully, and despite the physical tussle that resulted in Joel's bloodbath, the mission had otherwise gone just as planned, the fighting all wrapped up within moments.

According to the many recounts told as you patched up your friends, the only reason it took so long was that the weapons boxes were heavy and made for a tight squeeze in the tunnels. You could have cried at the stupidity of it all.

Eventually, Marlene joined in with the festivities, having been woken by Joel to confirm "Mission accomplished." Leftover Molotov cocktails from the mission we used as celebratory drinks that had the majority of your colleagues wasted within the hour - including your commander.

As fresh, golden beams of sunlight peered through the windows, you excused yourself to bed despite the drunken protests of your colleagues. After explaining your exhaustion, thanks to your immense concern, they reluctantly allowed you to leave on the condition you would celebrate with them later. You imagined their hangovers would be too severe for further partying.

Practically clawing your way to your barracks, you breathe a sigh of relief as you walk through the open door. You can still hear the shouts of jubilation downstairs, noting that you’d probably have to drown out the sounds by covering your head with a pillow. The mattress calls to you like a siren, promising rest. You plan to skip removing your clothes and fall into bed as you are-

"Didn't expect to be greeted with a gun to my head."

The heavy, Southern drawl that sounds from your doorway behind you makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. You wish you could say it was a fear response or disgust, but your heart leaps in your chest with excitement.

Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes to collect yourself before you turn to face him. Your inhale is so deep you feel the edges of your lungs ache at the strain before you turn around to face the Walking Headache.

Joel is leaning against the door frame as he had in the medical room before he left. He has bathed since you saw him an hour ago, scrubbing the gore from his body and dressing in fresh clothes. His hair is still damp, and you assume he’s been forced to borrow the outfit from one of his new-found friends, the seams a little too tight on his broad body.

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect to find a serial killer walking the halls either," you dig at the state he had returned in. It earns you a deep chuckle that resonates in his chest, and you can't help but note the way you hold your breath to hear the pleasant sound better.

"That how you treat all your commanders?" Joel questions, his voice lilting with a hint of humour that you find dangerous, your heart stuttering at the drastic change in him since the last time you were in this room together.

You let out a scoff that doesn't quite match the indifference you were attempting to convey. "Don't flatter yourself. You were consulted to lead one mission; that doesn't make you a commander."

He doesn’t like that.

Standing gormlessly in the middle of the room, you immediately regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. Joel is gazing at you with an intensity in his earthy irises, taking in your feigned lack of respect with a slight arch of his brow. It's less of a look of surprise than it is an unspoken challenge. It makes your body flush with heat.

The sense of security you feel with him on the other side of the threshold to your door bursts the moment he effortlessly steps inside. He has no issue with invading your personal space, finding it even easier when you fail to find the words to protest his intrusion.

Joel doesn't hesitate, but he also lacks urgency, taking his time to leisurely bridge the space between the two of you. Again, he is close enough that you can see the intricacies of his face. There is a myriad of delicate freckles and a small, ruddy scar that kisses the bridge of his nose.

You're so wrapped up in the tiny details that you almost miss the flicker of consideration in his eyes. Despite his steady, authoritative body language, he’s questioning whether or not he can say what he has in mind as he studies your expression carefully.

He leaps.

"Insubordination results in punishment, don’t it, soldier?" His volume pitches right down, each syllable buzzing through your veins as he maintains heavy eye contact that has your knees melting beneath you.

It's only when he speaks that you realise you have stopped breathing, your lungs burning in a desperate attempt to shake you from the trance he’s put you in.

You have no explanation for your response. You don’t have the chance to argue, to insult him for playing this ridiculous role. Instead, each word forces itself from your mouth upon your shaky exhale, coming out in a broken whisper.

“Yes, Sir." Your answer is spoken embarrassingly quickly. There’s a flash of something powerful in his eyes, like he’s still buzzing on residual adrenaline left over from the mission. It surges forward at your answer, and he clings to it, taking control of the room- of you.

“Atta Girl.”

It drips through you like honey, coating your insides and warming them. Your body tingles and pleads for Joel’s attention despite your best efforts to fight the need he draws from it as he drags his eyes across its length.

A tiny voice in your mind rears its ugly head. He’s probably pent up from fighting, and you’re still stressed from waiting up all night. You could give in to what you want. Doesn’t mean you like him.

Joel seems to hear it too, his eyes searching for a hint of approval. You can see he’s itching to touch you, to release the anger that you’ve built in him back onto you with tongues and teeth.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“On your knees, soldier.” He commands, and it’s like his voice strokes something hedonistic inside of you because your body surges with arousal at the implication of his order.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

Against your better judgement, you slowly sink to your knees in front of Joel, eyes pin-set on the toes of his dirtied boots. The wooden floor smarts your knees, but you maintain your position in an effort to appease him.

Joel doesn’t move, feet firm in their place on the floor as you bow before him. He’s making you wait, arms loose at his sides. You don’t dare to lift your head to look at him, to urge him forward, instead straining your eyes upwards to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Prickling heat teases at your skin, your arousal triggered, knowing he was watching you submit to him so easily. The tension grips you, finding it ironic that Joel entered every situation all-guns-blazing yet had utmost patience when it came to prolonging your suffering.

Your need condenses, acutely aware of Joel’s entire being. It’s as though you can feel his eyes trail over your body like a feather-light touch, and you swear that you can smell the dampness of his hair. Most of all, you focus on Joel’s even, quiet breathing, the expansion and deflation of his lungs acting like a metronome in the silence.

Then- God, then he’s moving his hand forward achingly slowly, fingertips pressing delicately against your left temple. The brush of his fingerprint over your skin ignites a humming arousal between your thighs, and you subconsciously press them together when he pushes his digits into your hairline.

Your jaw drops, slack as you exhale shakily. So starved for Joel’s touch, you’re more than grateful for the innocuous brush of his fingers along your scalp. It’s probably so obvious to him, your desperation, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he takes a step forward, his boot settling into the wooden planks you’re kneeling on, his feet on either side of your thighs.

Joel is so close you can feel the fabric of his jeans brush against your forehead. So frequently worn, the denim has lost that rough texture and could almost pass for cotton. You don’t dare to move, knowing if you so much as twitched, your nose would graze over his crotch through the material.

“Atta girl,” Joel murmurs, unironically this time, his voice rumbling in his chest. It cuts through the quiet so suddenly that it makes you jump, almost loud to your ears. He sounds pleased with your reception of his proximity, rewarding you by taking a firm but painless grip on the roots of your hair.

It’s as though you can read his mind. His pulse thrums in his palm against the soft flesh of your scalp, matching the thumping pace of your own. Joel doesn’t speak his thoughts out loud, yet it’s like he whispers into your ear. ‘Good soldiers get rewarded.’

The pressure he applies to the crown of your skull is minute, but it’s enough to push your face into his crotch. Your gasp of surprise is so loud that it almost drowns out the resonant hum that he releases, gripping tighter to your hair as you nuzzle into him.

Rock hard beneath your cheek; you can feel Joel’s cock twitch at the delicate friction you gift him. Having plunged so deep now, you no longer have to reason with yourself to take what you want, kissing the shaft of his dick through the fabric he wears. Again, your reward is to be pushed closer to him, the adrenaline pulsing through Joel’s veins causing a heavy-handedness that makes the walls of your pussy flutter.

“Look at you,” Joel growls as your tongue drags across the fabric his cock strains against, as if resorting to desperate measures to taste him, “Totally shameless.”

You can’t contain it, the whimper that bubbles in your throat. It sounds around Joel’s twitching cock, and it seems to rile him up, momentarily cracking his composure when he thrusts his hips forward slightly.

Fuck, it’s like he’s hypnotising you with his grunts and groans, your body liquidating as they heat you from the inside out. Heaving breaths indicate the magnitude of your desire, and you’re kneeling up before you can even think of the consequences of taking matters into your own hands.

Pushing your nose into the seam of the crotch in his jeans, you use the tip of your tongue to search for the zipper. The brass is warm when it brushes your tastebuds, a metallic tang coating them as you slide your tongue beneath it.

Carefully, you take the fastening between your teeth, lowering your head to drag the zipper down. You probably only manage four links of the chain before Joel’s hand shoves itself between you and the fabric, bumping your nose as he tears the button of his jeans open with a stuttery exhale.

He releases his cock from the confines of his pants, and God, you’re so thankful he does. A thatch of thick curls frames the base of his cock, a subtle curve to the veiny shaft that stands at attention beneath your gaze. The tip gleams in the low light seeping through your thin curtains, coated with precum that weeps from the head that’s flushed a dusty purple. He’s not too big, with a perfect girth and length to him that has you convinced he’d fit inside you just right-

Joel doesn’t allow himself to examine how you practically melt at the sight of him, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and steadying it with his thumb. In any other situation, the gentle slap of his cock against your cheek would have you leaping from the floor and throttling him, but you’re both so needy that you open your mouth greedily without prompt. It drives Joel insane.

“Hah,” he heaves, pressing the tip of his dick to your flat tongue, “Shit- oh shitshitsh-“

Joel sheathes himself inside your mouth with one long stroke of his hips, and you’re almost sure your throat stretches beyond its limits to accommodate him.

“Fuckin’ shit,” Joel curses heavily, watching your eyes brim with tears at the intrusion as you fight your gag reflex. When you glance up at him through your watery lashes, you catch the way his upper lip arches at the sensation of your tongue tracing the underside of his cock. He’s sweating, brow glistening with evident arousal on his brow, and your stomach flips at the concept that you were the one making him feel this way- breaking his almost impenetrable composure.

Carefully, you inch him further down your throat until the tip of your nose buries into the curls framing his pubic bone. A musky smell that is uniquely Joel coats your senses, and you find yourself almost dizzy at the concept of being totally surrounded by him, filled by him. Just hours ago, you couldn't stand him, couldn't bear to be around him, and yet now you think you'd cry if you pulled away.

Joel groans above you as you swallow around his length, his fingers grappling with your hair for purchase and gripping tightly to the strands at the crown of your head. You use Joel’s distraction to begin bobbing your head, slowly pulling off him and feeling him drag against the walls of your throat until the tip of his cock rests over the flat of your tongue. Before he can complain, you sink back down and take all of him back into your mouth, and you swear that you can see Joel’s eyes roll back into his school in your periphery.

"Ah- fu-“ Joel appears entirely enraptured by the sensation of the head of his cock catching on each little ridge of your throat, and you can see him watching you work him in and out of your mouth at a lazy pace. "Look at you- Hnng- So fuckin’ good."

As you get used to the sensation of the velvety skin bumping against your throat, you begin to experiment a little more. You use the slow, steady pace to drag your tongue over the length of his fraenulum and swirl it around the head. The salty taste of the precum beading at the slit pushes you further, feeling him twitch with your ministrations.

Throbbing aches begin to settle in your knees, complaining about kneeling against the wooden floor but are drowned out by Joel's heady groans and the tight coil of arousal between your thighs. It's as though you can feel your pulse throughout your body, complaining about the lack of attention, but also invested in the way Joel appears to be losing his composure that you can't find it in yourself to protest.

“Christ-“ Joel groans out above you, suddenly taking a firm grip of your hair and pulling you up and off of him. The burn in your lungs has you gasping for air as you look up at him in concern. Had you messed up?

Opening your mouth to ask him what you’d done wrong, you find the words die in your throat when Joel pushes the tip of his weeping cockhead against your lips again. He’s staring down at you with this look in his eyes, something dark and potent swirling in his pupils. You taste him on your tongue again, and Joel pushes your head down onto him again.

He's unable to control himself, driven by the sensation of your mouth around him. The comprehension makes your mind spin with pride, and again you submit to Joel.

It’s rough, your hair wrapped around his fingers to better his grip as he forces you to still. Your eyes tear up, leaking tears down your cheeks as he begins to fuck your mouth at a brutally satisfying pace. Despite the bruising sensation of his cock hitting your throat, you’re practically dripping in your underwear when seeing the way Joel snarls at the overwhelming bliss.

Grasping desperately onto his hips to brace yourself, you cling on as Joel fucks deep into your throat. The hinges of your jaw ache at the effort of holding your mouth open for him, but Joel doesn’t let your efforts go unnoticed.

His free hand brushes his rough knuckles across your cheekbone, sliding down your face so his palm can cup your throat. Joel lets out the most wicked groan, applying pressure to your neck to feel himself slide in and out of you.

“God- You feel that?” He laughs out incredulously, his cock twitching, “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good.” He’s mouthing off, a lot more talkative than usual. You put it down to the blood having rushed from his head to his co-

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and it’s like the oxygen he’s starving you of begins to make you think you’ve imagined it. Your eyes flutter and blink back tears, your brain working to figure out if he honestly said it. It’s only when he yanks your hair in an attempt to wordlessly urge you to do as told that your hands snap down to your waistband.

Blindly, you push your fingers beneath the waistband of your trousers, practically sobbing with relief as your fingertips clumsily brush your clit. It sparks white hot, the muscles in your thighs trembling as they brace your weight on your knees.

“Mhmmm fuck,” Joel rumbles, watching your face as he fucks into it, noting how your brows pull up at the pleasure you draw for yourself between your thighs.

It drives him insane. You can feel it. His dick twitches against your tastebuds, and you can feel his pulse in the thick vein that runs down the underside of his cock. Joel’s fingers paw at the back of your head, pushing you down onto his length and making you take him impossibly deeper. You’re choking on him, gagging around his girth. It makes your eyes stream, yet it just makes your fingertip swirl around your clit quicker, seeking that high you craved.

“Nuh-uh,” you hear Joel’s gruff voice, his palm patting you harshly on the cheek. Just enough to sting. “Focus right here, right here.”

Blinking through the teary haze and the surging arousal that grips your muscles, you only notice with a particularly sharp slap to your cheekbone that you had closed your eyes. Joel’s urging has you looking up through your wet eyelashes as he continues with his harsh thrusts.

Sinking your digits into your heat, you melt against the intrusion in your throat as the walls of your cunt flutter around your fingerprints. Severely neglected, your pussy aches and arches towards orgasm at breakneck speed. Under the weight of your body, your thighs tremble at your ministrations, and your brows pull together as if to brace against the impending crest of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, yeah, just like that,” Joel rumbles under his breath, eyes set on your twisted expression as his hips begin to stutter. You feel his pulse on your tongue and draw clumsy, sloppy circles over your clit to match.

The groan that tears its way through Joel’s throat when he cums almost startles you, and you’re almost sure it does the same to him. His fingers are white-knuckling your hair in an attempt to brace for the surge of pleasure, his cum streaking down the back of your throat.

He watches as you desperately stroke over your throbbing clit and swallow his load without prompt. Even through your blurred vision, you can see his awed visage as he watches you take everything he gives.

Perhaps it’s the apparent appreciation he shows you when you hear him mumble a muffled ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’, or it’s finally rendering the argumentative Joel Miller borderline speechless. Still, you hurtle off the edge with barely any warning other than a split second of a hot white crackle up your spine.

Your body contracts inwards as you rub yourself through the crescendo, grateful Joel was with it enough to remove himself from your mouth just before. The ragged gasp you exhale sounds strangled, your orgasm blinding you in its onslaught. Your vision spots and slides out of focus, seeing double as the warmth ebbs away.

Soon, the only thing your hearing focuses on is the inhale and exhale of your lungs, sharp and clawing at the oxygen that keeps you from blacking out. Had you stopped breathing?

Joel turns away for a moment to right himself, pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again. The afterglow of such an earth-shattering orgasm makes everything slow, and you can’t help but smile almost dopily to yourself as you watch him ruffle his salt-and-peppered brown locks.

A sharp inhale drags you from your brain-melting comedown, settling back on your haunches and stretching out your aching legs as you watch Joel struggle for words. He looks conflicted, opening his mouth to speak and then firmly pressing his lips together in frustration.

Cotton sticks to your back thanks to the perspiration beading there, patches of the khaki shirt you wear stained with darker sweat patches. The birds are singing to fill his silence, allowing him a moment to approach his thoughts without awkwardness. You don’t push him.

“You wanna help me?” He tests the waters, mahogany eyes flicking to your face to gauge your reaction, “You know… Takin’ some time to smuggle instead’a doin’ this militia suicide task?”

It’s like he douses your sticky sweet, pleased muscles in ice-cold water in your shock. You certainly hadn’t expected him to like you, let alone ask you to work for him. It’s your turn to be speechless, the oxygen you had fought so hard to breathe catching in your throat and choking you.

“I-“ You swallow thickly, wanting to approach this carefully, “Joel, I made a promise.”

He nods slowly, eyes shifting to the wooden floor and seemingly tracing the rough surface of each plank as though it were the most exciting art installation he had ever had the time to take in. Perhaps it was. Joel didn’t seem the type to stop and smell the roses.

“I have to fulfil my promise to help find a cure,” you tread delicately, but it’s almost pointless because Joel agrees with a nod of his head, neither forceful nor resentful. He appears to take your word, wordlessly encouraging you to chase that ‘pipe dream’, as he had once called it.

“You got it,” he clears his throat roughly, clasping his hips with both hands as he exhales slowly, letting the implications of your decision sink into his bones. Certain death. There wasn’t much else out there for a Firefly, and you weren’t naive enough to think any different.

‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light.’

You couldn’t turn away now. Not when these guns he’d hand-delivered made that light almost close enough to touch.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you watch him slowly pace to the door, wood creaking beneath his weight. He leans his palm against the frame, glancing back at you momentarily.

“There’s a spot for you, y’know? If you change your mind.”

A melancholy smile plays at the corner of your lips. The likelihood that you’d survive long enough to begin sufficiently regretting your decision and change your mind was slim, but the thought that Joel was willing to set a place aside for you…

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, shocked to hear your voice crack with emotion with the gratitude you show him.

Doesn’t mean you like him.

“Mhm,” he nods awkwardly, thumb brushing against the circumference of the watch that had dug into your collarbone 48 hours ago. There’s a tenderness in that touch, something that your cheekbones ache to experience. Instead, you ignore the infuriating pining of your body for the man who had irritated you only moments before, watching as he steps out into the hallway and out of sight, no doubt to grab his stupidly oversized backpack and slink away into the darkness of the underground tunnels and return to his regular trade.

Your heart strains in your chest, but it doesn’t mean you like him.

It doesn’t.

END

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thelightsandtheroses · 6 months

Text

and my soul has changed, and my heart

Your Hand In Mine | Joel Miller x female reader.

Drabble Summary: Joel and Tommy catch up on patrol after word of Joel's date with you spreads around Jackson. Word Count: 1245 Drabble Warnings: mentions of past child death (Sarah) and grief, 18+ blog MDNI Notes: I'm here with another Joel POV drabble! Thank you so much for your patience with this update, I am partway through chapter four so hope to update that shortly. The title for this drabble is from the song Orange Juice by Noah Kahan

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The patrol route is quiet. There’s not a sign of infected or people around. Joel rests the back of his head against the tree he’s leaning against, watching Old Beardy drink from the nearby stream.

Joel can’t quite stop that alertness, the background wariness in case of something changing. It’s not a curse, it’s kept him alive this long.

It’s peaceful though. The area is illuminated by dappled sunlight between the trees hitting the water, the sounds of water babbling over the rocks and nature around are inescapable - you could forget about the world for a moment here.

Joel remembers how Ellie had taken everything in with such childlike wonder when they’d left Boston, how a world he’d known and taken for granted had seemed so new to her. He hadn’t wanted to let her in there, wanted to define her as cargo, as the reason Tess was gone, as a means to an end.

He was different then.

Joel allows himself one more moment of reverie before he focuses again. He feels the familiar pang in his chest as he realises Sarah would have loved it here, would have been scrabbling up the nearby rocks. For just a moment he’s back in Texas, hiking with her on a weekend and nothing’s changed, nothing’s happened. He can almost see her, but he’s afraid to encourage that, too many nightmares start that way and end with her bleeding out in his arms.

Joel shakes his head, makes his way over to Old Beardy, runs his hands on the horse’s neck.

“I reckon we should make our way back now,” he says calmly.

“Yeah.” Tommy doesn’t move though; he stands there looking at Joel with a growing smirk on his lips. “So,” Tommy starts and Joel realises exactly what this is.

He’s unknowingly walked right into his brother’s set up here - patrol, getting out of Jackson.

“Just get it out your system, Tommy, ” Joel deadpans, arms folded. He should have known going to the Tipsy Bison, having a date in Jackson, would spread around town faster than a virus.

“I’m happy for you, Joel. The idea of you and Ellie putting roots down here, building a life, that’s - that’s what it was all about right? What you told me about why you -” Tommy breaks off.

They don’t talk about it.

They don’t talk about the secret Joel told Tommy only days ago on a patrol. He had to tell Tommy, had to tell someone. Tommy understood. He was worried about that, especially with the baby - he wondered if Tommy would ever forgive him for that, for condemning his niece to a world without a cure. Or maybe it’s because of her that Tommy gets it.

“I have one drink with someone and -”

“Small towns, man.”

“Didn’t miss that.”

“Nope. You’ll get used to it. She’s friends with Maria, you know?”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Joel pauses. “She’s … I don’t know, Tommy. I thought after - after Tess, after everything that was all gone for me.” He’d resigned himself to what his life could be - one better than he had expected over the past twenty years, but he hadn’t seen you in his horizon, hadn’t thought there could be a you.

“Fate works in funny ways, I guess.” Tommy pauses and looks at Joel quizzically. “I can see it, y’know.”

“See what?”

Tommy laughs. Sometimes it surprises Joel - how easy his brother seems to live now and how foreign the sound of his laugh had become to him too. Getting to Boston, surviving those years … there wasn’t much humour. There was always laughter in the house before.

He can hear Sarah’s laugh faintly even now. The way she’d almost fold herself up with laughter sometimes, shaking her head furiously.

Since Ellie, since everything over the last year, it’s like he’s bleeding Sarah everywhere.

Every memory he’d boxed up and hidden away is here now, out in the open and sometimes they feel less like a knife, or shiv, in the gut and sometimes the loss is as raw as it was the day his world fell apart. There’s always a dull ache though. That will never fade.

You’re not supposed to have to bury your kid.

He tries to shake the memory away, to bring himself back to now and this moment.

Joel’s here. He has his brother and Ellie and these delicate tendrils of a future again - Jackson, you, a chance. He’ll take that.

“So, I’ve got to ask, brother, how did you even get talking to her?”

“You sayin’ she’s out of my league?” You are, he thinks, you’re different to him, if you knew what he’s done … would you let him sit with you at night? Would you have kissed him on your porch?

Would you get it? You’re a parent, maybe you would. Or maybe you wouldn’t.

“I didn’t say that,” Tommy says, “Just she usually keeps to the library and her home mostly, and you’re not exactly a voracious reader.”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

It’s not like Joel has ever hated reading; it’s just it’s not been a priority. Escaping into someone else’s story is a luxury when you’re fighting to make rent, to provide for the people you love. After the outbreak, it seemed fanciful, foolish even.

“Maybe you have,” Tommy says with a weight and stare that says more than his words.

Joel knows what Tommy thinks. He thinks he’s softened in age, with Ellie and Jackson. He isn’t the man of those nightmares anymore, not a hunter, not dangerous. He broke down in Jackson to his brother after all, bared his soul on his age, his deafness, his fears. He’d all but begged Tommy to take Ellie then. maybe it was about more than that - maybe he was just putting up barriers. He did it though.

Tommy’s wrong though. That man hasn’t vanished, that man hasn’t changed. He’s still there under the surface.

You can never fully exorcise those demons.

To live and survive in this world, you probably shouldn’t either.

“So, how did you get talking?” his brother asks, “How’d this start?”

Well, I met her on a bench in the middle of the night in some secret insomnia club we’ve created because hey, I’ve not slept properly in months, years even. No, Joel can’t say that to Tommy.

“We bumped into each other a few times, got to talking.”

“She seems nice, from when I’ve spoken to her and she’s been around with Maria. I can see you two gettin’ on. I mean I really thought you and Esther could have had something though -”

”She had a Victorian doll collection, Tommy. That shit was scary before the end of the world.”

“Yeah, but other than that.”

“I couldn’t get past the dolls, they were in her goddamn bedroom, staring at me …” Joel shudders at the memory. The cracked porcelain heads, faded fabrics and unblinking eyes staring at him when he didn’t want their attention. Esther was a lovely woman but there were over twenty of those dolls in her bedroom alone.

Maybe they helped her. But they sure didn’t help him.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. What if -”

“She won’t have a collection like that.” At least, Joel hopes you don’t.

“Here’s hoping. We should head on back now.”

Joel nods, shifts his backpack, and moves to get on Old Beardy.

He takes in the scene around him just a second longer.

Peace.

Maybe it’s not so far away.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #your hand in mine fic

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quintessencewrites · 1 year

Text

Little Panther

Shuri x black!fem!reader

And collect my son I do, adorning his little fluffy figure in kisses. "None for me?" Shuri pouts, eyes begging.

"Uh, uh. You told me to collect my son, not my girl."

Warnings: FLUFF!! Implied smut, explicit language.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Tags: @yvxmpire @zestgodtj @k3nn3dyxo @mlmilani @letitias-fav @doms-fav @sweetalittleselfish-honey @g4yforu @remwritess @widowmakker @becauseimswagman1 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @laurensmabel1 @malltake12

Request by: @laurensmabel1 I hope I did this justice for you lovely!

A/N: Don't got much to say this time, other than enjoy my loves <3

Translations: sthandwa - my love; umama womnthwana - baby mama; usana - baby; mama wabantwana bam - mother of my children; i-panther encinci - little panther; molweni ekuseni, sthandwa - good morning, my love; enkosi, intombi yam - thank you, my girl

I was taking a risk, removing the beautifully sculpted kimoyo bracelet from my wrist and dropping them on the end table by my front door. Shuri knew my schedule better than I did; she would be ringing my beads, wondering why my location revealed me to be home and not in class. What she didn’t know, however, was that my Metallurgy class ended an hour early today, giving me enough time to execute the idea I’d been sitting on for weeks.

The bus ride was far too long, my patience burned short with excitement. When the double doors parted at my presence, I felt like royalty; the way my Shuri must feel often. “Hi! Welcome to The Animal Rescue League of Boston. How can I help you today?” The chipper girl’s grin was contagious and I caught it like a virus.

“Uh, hi,” I stated, suddenly feeling timid. “I’m interested in adopting a kitten.”

Her eyes could not have lit up any brighter, gifting her a glow that could rival the Sun. “Oh my goodness, absolutely! Are you a first time pet owner?”

I shook my head, easily. “No ma’am. I had a cat growing up, from the day I was born. She lived 17 years.”

Her already bright smile grew larger. “Oh, so you’re a pro then! Also, you can drop the ma’am; I’m not that old. Name’s Mackenzie.” Extended is her hand, awaiting my own. I give into the offer and give a gentle squeeze. “Y/n,” I say back, still smiling.

“Y/n? That’s so freaking pretty! Come, follow me. I’ll introduce you to our felines.” Mackenzie stands, and I follow, each step igniting a thrill in me. We make a sharp left and soon approach a glass door, behind which tiny predators flock and flit around.

I catch a glimpse of dark fur sprint across the room, and when I enter it, that’s the first kit I go towards. With a timid hand outstretched, I wait, beckoning the little thing to come forward. It was beautiful, with more fur than it had body and a dark hue mirroring that of a night with no moon. Golden eyes peered at me, filled to the brim with playfulness and curiosity.

The tiny puss pounces at my fingers, dangling in its face.

That’s it. That was all it took to melt my heart. “I’ll take this one.”

Mackenzie beames down at the two of us. “Yeah, he took to you instantly. He’s a beaut, isn’t he?”

“He’s gorgeous,” I mew.

Moments later, the baby ball of fur was in his crate, rapid meows spilling from his body whilst I joined Mackenzie to fill out the appropriate papers. “What’ll you call him?”

“Little Panther,” I respond with no thought, no doubt.

When we arrive at my apartment, I barely walk through the door, greeted with my abandoned kimoyo beads buzzing furiously. When I pick them up, an image of my Shuri greets me. “Hi, my love,” I welcome her, placing Little Panther on the floor to explore, out of Shuri’s line of vision.

“Do not ‘hi, my love’ me,” She threw back, clearly angry. “Why have you ignored my first…” She glances down at her own beads, probably recalling how many times she’d tried to reach me with no avail. “Ten calls,” she continued. “I was worried. I thought something had happened to you. I thought-”

“Baby, calm down,” I sooth, sensing a panic rising in my queen. “I’m okay. In fact, I have a surprise for you. How soon can you get here?”

“Y/n, sthandwa, I am queen of a nation. I can not just up and leave on an impromptu trip to the States.”

She’s trying so hard to be serious and failing miserably. “So,” I trail. “I’ll see you in an hour?” Shuri bears barely there smile in defeat. “Make it an hour and a half. I have to pack.”

I can’t hide my excitement anymore, jumping up and down and squealing like a child. My sounds scare Little Panther, who squeaks a shrill noise and seeks sovereign underneath the couch. “What was that?” Shuri attempts, but I stop her short. “Okay, my queen. Have a safe flight, see you in a few, bye,” spills from me hurriedly, as I hang up on Her Royal Highness to tend to my fur baby crying from his safety.

Exactly 90 minutes later, a key is inserted into my locked door as Shuri lets herself in, bags in tow. I anticipated her arrival, hiding Little Panther in my bedroom, wanting to build up to his reveal.

“Baby,” I rushed to her, truly excited. It had been a month since we’d adorned each other last, both our schedules conflicting frustratingly so. My queen’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling my body against hers. “I’ve missed you,” I admit. Shuri doesn’t speak, taking in the moment with me in her hold. My gaze climbs hers and I confess. “I have news, my love.”

My attempt at a heavy demeanor brings my Shuri’s features to pull into a smile. “What? Are you pregnant?” Her tone is joking and the claim almost causes me to break character, but I decide to play into it.

Taking her hand and pulling her to the couch, I sit her down. My seriousness is threatening to crack but determined to hold it together, I sigh, a deep, troubled sound. “Shuri, we have a son.”

Her sculpted brows jump, yet her dark eyes narrow in suspicion. Mouth agape, all she can utter is “What?”

“We have a son,” I repeat, corners of my mouth rising, but so little, I’m sure it goes by unnoticed. “Would you like to meet him?” Shuri’s mouth barely moves, though her eyes dart to my belly, as if searching for a bump. When I stand to retreat to my bedroom, her eyes refuse to leave my abdomen, as if the baby that’s not there will grow before her eyes.

In the safety of my room, the giggle fit erupts, and by the time I find Little Panther and bring him out to the living room, the laughter hasn’t subsided.

“Shuri, my love, meet our son.” Her eyes drop, caulking with boredom.

“A kitten?”

An excited nod shakes from my head, Little Panther in my hands preparing to leap straight onto my love’s skeptical form.

“You got my hopes up, umama womnthwana,” she admits, actually sounding disappointed.

“Shuri, how-nevermind. Here, hold him.”

“Why?” my dubious girl questions slowly.

“I got him cuz he reminds me of you, mamas. He’s my Little Panther.”

“First of all,” Shuri starts dramatically. “He is a he.” My eyes roll to the sky, then back to my queen.

“Secondly, I am nothing like a meek kitten.” She spits the last word like it disgusts her. “I am the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda. I am not a kitten.”

Smirk growing on my lips, I retort, “Oh, really? You be purring for me when I touch your-”

“Eh!” the Black Panther exclaims. “Hold your vulgar tongue. I am trying to be annoyed with you.”

“Trying?” I ask, hopeful that the girl would share my excitement.

“Mhm, trying usana. So, you’re not giving me an heir?”

This girl gotta be joking. “Usana,” I repeat, throwing it back at her. “Ho-how would I be pregnant? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, though I’m sure you have, being the world’s greatest scientist and shit, but we don’t have the parts for that.”

A mischievous grin spreads across her cheeks and she wiggles those beautifully thick brows. “I have ways, mama wabantwana bam, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you keep calling me? It’s sexy, coming off your tongue like that, but I feel like I should be insulted.”

Shuri’s curls bounce as she shakes her head, leaving my question stranded. “Well, then,” I propose. “Let’s start with a fur baby.”

I catch the grimace glitter my girl’s face and she stands to stretch before heading to the kitchen. “Nope.”

The night goes by and when the sun rises on the next day, Shuri isn’t in bed with me. Searching for the royal doesn’t take long. She’s in the living room, hands trying to type furiously at something on the laptop she brought with her. Little Panther is thwarting her attempts, swiping and springing at her nimble fingers each time.

Neither of them have noticed me yet, and I watch in amusement. Shuri takes a deep, frustrated breath. Creeping down to be eye level with the fiery orbs of the tiny puss, my queen seethes “Listen you litte fur ball. You are getting in my way.”

Little Panther swipes playfully at Shuri’s nose, causing her to scoff. “You are nothing like me. I am mighty. You are mild.”

The kitten opens it’s tiny mouth to meow an insult back at my girl. “I-panther encinci, little panther. Little Panther,” she drags. Her eyes never leave the cat’s, and it leans forward, butt wiggling in the air. “Oh, you better not-” Shuri starts, but Little Panther heads her words, leaping from the table and onto her lap with a fury. “I bet you think you just did something great, huh?”

Finally stepping out of the shadows over to my queen changes her whole demeanor. “Molweni Ekuseni, sthandwa. Come collect your son.”

And collect my son I do, adorning his little fluffy figure in kisses. “None for me?” Shuri pouts, eyes begging.

“Uh, uh. You told me to collect my son, not my girl.”

Little Panther has taken a liking to the Wakandan Queen and he was determined to crack her hard demeanor. Later that day, when Shuri napped, head in my lap on the couch, LP took it upon himself to climb atop her chest for his own nap.

My queen’s eyes opened at his presence, but she left him be. That night, she bore her claws and let them swing in the baby cat’s face, allowing him to practice his pouncing while she rattled off tips and pointers as if he could understand.

“Enkosi, intombi yam,” Shuri spoke to me the day before she was due to return to Wakanda.

“Translate, baby.”

A smile bore her face, Little Panther asleep in her lap as her fingers shyly pet his furry body. “Thank you, my girl.”

“For what?”

Her eyes were glossed over and she hesitated to speak. “This Little Panther…. He is nothing like me, I still stand firm on that.”

“Mhm,” I start, but her interruption cuts my voice short.

“But, he does remind me a lot of a greater Black Panther. The greatest one, in my opinion.”

The tears streak her face and I catch on. “T’Challa?”

“Yes,” she bites her lip, inhaling deep to steady her words. “He was meek and bold and determined all at once. He was a force to be reckoned with, one whom did not take no as an answer. Much like this Little Panther. That is his namesake, not my own.”

My own face is wet now as well, and I pull Shuri in close, her arm wrapping around me on instinct. “So, he’s grown on you?”

My love’s eyes roll, causing more tears to spill. “He broke my guard as soon as I realized his eyes matched the gold in my suit.”

Laughter pours from my lips and I accept the victory. “Yes! Welcome to the family, LP.”

Shuri’s head sways back and forth, a besting beam washing over her. “Welcome to the family Little Panther.”

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imagine-you · 1 year

Text

every lover's got a little dagger in their hand [joel miller/reader]

Summary: You find Joel at Cumberland Farms in the midst of his quest to save the human race. "You had so many questions you wanted to ask Joel. Where did he get a kid from? Where was Tess? Was he on a job? If so, then why the kid? Did he feel anything when he looked at you?" Word Count: 1.8k Author's Note: Just a little thing that bothered me all day at work, so I had to write it. I want to revisit this 'verse, so if you like this, letting me know would help me out so much. Title from Love From the Other Side by Fall Out Boy.

part two

Everyone had a history in the apocalypse. Twenty years had changed a lot. Hell, it had changed everything. But it had also made the world painfully smaller. As the number of infected grew, the number of people you knew shrank.

You were barely an adult when the virus hit. Just four months out of high school, not a clue what you wanted for your future, before it was all snatched away from you.

You had a family. You had a home. You had a life.

But Cordyceps fucked that all up. By the end of 2003, you had no family, no home, and nothing resembling a life. You had to find a way to forge ahead in the chaos, battling grief and loneliness along the way.

You had to learn a lot of things in a short period time in order to survive.

You had to learn who to trust.

You had to learn how to leave.

You had to learn how to kill.

You had to learn how to betray.

You had to learn who to love.

Years passed and the faces of people you dealt with changed, but there were a few constants. Anyone worthy in the smuggling game knew who to contact and who to keep in contact with if they wanted to keep a steady stream of goods and supplies going from one job to the next.

Tess had turned out to be a godsend, because she tentatively put you in touch with Bill and Frank, who in turn ended up saving your life after a contract went bad. You brought them things from out west, venturing out farther and farther when Boston proved to only serve you pain.

You helped Tess and Bill and Frank even Tommy Miller when you could, but you hated Tess just the tiniest bit for pushing you into Joel Miller's orbit.

Both of you were in a bad place when you fell together the first time. He was grieving a life lost and you weren't sure you could hold onto what it felt like to be human when everyone around you was turning into frenzied, cannibalistic monsters.

He thought he was too old for you and you just didn't care. You told him you were an adult and you sure as hell didn't give a fuck about the age difference when the world was falling apart around you. You just wanted to feel alive again and Joel delivered in all the right ways.

As time wore on and you came together and fell apart, it got harder to leave him behind for the call of the unknown out west.

You knew you were in love with him, but you didn't know how to stay with him. You looked at a couple like Bill and Frank, who were just so happy to stay and be with each other, Bill so fiercely protective of Frank, and you didn't know how to get there. Their love was something you wanted for yourself, and while it seemed impossible with the end of the world, you hoped that one day you and Joel would find your way back to each other and simply decide to stay.

It hadn't happened yet, but there was only so much time left in the world. You figured it would have to happen sooner or later.

It was when you were traveling back in the Boston area that you stumbled across Joel again, but the circumstances had changed, and it turned out there was something much bigger at stake.

You had broken into the familiar Cumberland Farms location just moments before you realized you weren't quite alone. You had made it a habit to sneak in through the back room before traveling down to the cellar to grab your stash of supplies. You refreshed it from time to time, knowing you would always need it for a rainy day.

You were waiting in the backroom, knife in hand, when a girl came into view.

She didn't notice you, too intent on inspecting the room for hidden treasures. You doubted she realized the danger she was in, but you took the time afforded to size her up.

She was young, but not young enough to be harmless. You had met younger kids who had aimed guns at you, shaky hands and tear-filled eyes demanding food and water, not aware that the odds were stacked in your favor. You had refused to hurt a kid. You wouldn't. But you still had to keep your guard up in case one got a lucky hit in.

When the girl tried to go for the cellar, you decided to let her know she wasn't alone.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," you said, startling her.

She turned around, fumbling for a knife she kept hidden in her jacket pocket.

"What the fuck? What are you doing sneaking around and scaring the shit out of people?"

You quirked an eyebrow at her, aware of the smirk tugging at your lips. "I was here first," you pointed out. "Besides, I was trying to help you out. There's an infected down there."

"What? How do you know?"

"Because I put it there," you admitted, shrugging your shoulders. You pushed past her, reaching for the cellar door. "C'mon," you told her, pulling the door open. "I'll show you."

"Uh...," she trailed off, uncertain and understandably wary.

"It's up to you," you said, already swinging your legs into the cellar. "But I've gotta grab a few things. Don't shut that on me, alright?" You nodded towards the door before you dropped into the cellar.

You barely had the time to turn on your flashlight before she was dropping down next to you. She stumbled and you reached out a hand to steady her.

"Easy," you muttered, pulling away once you were sure she wouldn't fall. You turned to consider the metal rack next to you before you moved around it. You had buried a lockbox behind the rack, keeping it filled with things you figured you would always need in the future.

"Score," you heard the girl exclaim and you glanced over your shoulder to see her grab a box of tampons from the top shelf of the rack.

You shook your head, amused more than anything, before turning back to your task. You had just grabbed the pack of nonperishables and stuffed them into your bag when you heard the screech.

"Whoa," the girl breathed, scared and astonished as she crept closer to the trapped infected.

"Careful," you warned her. "Don't get too close."

"Yeah, yeah," she waved off your warning, crouching down in front of the infected.

Once you were sure you had everything you needed, you put the lockbox back, covering it up with dirt and debris. By the time you were turning around, ready to collect the girl and go, the infected was dead.

"Sorry," the girl said, pulling her knife free from the corpse's head. "I killed your friend."

You snorted and shook your head. "Hardly. That shithead almost killed me, but that's a story for another day," you sighed. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

You waited for the girl to push herself back up through the cellar door before you went yourself.

"Ellie?" You heard a familiar voice call as you were shutting the cellar door, sending your heart racing. "Ellie? You alright in there?"

"Fine," the girl, Ellie, answered. "And I made a friend."

"A friend?" Joel asked, startled and concerned. He quickly rounded the corner, his eyes searching for Ellie, and instead landing on you. "Y/N," he said, his tone guarded. "What're you doing here?"

You shrugged your shoulders, going for nonchalant, but knowing your nervous laugh gave you away. "Just felt like visiting the city. I heard it's nice this time of year."

"So," Ellie said, drawing the word out, glancing from Joel to you and back again. "You two know each other.”

"Joel and I have a history," you admitted, taking a step back, standing right on the cellar door. You couldn't help but inanely think that now would be a really good time for it to open, letting the darkness swallow you whole, so you wouldn't have to look at the guy who repeatedly broke your heart without even knowing he had full possession of it.

"Oh, so you guys fucked," Ellie surmised with a nod of her head.

"Yes," you said at the same time Joel chimed in with a firm 'No.'

You met his eyes, both of you sharing a weighted look.

"Yep," Ellie decided, moving to pass Joel. "You definitely fucked."

"Shut up," Joel grumbled, turning to follow Ellie. He shot you a quick glance over his shoulder but didn't bother to wait for you.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask Joel. Where did he get a kid from? Where was Tess? Was he on a job? If so, then why the kid? Did he feel anything when he looked at you?

Instead, the one you ended up asking was: "Where are you two going?"

Joel considered you for a moment before he glanced fleetingly at Ellie. She shrugged her shoulders, letting Joel decide for himself if he could trust you.

"Going to see Bill and Frank. We need their help," he finally confessed, crouching down to start putting away the supplies he had hidden under the floor long ago. You watched him hide a gun in the space despite Ellie's protests, your thoughts a confusing swirl in your mind.

You were getting older, and happiness was getting harder to come by. One of these days, you weren't going to be so lucky, and an infected would get their teeth in you. Or maybe it would be a raider and a bullet in your gut. Or maybe it would be any number of things. You were tired of hiding and you were tired of running and you were just plain tired.

Joel, for all his faults, had always felt like a safe space for you. You had long ago made peace with the fact that he'd never feel the same for you, and you never dared to ask if it was even possible, but you hoped all the same.

"That's funny," you found yourself saying, watching Joel carefully. "I was just about to pay them a visit."

There was an awkward, prolonged silence while Joel considered his options before he nodded his head.

"Might as well come with us, then," he decided, a heavy, solemn expression crossing his face for a moment. You didn't understand it, but then again, there was so much of Joel that was still a mystery to you.

You hoped he would let you get close enough to really figure him out, but for now, all you could do was nod your head.

"Sounds good," you told him, ignoring the waver in your voice and the way Ellie quirked an eyebrow at you in response.

You never saw yourself with much of a future after the world went to shit, but following Joel sounded like a good place to start.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us imagine #tlou imagine #joel miller imagine #my fic

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moonlight-prose · 1 year

Text

HURT

➝ 03. HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

a/n: this chapter fought my brain the entire time, because apparently it didn't want to be written. i don't blame it honestly. the amount of angst i've shoved into it, really did break even my own heart. but as always angst is my bread and butter, and breaking hearts through words has always been my forte. so i give you chapter three.

summary: joel comes to a realization that terrifies him more than the horrors of a world he lives in. he can't lose you.

word count: 7.8k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit but still 18+, exhaustion, violence, tw blood, so much angst you better have tissues handy, the odd moment of fluff, tenderness, pain, grief, ptsd, tw death.

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You were dragging behind him, slowly making your way through the outskirts of a city. For some reason the weariness in your body felt amplified the second you open your eyes. You battled a headache and stiff muscles as you walked, trying to keep up with his long strides. But no matter how many times you jogged to get to his side, you continued to feel your energy slip right from your hands like sand.

While you refused to let him know how much of a struggle it was to keep going, you knew he could tell. Every thirty minutes he stopped without explaining why. Simply resting against whatever he could find—waiting patiently for you to catch your breath, and regain the energy you expelled getting there. In return, you thanked him with small pieces of your food and the extra water you carried in your pack.

Nothing that would confirm his actions, but still something to tell him…thanks for having my back as we walk through hell. If the look in his eyes was anything to go off of—he understood entirely. You got used to him complaining about eating as you walked, explaining that the scent could attract anything, but today the complaints were nowhere to be found.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have dared to say he was showing an unusual amount of kindness towards you. Perhaps he was trying to give you peace of mind. You didn’t bother to question it any further, too afraid that it would eventually stop.

“Should we find a place for the night?” you asked, doing your best to fight off the yawn that crept up your throat.

He didn’t respond. Which wasn’t unusual for him to do. In fact, you were so used to it that you simply took his silence as him being in agreement, and began heading towards one of the empty buildings. You didn’t hear him call your name, nor did you hear the word Boston he affectionately used to tease you. It seemed that your brain was focused on one thing—getting some rest. You feared that whatever lingered in your system was some variation of a flu or a cold; both things you couldn’t afford to endure now.

His hand gripping onto your shoulder finally stopped you from going further. The dazed look in your eyes, worse than before; a cloud of exhaustion proved that if you kept going…you wouldn’t survive. For days you’d been going nonstop. Only giving yourselves enough time to shove food into your body and continue.

Sleep started to evade you two days ago. Originally you expected it to pass. Simply another frustration you had to learn to deal with, but then the nightmares started. The pain that you knew still remained in the very core of your body—worked its way through your entire system. Much like the virus, this sensation only had one goal—spread. Until you were left with no other choice but to rest, to finally give in and allow your body time to recuperate.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking directly at him. Except Joel could see the hollowness that reflected in your pupils. You were staring at him, but you weren’t there—not really.

He felt his chest tighten; a feeling he tended to push away whenever it came to you, but today it was different. Even though you refused to tell him, he knew that you weren’t sleeping; saw it in the worn down expression painted on your face like a damn mask. You were trying to keep him from noticing, from asking you what was wrong and as he looked at you, he understood. He could truly lose you if he didn’t find a way to get you to sleep, to push back against the nightmares he knew plagued you each night.

“Come on,” he said, dropping his touch from your shoulder as if you burned him.

Although in your stupor, you thankfully didn’t notice.

Traipsing behind him, you tried to keep your body steady—your steps uneven. He weaved in between the rows of cars that were lined up like museum pieces; simply another reminder of what the world lost. What it once had.

He continued to pause, giving you time to catch up, before he started to veer off the highway and began walking towards the exit ramp. You wouldn’t have been able to guess where you were, the signs faded from the sunlight and covered by overgrown vines. But you trusted that Joel knew where he was going.

Originally you would have believed that putting your trust in a man you barely knew for a few weeks was stupid. Surely a way to get yourself killed, or something even worse, but with him the trust came easy. As if you’d known him since you were young and you were meeting again, this time as old friends. Simply two people that were always meant to cross paths; their fate written in the broken road they walked along.

You didn’t know if he trusted you—or if he ever would—except the slight shift in his actions recently told you otherwise. Instead of treating you like someone tagging along, yet another person he’d lose contact with eventually. He treated you like a partner—asking your opinion on choices, on routes to take and places to stay for the night.

Whether he realized it or not, Joel began to see you as a friend—someone he could depend on when things got rough—a person that he couldn’t lose.

He told himself that getting close to people only made the grief of losing them worse. That to lower the shield protecting him, meant enduring yet another wave of loneliness—forced to face the hollowness that seeped slowly into his bones. The man that he used to be died long before he met you, but every now and then he could see the man who he used to be, return. In his own way, he cared for you. Yet it was a truth he couldn’t admit to himself, because everyone leaves in the end.

Death wouldn’t escape the path Joel was walking along, and he hated that you were right there beside him. Heading directly towards it yourself.

“Where are we going?” you asked, the waver in your voice telling him that he had to hurry before you collapsed.

“I’ve been through here before.”

You swallowed down the impending yawn that was desperate to come out. “So you know about a safe house?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied, squinting against the sunlight in order to catch a clearer sight of the sign that hung above.

Although it had been a few years since he and Tommy found themselves out this far, he could recall there being an old car dealership towards the center of the small city. If he was right, they’d still have a few cars left with batteries that hopefully still worked. It was a small prospect to hold out for, but Joel’s refusal to let you keep going this way, forced him onwards.

He figured that you both might be shit out of luck by the time you got there. But he knew what you’d say to him if there was even a chance of something good happening. Keep going until the hope pays off.

“Boston?” he asked, stopping to see you leaning heavily against the broken highway railing, your eyes slipping shut and body falling forward. Joel slung the gun across his shoulder, taking large strides towards you quickly, his hands grasping onto your arms to steady you.

“‘M fine,” you mumbled, your eyes shutting involuntarily. “Just…tired.”

“Hey.” His hands cupped your face, tilting your head slowly. “Hey look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open as far as they could, lids still drooping slightly. “I’m…I’m okay.”

“You gotta keep going.” Unconsciously, his thumb ran along the top of your cheek, the calloused finger clashing with the softness of your skin. You were opposites, yet still somehow remained two halves of a broken whole. “You hear me?”

For a moment, Joel felt his heart lurch in his chest as you stayed silent, your eyes falling shut again and breaths turning shallow. But the sight of your lips twisting up into a grin appeased his slight panic—reminding him that you were far too stubborn to give up now.

Leaning into touch, you released a labored breath before taking in another one immediately afterwards. You were starting to get colder to the touch; the sun going down didn’t help the temperatures in the slightest.

“I’ll try my best, Texas,” you sighed, straightening your stance to the best of your ability and pressing your face into his hand one last time.

You didn’t see it, but he grinned. It was barely there. Just a fleeting look as you headed towards his original spot, but it confirmed everything Joel was afraid of. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t. And that sent a streak of fear through his heart, his eyes still watching you slowly make your way down the street. Joel knew what he was capable of—understood his limits and how far they stretched. Only with you…none of that existed anymore.

Joel wouldn’t lose you, but what he would do to keep that from happening scared him more than it should have.

“You coming?” you called over your shoulder, beckoning him closer with a small tired smile.

He had no control over his limbs as they gravitated closer to you, his steps slowing to keep him right beside you—his hand brushing against yours every now and then. If the road wasn’t covered with overgrown weeds and vines of plants he couldn’t name, he’d say that this felt relatively normal. A man walking beside a woman, the nervous electric energy between them practically visible in the air around them.

Yet the guns strapped to both your backs and scars that littered your bodies like bleeding memories, told a different story. You were two fragmented people destroyed by the aftermath of a ruined world. What a story you would make for anyone still alive to read it.

“We’re not heading to a safe house, are we?” you asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed, his hand shifting to tightly grip his pack’s strap. “We’ll be okay.”

“No need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lyin’.”

You grinned, allowing your pinky finger to nearly twine around his. “Your accent gets thicker when you lie.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Scoffing, your finger finally caught his. Joel pretended not to notice the way his heart pressed tightly to his chest.

“Whatever you say Texas.”

The sun began to slowly dip below the rows of houses and taller buildings, giving Joel a time limit as to how far you could go before calling it a night. From what he could remember, the place wasn’t too far into the smaller outskirts of the city. But if the slight shuffle of your feet told him anything, you wouldn’t make it there by tonight. Joel had half a mind to let you lean on him the rest of the way there. Except his back and body screamed at him to finally give up for the night.

He sighed, glancing at the rows of empty homes that most likely remained free of any infected. Yet his gut told him to do a sweep either way before allowing you inside. He blamed the idiotic side of his brain for letting you burrow so deep into his hollow chest.

“Wait here,” he said softly, his hand clasping over yours briefly—thumb running along your knuckles—before he pulled away.

“Got nowhere else to go,” you replied. Though your words were light, airy, you were ready to fall unconscious to the floor.

You had surpassed being able to explain how tired you were two hours ago, the sensation settling itself in your bones. The longer you walked, the louder your body begged for sleep, but every time you closed your eyes…you saw her again. The woman in the closet. You couldn’t get her out of your head even if you tried, because she was too similar. The sight, far too familiar to what you’d witnessed years ago, and before you could stop yourself…you saw your mother again.

If you wouldn’t give your body sleep, it would force you to relive that moment over and over again. Until eventually you went mad.

Sighing, you felt a shake start in the hand that clutched your gun. The rest of your body soon followed, but you held out until you spotted Joel’s figure in the broken window. His flashlight shone out onto the small pathway up to the front steps—the once neatly placed bricks now overgrown by wild grass. You hadn’t heard him scream or shout for you to run yet, telling you that the house was safe from infected and even worse, unwanted visitors.

“There’s no beds,” he said, getting to you faster than you expected him to. “But there’s a couch.”

Relief washed over you. “You think it has anything bad?”

“I checked the cushions. They’re still in good condition. Well…after being left out for ten years.”

Even through your fatigued state, you still cracked a smile when you knew he was attempting to lighten his mood. Sure, he said it in a manner that hinted at no humor whatsoever. But you’d been around him long enough to grasp his slight inflections and dry sense of humor when it came out. Even though his face remained passive, he was funnier than you expected him to be.

“Mm, careful Texas, you’re spoiling me,” you mused as you moved past him slowly.

You could have sworn you saw his face flash with an emotion you’d never seen him wear before, but you blamed it on the trick of the sunset. An orange glow of the fading sunlight caressed his face, showing you the side of him that you would never tire of looking at. Of a man who you hoped found a reason to keep surviving.

He remained close behind you, keeping his hands from reaching out to hold your arm or waist. Joel wasn’t an idiot. He knew you could handle yourself, having seen you take down several infected on your own. But the part of him he closed off, the part that died with Sarah peeked its head out again. Prompting him to be observant of the things you did, what you said, because you were his to care for.

His to protect.

“Did you get lucky with food?” you asked, before turning to see the state of the kitchen.

Havoc had been wreaked on this place long before either of you arrived. The cabinets were picked clean through, and you could see the layers of dust that had settled on the shelves. Nobody had been here in a long time, meaning you and Joel would have to forgo eating one more day until you could get back into the woods tomorrow. At least there you could hunt. There you found solace away from this reality; for a moment you were able to forget that humanity was on the brink of extinction.

“Just the couch,” he replied gruffly, his voice coming directly over your shoulder.

He stayed closer to you than usual, but knowing how unsteady your body was today, you didn’t mind it. Part of you wanted to lean back, press against the warmth you knew emanated from his body. Except the small irritating voice in the back of your mind told you to stay away. Getting close to Joel was dangerous enough as it is. Allowing yourself to fall for him was worse.

There would be no future together. No home to make with him or life to share. This was it. Nights huddled in forgotten buildings, food shared over fires that never stayed alive for too long. You would only get the chance to survive together. Anything else asked for too much, and you and Joel were out of things to give.

“This feels nice.” The words came out as a contented sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as your body finally relaxed.

The cushions were shit and the cold air was beginning to take a toll on you, but you took what little good you could get. Laying down, you felt your muscles calm slightly. It would take time for you to gain back what energy you already lost, yet you didn’t mind. For once sleep wasn’t evading you. Instead, it took you in its embrace, the soft beckoning sounds of the darkness you desperately craved welcoming you once more.

You didn’t feel Joel lay his jacket on top of you, barely felt him shift your legs to drape over his lap as he sat down. All you could comprehend was the warmth that encased you in his touch, his proximity. Your eyes shut, your mind falling silent—giving you the reprieve you needed for days.

The sharp piercing echo of a gunshot ringing in the air jolted you awake. Your eyes flew open, a sharp gasp of breath leaving you as you sat up straight. A cold sweat began to spread along your skin when you looked around the room, coming to the conclusion that you were alone. Perhaps you imagined the shot, the sound simply a dream your brain conjured up. But then you heard it. The distinct sounds of shouting, of Joel’s voice echoing in the brisk morning air.

“You take one more step, I'll shoot again!” he called, his voice spurring you to quickly shove your arms into his jacket and rush to the already open door.

He stood on the last step, his shotgun poised and dangerous in his arms, pointing directly at a man and a woman. They had their hands raised in surrender, eyes wide with the same terror that you had worn before. The same look you must have on now. Whereas Joel’s face was hard, the anger came off him in waves the longer he stood there, unwilling to budge from his stance.

“Please,” the woman stepped forward once she caught sight of you behind him. “We’re just looking for a place tonight. Some food if you’re willing to share.”

You nearly scoffed at the notion that you and Joel were better off than they were. “We can’t help you,” you replied, getting closer to Joel, your hand landing gently on his shoulder.

Neither of you noticed it, but the second your touch pressed against him, his body relaxed. The tension suddenly fading when he finally realized you were there, standing with him. He still refused to drop the shotgun, his eyes narrowed in their direction in case something happened. But with you there, he felt better about the situation, knowing that when worse came to worse…you’d have his back.

“Then a place for night,” the man said. He was smart in staying right where he stood, knowing full well that if anyone got shot first, it would be him. “We have a car. We can take you wherever you need to go in the morning.”

That gave the both of you pause, Joel’s eyes flicked to the side to quickly glance at you.

If you managed to get a ride with them, you might be able to finally reach Boston before you expected. You knew Joel wasn’t quick to trust anyone, but the prospect of not having to walk so far left both of you conflicted with the choice.

“Joel,” you said softly, moving closer to him and shifting to the side slightly. “I know you don’t want to—”

“No.”

You sighed, eyes closing briefly before they met his stone cold gaze. “They have a car Joel.”

The sorrow in your eyes did him in; shot him right in the heart and before he could stop himself, he was relenting to your request. With a sigh of his own, he dropped the gun, keeping his head turned towards you—molten brown eyes locked on yours until it was you who broke away. He heard you begin to make a list of requirements they had to follow, things that you knew would keep Joel comfortable with the situation. And for that he felt grateful.

He didn’t like how quickly you got to him, how you somehow managed to make a space for yourself in his mind—his heart. Joel waited until you led the couple inside, the rings on their fingers telling him enough. They were lucky to have made it this far together; never having to endure the pain of losing one another. He glanced at you one more time, watching as you made conversation with enough ease to surprise even him.

You fit in naturally wherever you went. He wanted to assume that after so long you liked finally finding other people to talk to. What he didn’t know was that you were doing this for him. You were learning everything you could about them to keep not just yourself safe, but Joel too.

“There’s a bedroom down the hall,” you said, pointing to the empty room with no bed. “You can take that for the night.”

“Thank you,” she replied, the relief in her voice evident. “I’m Martha by the way.”

Shaking her hand, you kept the small grin on your face for her sake more than your own. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Jimmy,” the man spoke up, nodding his head in your direction. You didn’t bother to nod back, already knowing that you’d only see these people for as long as they could help you.

Joel lingered behind you, his hands ready to reach for the gun at his side, but your presence distracted him from the couple. The early morning light practically caused you to glow the longer you stood near the open doorway, and Joel found himself unable to tear his eyes away. He felt the old familiar sensation of warmth pool in his stomach, his body aching for your touch. For you to come closer.

He fought against the feeling ever since he met you; refusing to allow himself any sort of attraction when he might lose you in the end. Except then you stayed for longer than he anticipated. Digging your way beneath his skin and reminding him what it felt like to be touched. To be wanted.

Ripping himself away from your presence, he sat on the couch, allowing you to take the lead and speak to them. He needed time to think, focus his thoughts on anything but how you might feel beneath him. Seeing you wear his jacket didn’t help his situation anymore than the damn sunlight. It seemed that no matter how much he wanted to pull away from you entirely—you pulled him closer. You gave him a small sense of hope in a world that killed whatever was in its path.

Eventually you found your way back to him, sitting beside him on the couch so close that your thighs pressed together. Joel found that he wanted to pull you even closer, his hand aching to press against your leg. To feel your warmth under his palm.

“We could go hunting.” You pulled him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention back to you. Yet he still remained in a daze, unable to completely break free of his thoughts.

He grunted in response, bringing a small smile to your lips. “It’s a long way back to the woods.” Fuck, even his voice sounded dazed.

“If they have a car it won’t take too long.”

It killed him to know that you were clueless as to how much he wanted to stay here and talk with you. All you two have ever done the past few weeks is talk, but Joel found the sound of your voice soothing. He wanted to fall asleep to it at night, to hear it first thing in the morning. That thought alone continued to strike him with a fear so potent he could practically taste it on his tongue.

“We need to be back before dark.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand falling to rest beside his. “I’ll bring my gun just in case.”

“You’re low on bullets.” He heard you curse under your breath. “You can use mine,” he stated, getting to his feet to stop himself from grasping onto your hand.

Stunned, you watched him walk away, heading towards the kitchen where he stowed his bag in one of the cabinets. He had placed the gun neatly on top of his extra flannel. There was a box of bullets stowed at the bottom, enough to give to you in case of something going wrong. Normally he’d try and get you to stay behind, but he trusted the world less than he trusted these strangers. Them he could take if a fight had to be won, but he couldn’t protect you if he was too far to get to you.

“We’ll be heading East,” he said, handing you the gun carefully.

As if they heard you preparing, Jimmy and Martha emerged from the room, their packs still strapped to their backs.

“I’ll drive,” Jimmy offered, his hand gripping onto the keys tightly. That one single movement showed you that Jimmy wasn’t a man entirely willing to venture out with strangers.

You didn’t blame him—still wary about the both of them yourself.

“We better get a move on,” Joel replied gruffly, taking the lead and heading towards the rundown truck that was parked in the middle of the street. He recognized the model, grumbling under his breath about what a piece of shit it was. They would be lucky if it got them to the outskirts of the woods and back before the sun began to dip below the horizon again.

The days used to move slowly, dragging on until eventually he collapsed into bed from the sheer exhaustion alone. Now they blended together. Until he could no longer tell one day from the next, forever stuck in limbo, waiting for everything to come to a final ending.

He watched you clamber into the backseat with Martha, his jacket still adorning your figure and his gun strapped to your waist. There were very few things that turned him on to the point of feeling borderline desperate, but that sight did it. Just the sheer knowledge that you were strong enough to save not only yourself, but him as well killed him on the inside, because he knew he could never have you.

You weren’t his to keep and so he continued to shove away the feelings that began to eat away at his insides. Turning him ravenous for something other than food.

“So where are you two heading?” Martha asked, turning her body towards you, drawing you into yet another conversation that Joel was quick to tune out. Instead, he focused on the roads Jimmy was taking, offering his suggestions on which path was better as they went.

Three hours of hunting left them with a measly bird Jimmy managed to shoot from a tree. Rather than bring the scent of cooked meat back to the house, they cooked it in the woods. Or rather Joel cooked it with the fire you built. While Jimmy could shoot—Joel could give him that—he claimed he had no clue about how to survive in the wild. Martha seemed to agree, saying she did most of the work.

You couldn’t place why, but their words sounded off to you. As if they were putting on a show for whoever they came across. You didn’t ponder on it too long though. Not when you were busy keeping the fire controlled to keep the meat Joel was slowly roasting, from burning to a crisp.

It was when the sun began to dip behind the trees, did you finally suggest heading back. The woods may have been safer than the house—what with it being so far from the city—but you refused to find out if that was actually true. Joel drove back, his eyes glancing at you every now and then in the rearview mirror while Jimmy talked his ear off. Yet no matter how many one worded answers Joel gave him, the man never seemed to shut up.

All you could say was that by the time the sun was gone and you were laying on the couch, Joel sitting where he’d been last night, you were glad the day ended.

“Hey,” you whispered, seeing how he practically dozed off in the time he’d been there.

He stirred awake, his brown eyes—now filled with exhaustion—meeting yours. “You okay?”

Grinning, you felt warmth spread through your body at the realization that the first thing he asked you wasn’t filled with irritation at waking him up. No, he was simply concerned that you weren’t doing okay; that something might have happened in the five minutes he had dozed off. If you weren’t filled with the sudden urge to kiss him before, you were now.

“Yeah.” You watched him settle into the cushions further—his arms draped over your legs. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, knowing he could no longer hear you.

You remained awake for a while longer, listening to his snores as he finally got some much needed rest. Once again you allowed your eyes to wander over the bones of the house that remained. You thought about the past, the future, and then…him. While you were two people who’s scars ran deeper than their emotions, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the domesticity of it all. Of falling asleep with him on a couch after a long day.

How he gave you his gun and jacket, never asking for either of them back even as you re-entered the house. You liked to see him as a partner. A man who would have your back in the midst of battle, but you never ventured further than that. Too afraid of what you’d find buried in the depths of your heart. Two definitions came with that one single word—a label not even Joel had admitted to yet—and you were terrified to find out which one the both of you landed in.

Too invested in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the creak of the floorboards. The shuffle of boots going unnoticed to your spent brain. You shifted, sighing with content at the position you were currently in, your body nicely wrapped in Joel’s leather jacket. Yet the peace could never last in the end. You knew that now.

Your eyes flew open when you felt the cold press of a blade against your throat, fear streaking down your spine. The darkness covered who this person was, but then you caught sight of the dark brown hair pulled into a braid that could only belong to Martha. Joel’s gun was still strapped to your waist, your hand sliding over the weapon, but her narrowed eyes caused you to freeze in place. She tightly gripped your neck, yanking you to the side—her blunt nails digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

“Move or he dies,” she whispered, nodding her head at Jimmy who held a gun behind Joel’s still sleeping figure.

Without fighting you slowly began to inch your way off the couch, the floorboards creaking under your boots as you stood. But Martha had clearly done this many times before. Slamming her foot into the back of your knee, you fell forward with a grunt, hands slapping against the floor and cutting against an open nail. Blood spilled onto the already dark wood, staining the color with remnants of you.

“Now here’s how it’s going to go,” she said softly, her voice empty of any emotion; her hand still gripping onto your neck.

“Let her go.” Joel’s voice calmed your nerves within seconds, the breath you’d been holding finally being let out. You didn’t have to look at him to know what his expression was. The deep echo of his tone told you enough even before your eyes met his.

Joel wanted blood, his eyes zeroing in on the knife still pressed to your throat. He knew what he was capable of, knew how dangerous he could be when it came down to it, and rarely did he like it. But the sight of you on your knees, a fear you tried so hard to hide present in your eyes, shoved aside all his remorse about killing. For the first time in a long time, he was content to rip them apart with his bare hands.

“If he moves, shoot him Jimmy.”

You shuddered, eyes fixated on him as the knife was pressed even harder against your neck. “Hey Texas,” you breathed, your eyes wide and heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shut up,” Martha snapped, slamming you in the temple hard enough to cause blood to trickle down your face.

Joel jolted forward, but the click of a gun forced him to stop. “Yeah Boston?” he asked softly.

Your eyes fell to your waist, the glimpse of his brown leather holster catching his attention. “You’re a pretty damn good teacher.”

He understood, snapping his attention back to the gun and forming a plan on how to get it. But in the time it took for you to let him know, Martha had figured out how exactly best to make you work in her favor. Pulling away from you entirely, she advanced on Joel, her knife now paired with the small pistol you saw her carrying earlier. You felt the anxiety begin to build up in your stomach, spreading down to the very tips of your fingers at the sight.

“Wait,” you called out, getting to your feet, only for Jimmy to grip onto the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

“Don’t fucking move,” he spit in your ear, the sensation of his hot breath against your skin felt vile.

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists as Martha pressed her gun to his forehead. Thankfully Jimmy was too distracted with the bloodthirsty need that ran through his mind, to notice your hand slipping the gun out from your side. You felt his weapon press against your waist, the barrel cold against your skin.

“Aw, sweetie,” Martha cooed. “Just be glad it’s only us and not our crew. Don’t worry, we’ll make your deaths quick.”

“You’re fucking raiders,” Joel practically growled, his knuckles now white from how tightly his hands were clenched.

“Took you long enough to realize,” she said with a smile.

“What do you want with us?” You knew it was a long shot to actually get the truth from her, but keeping her distracted as you clicked a bullet into place was all that you needed.

She laughed, the sound hollow. “You’ve got weapons, clothes. There’s lots of stuff us raiders like,” she murmured, trailing a finger down Joel’s cheek.

Something hot flared in your chest and shoved its way forward as you heard the bullet in her gun slide into the chamber. You knew Joel could handle himself, knew he could get out of this situation, but you were too stubborn to let him get hurt along the way. The part that cared too much about him took over, finally finding something to fight for in the midst of hell.

Protecting what was yours.

You raised your arm and pulled the trigger before anyone could react. And you watched as the bullet embedded itself in Martha’s shoulder. Her gun fell to the floor, a cry of pain tearing from her throat, but the fight wasn’t over yet. Joel loaded another bullet, pointed it at her and prepared to fire. You shut your eyes, in the hopes of avoiding the sight of any more death, but the echo of the second shot ringing in the air sounded wrong.

Joel flinched, thinking Jimmy attempted to fire at him. Still he pointed the gun at Martha, pulled the trigger and watched her fall to the ground, her blood now pouring onto the wood. Before Jimmy had any time to react, Joel was standing to his full height, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of you still held in the man’s grasp.

“I’ll kill you!” Jimmy screamed, the fear practically dripping off his body like sweat.

You wrenched yourself away, landing to your knees again and shutting your eyes as another echo of a gunshot pierced through the air. Everything fell silent, the crickets outside, the breeze that blew through the trees. All you could hear was Joel’s labored breaths mixing with yours. Until something louder began to block out the sound of the world around you.

Your own heartbeat.

With a gasp, you finally realized why the shot sounded wrong, why you couldn’t feel your side. Warmth spilled over your palm, pain suddenly slicing through your body. Your eyes opened to see Joel standing a few feet away, his gaze still stuck on Jimmy’s dead body that lay only a few feet away from you. It wasn’t until you breathed his name that he finally broke free from the cage in his mind.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes wide with a new kind of fear.

He felt the familiar question of are you okay land on the tip of his tongue, but then he saw it. The dark spot that spread through your black shirt, the red that spilled onto the floor below you. Joel felt his heart drop to his stomach, the air suddenly punched from his lungs, as he fell to his knees beside you.

“J-Joel,” you stuttered, gasping for another breath that burned your lungs.

“No,” he mumbled, his hands lifting your shirt to see the worst. “No, no, no.”

“Joel w-what’s happening?”

He gently helped you to the floor, his hands immediately pressing against the wound as memories of that fateful night began to rise up in his mind. From what he could see the bullet went through cleanly, leaving an open wound that he had to close up—quickly. His eyes lifted to meet yours and the sight of you looking petrified broke him; his heart twisted violently in his chest with each passing second.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself more than you. “I need you to do something for me.” You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as a wave of dizziness spread through you. His hand cupping your cheek brought you back long enough to hear his words. “I need you to keep pressure on it.”

“Okay,” you gasped, biting back the scream as your hands pressed down on the wound. “What are you going to do?”

Grabbing his bag, he dug through it for his extra flannel, the fabric old and worn down. He couldn’t move you like this, not when you were bleeding so much. But he couldn’t keep you here. Joel felt grief’s familiar tight grip begin to wrap about his throat, cutting off his air, but he fought against it. Forcing himself to focus on keeping you alive. Joel had already decided he wouldn’t lose you…his partner, his friend. His.

“I’m gonna wrap it,” he said, surprisingly keeping his voice calm.

Lifting your hips slightly, he yanked the flannel into place, tightly tying it around your side, and wincing when you cried out in pain.

“I know, I know.” You gripped his wrist, stopping him from moving you any further. “I gotta do this darlin’. I know it hurts.”

“I-I can’t feel my body Joel,” you whimpered, tears falling down the side of your temple and into your hairline. “What’s happening?”

He cursed, hands reaching up to cup your face and turn you closer to him. “You're going into shock. You’ll be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” At this point Joel couldn’t tell if he continued to repeat the words for you or for himself. Fear spread through his chest, the sting of tears filled his eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” you whispered, hands clutching onto his wrists and staining his skin red with your blood.

“I won’t let you die honey.” He tightened the fabric on your body, making sure that the wound had enough pressure to stop you from bleeding out. He didn’t realize how badly his hands shook until you grasped them in yours.

Wheezing, you began to see spots of black show up in your line of eyesight and knew…you’d have to make this quick. “Joel I need you—” Exhaling, you desperately took in another breath. “I need you to do something for me.”

Joel had heard those words far too many times to forget their exact meaning. You were going to tell him to go, leave you there and survive. Yet he couldn’t get your words out of his head—telling him that he wasn’t beyond saving, and in this moment…neither were you. He felt his heart stop beating, his world collapsing once more. Shaking his head, he tried to busy himself with getting you ready to move, but your hands cupping his cheeks stopped him entirely. If he could cry he would, but the tears had dried up long ago.

“You’re not gonna die,” he stated, once again needing the words more than you. “Not when I just found you.” His voice cracked, eyes shutting briefly until he felt you pull him closer. Your forehead pressing to his.

“Come here,” you breathed, your chest aching with the movement.

Pain practically swallowed him whole the longer he watched you struggle to stay awake, your blood still warm on his hands. “I’m not going to let you die,” he whispered.

With a wince, you smiled, thumb running along his cheek. Joel was a man of few words until it was too late and he had no time to say everything he should have said. Leaning in, he finally indulged in the one thing the both of you ached for the most. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft brush of his warm breath fanning across your cheek as he exhaled. Kissing him felt different than you imagined. The rough chap of his lips were somehow smooth against yours and briefly you lost yourself in his touch. You imagined that his feelings, beyond friendship, existed. Yet even you knew this wasn’t real.

You figured this was a goodbye. A thank you without saying the actual words, and you didn’t care if he didn’t actually mean it. Kissing him stole away the grief, it allowed you to truly forget that you were standing on death’s doorstep.

Sighing into his mouth, you felt the numbness begin to spread down to your hands, until you could no longer feel the sensation of his beard beneath your fingertips. Joel pulled away, his chest heaving and cheeks flushed red. If only you had a camera you could take a picture of him like this. Looking like nothing else was wrong in the world, because all he could focus on was you and your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, the black spots overtaking your vision entirely.

“Darlin’?” His hands pulled you up, your head leaning against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips pressing to your forehead. “You’ll be okay.”

Finally, the darkness stepped forward, welcoming you once more with open arms. Into its awaiting abyss full of peace—a place where you could rest until the end of time. Joel’s voice sounded far away as he called your name, his hand cupping your cheek to see you give in.

Your body jolted, heart racing and breaths labored, as you came to after who knows how long. The pain was a dull thrum in your body yet it was still a bitch to move. But it was the arm that tightly went around your waist that kept you still. Joel was wrapped around you, his face pressed into your neck and legs tangled with yours. You felt the warmth of his palm resting on your stomach when you moved, but the sharp sting of pain stopped you.

Something was tightly tied around your waist, keeping what you assumed to be a piece of fabric pressed against your wound. The pressure felt awkward, but it kept you alive. You weren’t sure how long you were out for, but you could see that night had passed, giving way to dawn. Joel’s chest rose and fell against your back as he slept, the soft snores he let out telling you that he needed more sleep than you did right now.

Though you could only imagine what he went through, nearly losing you must have put him through an entirely different kind of hell. You remember his face last night. Stricken with a type of grief you would never know in your life—the type that left a person broken beyond repair. Whatever he’d been through before he came across you turned him into that man. The survivor who wasn’t truly alive.

Turning slowly, you held back your grunt of pain as your wound screamed from the effort. Surprisingly, his face was peaceful. His eyelids fluttered every now and then, breaths remaining even, and you allowed yourself a moment to simply admire him. You had seen him like this before, sitting in the dark as you took watch. But this felt like more.

Shifting closer, his breath washed across your nose, the tickling sensation of his mustache against your upper lip nearly made you smile. You didn’t dare move any closer, keeping your lips a hair's breadth away from his—too afraid of waking him up. And there you remained. Watching him dream about something far away from this empty house. You hoped it was a good dream; one that gave him the solace you couldn’t.

He shifted, his arm tightening slightly around your waist and you felt what was left of your heart crack down the center. It was unfair that you met him now. In the middle of hell. You liked to imagine—if the world stayed the same as it was before—that one day you might have met him if you visited Texas. Or if he visited Boston. Perhaps you would have run into each other like you had now, found a friendship, and then when the time was right, you would have kissed.

Only that’s not how life went and instead you were left to watch him sleep, wishing you never kissed him in the first place. Now that you knew what it felt like—you weren’t sure how you could ever give him up. How could you say goodbye when he owned whatever remained of your heart—your hope?

The rising sun began to shine through the severed windows, glinting off the edges of cracked glass, but you refused to move. After so long searching, you finally found your purpose, and you’d protect him with every broken piece of strength you had left. Until you took your last breath.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fic #my writing

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