READ IT ITS GOOD I SWEAR

READ IT ITS GOOD I SWEAR

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy’s Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Moon & Sun (Five Nights at Freddy’s), Moon (Five Nights at Freddy’s)/Reader, Moon/Sun (Five Nights at Freddy’s)/Reader, Sun (Five Nights at Freddy’s)/Reader, Moon/Sun (Five Nights at Freddy’s) Characters: Moon (Five Nights at Freddy’s), Sun (Five Nights at Freddy’s), Reader Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Shipwrecks, non-canon-typical violence, thats a suprise tool that will help us later, Reader-Insert, Robot/Human Relationships, Queer platonic relationships, gender neutral reader, Alternate Universe, can be read as platonic or romantic, Mer!Sun - Freeform, Mer!Moon - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

The first forty-eight hours of a missing persons case are crucial. Every passing moment is another drop in the chances of being found. People often talk about how important it is to stay calm and spread out, consider every possible lead, leave no stone unturned. They never talked about what you were supposed to do when you were the one missing.

aka a reader insert fic where everyone is having a terrible no good day and are stuck on the same desolate patch of land together. At least your cage is larger than his.

You know what let me feel validated

(fun question, no jab intended) Why F.E.I. didn't give criptid hunter yn a bazooka? I mean, sure crossbow is snuzzy and silent but you don't need silver and wood thing to obliterate a vampire with bazooka. The werewolf episode could be ended in minutes. I'm pretty sure some of the older criptids are only considered invincible because people didn't have grenades, rocket launchers and mines 500 years ago.

Now, that would make the Bois revelation much more dramatic hhhhcjchxkcj

I'm curious if demons know about bazookas

Sun/Moon: We are a cryptid.

Y/N: (calmly loading bazooka) Shame.

This deserves so many more notes I cried sm and it's so well written and yet it cut me deeply

pairing: hard dom!joel miller x desperate!reader

ao3 crosspost: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44445643

rating: explicit (minors DNI)

word count: 7.8k+

summary: joel is your only hope, unfortunately. you and him aren’t on the best of terms…not after you left him for dead during a smuggling run. but, he’s the only one you can turn to when there’s no one left in your life that gives a fuck, so you swallow your pride and ask for help from the man who hates your guts. 

a/n: as always please read through ALL the warnings before proceeding: porn with plot, **dubious consent**, hard dom!joel miller, enemies to lovers, heavy angst (be ready for feels!), age gap, jealousy, possessive behavior, size difference, breaking and entering, use of the words “sir”/“princess”, dom/sub undertones, death threats, degradation, spit, praise kink, forced orgasms, squirting, spanking, bdsm, choking, knife play, unprotected piv, breeding kink, body worship, minor injuries/scars, hair-pulling, alcohol mention, drug abuse (sleeping pills), hurt/comfort, no use of y/n 

enjoy this little one-shot I whipped up in the moment! it’s been raining and I love the idea of being stuck in the rain with nowhere else to go except to your worst enemy’s home ;) have a fun read! 

｡ﾟ🌨｡ ﾟ ｡⋆ ﾟ petrichor (n.): the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil ｡ﾟ🌨｡ ﾟ ｡⋆ ﾟ 

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I'm rereading the series and GODUHHHH ITS SO FREAKING GOOOD THE NEXT CHAPTER IS EVEN BETTER

Guilty pleasures: Chapter 4

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Tommy mentions the reason why Joel refuses to celebrate his birthday. A fight breaks into the bar, and Joel's reaction to seeing you hurt awakens something in both of you.

word count: 6k

warnings: mentions of injury, alcohol. tension my beloveddd😌

A/N: this chapter kicked my ass oh god. it was much better in my head lmao but I hope it's as good as I want it to be.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @iero

series masterlist | AO3

AUGUST

“Again.”

Your voice is decisive and even a little harsh, but you know that Ellie’s more than capable of handling it. Poor girl’s had a handful thrown at her, and after traveling with Joel for over two years, you had no doubt that the girl was a tough cookie.

“I’m telling you, this thing’s rigged,” Ellie sighs.

You watch closely her hand on the trigger, noticing she’s squeezing harder than she should. Instantly, you reach around her and take the shotgun from her. Unable to look away, Ellie watches you lean over the rock, your hands steady and eyes locked on the practice target in the distance. Within the next second, you shoot it right in the center.

“Son of a bitch!” Ellie scoffs.

You chuckle, returning her look. “See? It’s fine.”

“Well you’re used to handling big guns! What is it with you and big guns, by the way?”

You falter, simply observing her; then, as you shrug, you notice from the corner of your eye a silhouette approaching.

Unmistakable, broad and about to get on your nerves.

But you choose to ignore it for the time being.

“Havin’ fun?”

Ellie gets up from the ground and starts telling Joel how you’ve been teaching her how to use a shotgun, how you shared tattoo wisdom and how cool you are. Joel listens, nods along, stealing the occasional glance at you.

You notice how displeased he looks. You know he hates how close you’ve gotten with Ellie over the past few weeks. Although maybe hate is too strong of a word; he’s still being cautious about you lurking around Ellie for reasons you have not been told.

Reasons you figured all on your own and kept to yourself out of respect.

So you know that your spending time with Ellie isn’t to Joel’s liking, but you’ve grown fond of her.

“I still think that thing’s rigged so I can’t shoot with it,” Ellie points at your shotgun and at you, respectively.

Joel cocks an eyebrow at you, and your breathing becomes inexistent as you exchange yet another hungry gaze.

While you’ve gotten closer with Ellie in the past month, you’ve grown more distant from Joel. The tension between you two boiled at perilous levels, especially after that evening on your porch. That unprompted kiss, birthed from some manic desire that needed to be sated, remained an unspoken secret between you, nothing more but a mistake done in the heat of the moment.

Every time you see Joel though, every time your eyes meet, you are reminded of that kiss and how much of you it consumed.

“Rigged, you say?” Joel asks, extending his hand so that you hand him the shotgun.

Almost like he’s expecting you to follow his lead without much argument.

Weirdly though, you do. You hand him the shotgun, watching nearly breathless as he steadies himself in the right position on the rock, eyeing the practice target.

“You squeeze the trigger like you love it,” Joel tells Ellie.

“Hmm.”

“Gentle, steady, nice and slow.”

“Are you gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?”

Joel makes a face at Ellie, then steals another quick glance at you. Only this time, Ellie takes notice of it too, much to your dismay.

“Could you not look at me when she says that?” you frown.

“I didn’t,” Joel retorts.

“You did,” Ellie adds.

“At least buy me a drink before, damn, Miller.”

Joel goes back to what he was doing prior. He replies with stoic silence, unable to come up with a good reply. So he points the shotgun right at the target practice and fires without hesitation.

He too shoots it right in the middle.

“You dick!” Ellie shouts, and you stifle a chuckle.

“Told you,” you tell her rather smugly. “You just gotta work on your aim. You nearly shot me in the head twice, and that’s just today. I’m starting to think this is personal.”

Joel lowers his head, stifling a chuckle. It’s brief, barely existent, and yet he feels its existence warming up his chest. The moment he wipes it off of his face, though, he feels empty again. As surprising as it may have felt to laugh at something you said, the second it was gone, he missed it.

Shit. He actually enjoyed that?

“Listen,” Joel mutters to you, grabbing hold of your arm as Ellie walks in front of you, “this thing with you and Ellie, I’m not a fan.”

“Quelle surprise.”

“But she seems to like you. For whatever reason.”

You don’t break the touch though; you’re not really sure why. It just feels… nice. His calloused hands wrapped around your arm, barely applying any pressure, just enough to make you pay attention to him, it’s—not bad.

You swallow your pride and bite your tongue though, all in order to reassure him. You know a concerned paternal figure when you see one.

“I told you before, I have no intention of hurting Ellie in any way,” you whisper, now inching close to his face. “I like her.”

That’s when Joel lets go of your arm, but his eyes drop to your lips and just like that, he’s transported back to the night he hastily kissed you. He reminisces of your scent, something odd yet specific, a mixture of salt, lotion and summer. He reminisces of how it felt to press his lips against yours, to have you open your mouth to welcome his, almost too eagerly and desperately, and his knees nearly give out on the spot.

“But if you wanna take over and teach her how to shoot, you should get to,” you tell him, being the first to back away. “You’re her—protector.”

Joel gulps, closely watching your figure. It feels like you are both too close and yet too far, and he knows that letting you in, allowing him to consume his thoughts and emotions, it will only bring more pain in the end.

“What are you guys doing? C’mon!” Ellie shouts.

No glances are exchanged afterwards. You walk silently into the town, and you make sure to stay well behind Joel and Ellie. The occasional smile appears on your face when you see Ellie excitedly telling Joel about her day and the things that she wants to do. The same smile that vanishes mere seconds later, being replaced by melancholy.

You realize you barely remember your own father anymore. He’s a faint figure at the back of your mind, someone you used to know who was gone too soon. And then you smile again, gathering that Joel is enjoying those moments as much as Ellie is.

As you watch them interacting, quickly forgetting you as they mind their own way, you come to appreciate that Joel is far from being cruel as you once thought. He’s still got kindness left in him, still doing things from the goodness of his heart.

Which begs the question: what happened to Joel Miller? What did the outbreak take from him that left such deep marks on him, causing him to hate the world and everyone in it?

Almost everyone.

You theorize whatever you can, but never pose any questions. It’s none of your business. Curiosity strikes you, sure, but there’s nothing else to it. You and Joel are… complicated. Best if you keep your distance from each other, especially after that unwanted moment.

There’s a sudden tug at the hem of your shorts. When you look down, you notice a little girl staring up at you. Her eyes are big and green, hair the color of caramel chocolate, and your heart drops. The resemblance is striking; you can’t get over it. If you were to believe that you could be haunted by your past… this is all the proof you need.

“Our ball fell on your porch,” she says while you stare at her, completely dumbstruck. “Can you give it back to us?”

Slowly, you come to your senses and realize the girl is with a group of friends who all stare expectantly at you. You blink several times to wake yourself up and nod rather flustered.

“Why didn’t you take it yourself?” you kindly ask the girl.

“My mom says it’s polite to ask first.”

You smile as you hand her the ball. “What’s your name?”

“Maya.”

You suck in a deep breath, eyes getting teary within a split second. Mouth ajar, you can only stare at her, your hands frozen on the ball.

But you don’t want to scare her, especially since you’re carrying a shotgun on your back and a knife in your thigh holster, nor do you want a panic attack to overwhelm you at this very moment.

Instead, you hand her the ball and smile widely at her. “It’s a—very beautiful name,” you tell her.

“What’s yours?”

You give her yours and she compliments it as well. The tears are blurring your vision at this point, but you fight them relentlessly. That is, until a woman stands next to Maya, eyeing you, and then her.

“Maya, sweetie, it’s dinner time,” she says.

“Can I play five more minutes?”

“Only five more minutes. But not any more, okay?”

“Okay.”

Maya sulks, and your smile widens. You blink again, making sure you keep your tears under control—as much as you can, at least. Then, an idea strikes you.

“Oh hey, do you like stuffed animals?”

Maya turns towards you, nodding frantically as she stares with those innocent wide eyes that simply make you melt.

“I might have something for you,” you say. “If that’s okay.”

You address her presumed mother this time, and she nods as well. You rush inside your house, opening a forgotten box at the back of your wardrobe. The moment you hold the rabbit plushie in your hands, a wave of sadness washes over you. The years clearly got to it, but that’s mostly because you haven’t had the guts to clean it properly. You let it catch dust and fade away, like the memories locked with it.

“This was my sister’s,” you tell Maya as you hand her the plushie. “She carried it with her everywhere when she was little. A little during teenage years too. Her name was Maya. Like yours. It’s a bit old, but nothing a good wash won’t erase.”

“He’s so cute! Can I name him?”

“You can name him whatever you want. He’s yours now.”

“Thank you, thank you!”

As Maya hugs your legs—at her height, it’s all she can manage—her mother looks at you, a heartfelt expression residing on her face.

“Are you sure?” she asks you.

You nod. “A kid should have it.”

“Thank you,” she smiles and touches your arm.

You watch them walk away, and finally you allow yourself a moment’s rest; you close your eyes, and the tears come pouring down your cheeks without you even trying to make it happen. You let them stain your face, you let the grief make its way from the box you’ve buried it inside your heart.

With one deep inhale, you open your eyes, face to face with Joel again. You’re very much aware of how disheveled you look now, as opposed to half an hour ago, but you couldn’t care less.

“Don’t,” you warn him, though your warning is as soft and raw as you’re feeling right now.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“That was very kind of you,” you hear Tommy’s voice, and later noticing his silhouette in your vicinity as well.

“A kid should have toys.”

“Whose was it?”

Joel’s tone is calm and understanding as opposed to all the other times the two of you have interacted. Perhaps that’s why it tightens your chest further, building towards your anger a little more.

“Just—not today, okay?” you nearly snap at him. “I’m really not in the mood for some typical Miller crap. No offense to you, Tommy, I actually like you.”

Tommy makes a flattered and impressed face. “Hear that?” he tells his brother. “I’m good.”

“I was gonna say somethin’ nice but I see this ain’t the audience for that.”

With that, Joel simply walks away, leaving a dumbfounded Tommy and a hurt you behind like there was nothing to it.

“What’s with him?” you ask Tommy. “He’s a bit snappier than usual.”

You watch as Tommy stares you down, inhaling and exhaling slowly in a well-rehearsed manner before he replies, “He always gets like this before his birthday.”

“His birthday’s coming up?”

“End of September.”

You’re surprised at the information. You wouldn’t expect someone like Joel Miller to care so much about a silly birthday, much less during such dangerous and cruel times. Questions begin to swim inside your mind once more, begging to be answered.

“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with growing older,” you say, to which Tommy shakes his head in denial almost instantly.

“No.”

When you fail to ask the next logical question, Tommy gulps, unsure if he should answer at all. It’s a family matter. After all, it’s a loss for Tommy too, and it weighs heavily on him—albeit not as cruelly as it weighs on Joel.

“September 26th,” he commences, voice grave and low. “The day of the outbreak, on his birthday… his daughter Sarah died. She was shot. Stupidest damn thing.”

Your face drops, as does your heart. Truthfully, you figured it was something along those lines, and yet somehow, when faced with the truth, you still take it much harder than you would’ve anticipated.

“Fuck,” you murmur, taken aback. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been twenty years, but I wouldn’t bring up her name if I were you. I don’t. Joel never recovered.”

Perfectly understandable, you think.

Your mother used to tell you that there was no pain greater than the one of losing your child. The way she said it, guttural and barely breathed, made you understand how heartbreaking it must be. You prayed you’d never have to find out.

So you can only try to imagine what Joel must feel like at all times. It almost makes up for all the times you two have argued and all the times Joel left abruptly, avoiding all eye contact, as well as physical.

Of course he wouldn’t want to be close with anyone. Getting close meant caring, and caring, love, it meant one thing in the end: pain.

“I guess that explains him for the most part,” you murmur, still processing.

“He means well,” Tommy explains. “At least I hope he does. He’s just… not crazy about others in his business.”

“Understandable. So I guess… he wouldn’t be a fan of, say… having a drink with one of his least favorite people? Y’know, when his birthday comes?”

The way Tommy stares at you, in a concoction of curiosity and giggles, makes your stomach twist and turn. You expect additional questions but you dread them tremendously. Although you suppose your rivalry with Joel wouldn’t be totally lost on his little brother.

“See, I don’t get the two of y’all,” he says, arms crossed at his chest and his interest peaked to the max. “You almost always argue, and now you wanna have a drink with him?”

He looks downright amused, and that, in return, upsets you. “I’m just trying to do something nice,” you reply. “Call it pity, being kind-hearted, whatever. But you can’t share a story like that and expect people to not react. I’m not heartless.”

“Sure thing. Except—most people would leave it at ‘I’m sorry’.”

You huff. “What do you want me to say, Tommy?”

“If you’ve got anythin’ to say, don’t say it to me.”

What would you even say to Joel? That you still get flashbacks to that unprompted kiss? That it still consumes you? That you craved more of that heat, curious to know what pleasures ate at his soul, locked and hidden away?

“But just so you know,” Tommy resumes, “Joel’s not the best at… communicating.”

“I think I’ll just stick to the one drink.”

Then Tommy calls out your name as you’re getting ready to leave, catching your attention.

“A lil’ bit of advice?”

“Sure.”

“I shared a drink with someone once, got to know that someone… and now we’re married.”

You roll your eyes, exhaling.

“Really?” you ask. “What is it with everyone and marriage and kids today?”

“Who’s everyone?” Tommy asks with a deep frown.

“I thought I’d do something nice, okay? It’s not necessarily pity. I just… I get the pain, okay? I’m not heartless.”

“I know you’re not. My point was… take care.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

You don’t say anything in return. The memories attached to your family are both good and dark, with the latter tending to take control more often than not. You find yourself haunted by past mistakes, frozen by the inability to save your family, and those are things you’d much rather keep private.

Just like you suppose Joel wants to keep his daughter’s death. Locked in his past, far away from anyone’s prying eyes or pitiful gazes.

As the moon emerges bright on the sky and you settle on a secluded chair at the bar, ordering a whiskey, you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you now know the main reason for Joel Miller’s—everything. Suddenly you feel like an intruder in his life, learning about the darkest moment in his life without him consenting to it. Of course, you plan on saying nothing of the sort, but the knowledge still remains deep within your mind.

It all starts to make sense: the way he’s so overprotective of Ellie, always watching over her, laughing at all of her bad jokes and going out of his way to find things that’ll make her happy.

Maybe Ellie is his second chance at fatherhood.

And maybe you were far too quick to judge him.

You are far too immersed into the amber liquid that’s occupying the glass before you to accept the presence that’s settled onto the chair on your right. You can feel their eyes on you, scanning, almost judging you, and you all but groan. Instead, you take a larger sip, letting the alcohol burn your throat and slowly, your whole body.

“If you wanna know somethin’ about me, you ask me,” the voice to your right coos.

The tone is all too familiar at this point, husky and menacing, but it does nothing to you.

Well. That is not technically true.

Despite everything that you’ve gone through having that grumpy man on your tracks for the past year, almost, he makes you feel alive. Whenever he’s around you, you feel more inclined to simply breathe in and out, feel each moment as if it’s your last; and with your every argument, every vicious look thrown back at each other, it only manages to stir something inside you that you’ve just never felt before. It’s a bizarre yearning, a longing for something unclear, yet so perfectly understandable.

You huff, slowly turning towards Joel. “Would you voluntarily tell me things about yourself?” you ask coyly.

“No.”

You hide the smile that threatens to break from the corners of your mouth, one that you suspect would anger Joel.

“I take it you talked to Tommy,” you say, almost done with your drink now.

“I told you to stay away,” Joel retorts, and his voice sounds like he’s in pain.

For a moment, just a fleeting, temporary moment, you want to look deep into his eyes and tell him it’s okay to feel things.

But the moment passes as swiftly as it arrives, and you say nothing of the sort.

“Actually, you haven’t,” you tell him, cautiously this time. “You never said anything of the sort. All you said—well, all you did was—“

Joel turns abruptly towards you, catching your attention. His face isn’t its usual dark aura, the kind of silent anger that’s boiling just beneath the surface, ready to blow over should anyone come too close.

“I didn’t do anything.” He pronounces each word carefully, as if he’s trying to let you know that if so much as mention the thing that’s on both your minds, he will lash out.

“You know what, if you wanna deny things, say they never happened, fine, do what you want,” you lean in to whisper to him. “But maybe don’t do them in the first place. Because maybe those things might keep someone up at night, thinking and wondering. And maybe that person would hate lying awake thinking of something that… how was it? It’s not a big deal.”

Joel clenches his teeth, downing his drink and now fully turns to you.

“You don’t need to know about my past and I don’t need to know about yours,” he breathes.

“Fine. But I’ll just say this. Talking about someone you lost means preserving their memory. If you stop talking about them, it’s like they never existed. You keep them alive by talking about them, by—“

“You don’t have a goddamn clue what loss is.”

That’s what triggers you. That’s what sends you over the edge, to a point of no return. You think of your baby sister, of your parents and friends and the little Maya you met today, and your heart aches and trembles in your chest, tormented by past mistakes and ghosts.

“You’re not the only one whose world stopped when you lost someone. Sure as hell not the only one who’s experienced loss in this fucked up world. So stop acting like you’re the sole victim here.”

“Kid?”

You freeze, staring at Joel for longer than you probably should have.

“Baby sister,” you reply almost inaudibly, barely able to swallow your own saliva. “And many others. So don’t you dare think you’re the only one who’s suffered a loss, or the only one with demons to face. We all got ‘em. We’ve all gone through hell, we’ve all suffered. Some of us still are. Present company included.”

“That why you can’t use a handgun? Reminds you of shooting them dead?”

You can feel your pupils dilate, your pores diluted by sheer anger. You don’t know how he intuited that or how he knew, but it’s the one thing you won’t allow to have tainted any more than it already is.

“Joel,” you warn sharply and higher, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“Joel… don’t fucking go there.”

Regret washes over him the moment he sees your face, filled with anger and pain.

“I asked about your stupid birthday because I thought you know what? I might enjoy having a drink with the man. Because there might be something more to him that I’d like finding out. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Like you said. What’s the point of it, anyway?”

 Joel wants to contradict you; he wants to grab your hands into his, squeeze them as he stares into your eyes and tells you that it does fucking matter, and it was a big deal, that kiss. He wants to tell you how you’re the first person he could even look at since Tess, how you sparked his interest without even trying and slithered into his life and mind without lifting a single finger, but rather pointing your shotgun and him, meaning business.

He says none of that. He only looks at you, ashamed of his prior words and reaction, trying to swallow them along with the whiskey. He barely registers the noises around him, the indistinct chatter, cuss words being thrown around with so much ease and the shoving. He only starts to notice something is amiss when you stand from your seat, eager to leave, and not able to navigate through the sudden crowd.

When Joel looks around, he sees a fight ensued. He stands up, willing to go after you and at the very least excuse his harsh words, but when he doesn’t see you, panic bubbles in his chest.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here?!” Joel shouts around him, but there’s no reply.

Instead, Joel dodges a few punches thrown dangerously close to his own face. He soon realizes that the fight had escalated and that half of the bar was trying to break it apart. His heart is racing, and his mind is sending one signal: find her.

His eyes search through the crowd, elbowing his way through the people around him; he sees punches and kicks and he dodges them to the best of his abilities, but when he bumps into someone, his wrist gets caught onto some fabric. He pulls away sharply, the appalling aftermath of that one encounter shaking him completely.

Suddenly Joel’s eyes drop to the floor, frantically searching for his watch. It’s the first time in over twenty years that the watch is off his wrist and he’s never felt more vulnerable and exposed. Tears threaten to roll down his cheeks as he keeps searching, hopeless and maddened by the possibility that someone might step on the watch. He can’t lose it, he can’t be without it, he can’t—

The scream that he hears next chills him. Still frantic, heart almost bursting out of his chest, Joel finally spots you. You’re clutching your arm, facing away from the bar. He sprints towards you, unable to think of anything else.

“What happened?” he asks.

“One of these morons—popped my shoulder!”

“C’mon. Let’s get outside.”

On your way out, you hear Maria intervening and the fight finally broken. Then you faintly hear Tommy scolding whoever it was that started the whole thing, shouting in disapproval. Frankly, it’s kind of a blur with the blinding pain that you feel. You can’t feel most of your arm, and the warm air outside doesn’t lessen the sensation. Somehow, it gives the opposing effect and makes you feel like you’re about to catch on fire.

That, or it could also be the way Joel’s hands hold onto you so gently and carefully, guiding you to his house.

Foreign territory, you realize. But you don’t really look around, you can’t; not with white, hot pain searing through you.

Joel guides you to a couch, helping you down and taking a look at your shoulder. Then, his gaze shifts onto you, his eyes suddenly warm and soft and apologetic.

“I have to set it back in its socket,” he informs you.

You falter, spending one second too long staring at him. “Do it,” you nod.

Taking a deep breath in and closing your eyes, you try to ready yourself for what’s about to come. You’re familiar with all kinds of pain, but the one resulting from embarrassment of having someone who detests you help you in such a tense moment is something else entirely.

Nonetheless, it still takes you aback when it happens.

Joel pulls your arm, steady and carefully, but you still wail. You wail and groan, letting out the pain and a few beads of sweat protruding at your temples and on your forehead. And then you feel the same warm hands holding your arm at your chest.

“You’re good, you’re okay,” Joel coaxes you, his voice grave, yet oddly pleasant. “Focus right here, right here on me.”

You do as you’re told and lock eyes with him, breaths more even now. It hurts significantly less, though you’re not out of the woods just yet. You try to move your fingers to see whether Joel did a patch job or not, but next thing you know, his fingers are holding yours.

“Can you move them?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Show me.”

You move the index first, wiggling it tentatively, then the middle one.

“All of them,” Joel instructs gently.

You move the ring finger and the pinky, then all of them at once, nice and slow. As you pleasantly remark that the nerves in your hand seem to be intact, you stifle a gasp at the realization that Joel’s fingers are intertwined with yours. The feeling is that of warmth and coziness, and yet… there’s electricity in it. Static, wild and treacherous.

“Looks good,” Joel concludes, clearing his throat a little.

Your eyes look up at him, finally meeting with his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say you shivered.

“Feels good too,” you murmur, hoping it’s inaudible, or some figment of your imagination.

But it’s neither. Joel hears you, and this is very much real. Him, holding your hand and not pulling away like he usually does, it’s the realest thing he did in a while.

“Thank you,” you say.

Joel nods, back to his stoic self. He knows he should probably pull away, take his hand out of yours.

But he can’t.

“I’m—I’m sorry, by the way,” he manages to get out.

“For what?”

He falters. “For saying those things, back at the bar. I shouldn’t have said… it was cruel.”

“How did you know what happened?”

Your question is merely for pure information, nothing else. Yet shame won’t leave Joel’s body.

“The way you looked at that little girl. There was guilt in your eyes. The kind that stays with you forever, haunts you. For something you did.”

You don’t respond. You’re already feeling awfully vulnerable tonight, and opening about the biggest tragedy in your life isn’t something you wish to do. Not now, probably not ever.

“I’m also sorry for… oversteppin’ some boundaries, a while back,” Joel resumes, like he wasn’t anticipating an actual answer from your side.

You raise your eyebrows at him, waiting. That gets Joel impatient and flustered.

“You know what I—c’mon, don’t make me say it out loud,” Joel all but begs.

You smile in the slightest. “Humor me and say it anyway.”

With a loud huff, Joel manages to get out, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Again, mere curiosity and interest. You’re not trying to get him to open up about anything, given that he didn’t do it to you when it comes to your sister.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Like a lot of folks, I live my life one day at a time and I figured… I might die tonight, tomorrow mornin’… why not seize the moment with someone who ain’t half bad looking?”

You frown, unsure if you should feel flattered or insulted. “Oh, I’m not ‘half bad looking’? As opposed to what, the infected?”

“Better alternative.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and to your surprise, Joel does the same. His chuckle is deep, but heartfelt. It stirs something inside you, something pleasant that you wish wouldn’t vanish anytime soon.

“Anyway,” Joel resumes, feeling his cheeks flushed, “sorry about that.”

“You should be. It was pretty damn terrible.”

Joel’s the one who frowns this time around, staring incredulously at you. “What?”

You nod. “Yeah. Pretty awful. It was too short.”

Stunned, Joel can only blink and stare at you, unabashedly dropping his glare at your lips and licking his own subsequently. He’s painfully aware of the fact that he’s still holding your hand, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s overwhelmed and there’s adrenaline pumping in his veins, and you’re so close to him—but you’re still hurt, so he couldn’t—

“Joel,” you coo, bringing him back with his feet on earth, “you said it’s no big deal. So I didn’t—I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I tried to not let it get to me, but I—“

“It’s been a… long, long time since I felt anythin’ close to this. I thought I was over feeling these things. I didn’t expect to… want more. I don’t get close to people, not anymore.”

“You got close with Ellie.”

“It sneaked up on me. I didn’t expect to care about her so damn much, but I was wrong. And now, with you... you sneaked up on me too. In a whole other way.”

Your throat’s dry, heart pounding and you feel warm all over. You’re not sure if it’s from the pain, the glass of whiskey you had less than half an hour ago or Joel’s shy words—or perhaps a mixture of those three—but you do want to ease his worries a little, if you can.

“You think I went around making friends and dating?” you ask, and you see a hint of amusement on Joel’s face. “I sure as hell didn’t. Maybe scratch an itch here and there but I’ve never—I don’t think I’ve ever felt an urge like this one, right now.”

Joel’s face moves closer to yours, his eyes roaming all over your face to the point where your cheeks redden.

“What that might be like?” he asks.

“Like I want you around all the time. Like I… I think about kissing you again. And what it would be like to touch you.”

“So far so good?”

He’s looking at your hands, joined together by your fingers, and then back at you, and you shudder. You hate the impact this man has on you, the way he raises your blood pressure and heats your body with a single look.

But boy are you mesmerized by it.

“So far so good,” you confirm.

You lean in, perhaps foolishly so, but it’s what you feel the moment calls for. Even if it’s wrong, even if there’s a thousand reasons for why you shouldn’t do it, you’d still find one to go through with it.

“Hey, there you are!”

Ellie’s cheerful voice makes you and Joel separate in an instant, your hands no longer tangled. You meet Ellie’s gaze, who seems relieved to see you.

“Hey,” you tell her.

“I’ll get you something to hold the arm in place,” Joel announces rather awkwardly.

“I heard what happened,” Ellie says. “What a bunch of douche heads. How’s your arm?”

“Feels good. Joel reset it.”

“Ouch.”

“Eh, it wasn’t as painful as you might think.”

Joel steals a glance at you from the bedroom, smiling to himself. He can’t recall the last time he ever felt the urge to just smile because of someone’s presence.

“C’mere,” he tells you, tightly wrapping a cloth around your shoulder and arm. “Hold it still. Should last you a couple of days.”

“Thank you.”

You linger with your gaze, and so does Joel. However, Ellie frowns at the two of you, surprised that you aren’t at each other’s throats.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” she tells you. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Goodnight, Ellie. Thanks for checking in.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t think this means you’re getting out of practice tomorrow morning.”

“Wasn’t counting on it.”

You smile, watching Ellie leave. Once you’re alone with Joel again, you clear your throat, feeling oddly dry as you sit up.

“I should get some sleep,” you announce.

“I should too, I think.”

The warm air is thickened by unspoken words and silence, both your hearts racing unsteady inside of you. Joel walks you to your house, meeting your eyes when you’re on the dimly lit porch.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you tell him.

“Goodnight.”

If there was ever any moment to share a kiss, this would be it.

But as he walks away, shaking his left hand and realizing again how painfully empty it feels, he comes to realize that kissing you now, after the chaotic night you’ve had, would’ve led him to want more. He was already craving things that drove him insane with lust, and so putting an abrupt end to a potential kiss would’ve ruined him.

He knows that if he would’ve kissed you now, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.  

He thinks that if he’ll ever kiss you again, he definitely won’t be able to stop.

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Reasons why I will never use the sheet that goes on top of the fitted one:

One time it almost suffocated me and I woke up terrified and gasping

Why do that when you can use just a comforter or a fluffy blanket

Even if you sleep with them in the summer it's still either too uncomfortable or doesn't take that sweat too well

They're just like the remaining pieces of fabric you don't even need them

I hate feeling super tight and constricted again I got stuck in them from it being too tight when I needed to hurry

It's soooo much work folding them under the mattress also I'm horrid at folding

They're either too cold or not warm enough when the AC isn't in the sweet spot

Let's as a society get rid of sheets and switch to duvets thank you this has been the Ted talk no one has asked for.