Well I Need To Meet To Pedro Pascal

well i need to meet to pedro pascal

Dark but Just a Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: your dad’s associate and friend, joel miller, finally tires of your constant teasing

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption & drunkenness; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (intoxication, power imbalance); age gap.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka that’s bestfren

word count: 3.7k

no use of y/n in this fic.

ahhhh this is my first time writing for joel so any and all feedback is super appreciated. i was slightly inspired by the amazing dbf!joel drabbles that @anchoeritic writes (seriously, if you enjoy this fic, go read them). as always, my requests are open !!

—

THEN,

It started out so innocently.

Your dad often helped Tess and Joel smuggle contraband in and out of the QZ, sometimes by keeping the right people quiet, other times by offering the pair a place to lay low at. You got accustomed to the sight of them passed out on the floor, the glow of the sunrise illuminating only their sleeping faces, or else a murmuring trio of hushed voices in the middle of the night.

Soon, however, you began to notice the way Joel’s eyes seemed to trail on you, often catching his hardened gaze in yours. Still, he rarely spoke to you and when he did, he mostly just grunted a “hullo” or asked if your father was around.

But you suspected that he noticed you.

Especially when your old clothes got too tight, hugging your skin and leaving little to the imagination. You observed his breath hitching the very first time he saw you in a skirt.

So, naturally, you played into it. You started sneaking downstairs in the morning wearing only a t-shirt and your underwear, feigning innocence at the way (you imagined) he tried, hard, not to look at your ass as you sauntered back up to your room.

Sometimes, you bumped into him on the streets of the QZ. You’d loop your arm around his broad bicep, wide-eyed, gazing up at him through your eyelashes and asking why he hadn’t dropped by to say hello recently. Causing him to tense beneath your hands always felt electrifying; the restraint in his grumbled “soon” always felt like a victory.

When it was dark out and he, Tess, and your dad shared a drink together on the dusty-old-living-room-couch, you made sure to lock eyes with him, taking in the danger lurking in them. He’d look away, leaning back casually and adjusting his jeans.

But—it was always innocent.

It was a game you played with yourself; one you weren’t even sure he was in on. Life in the QZ got dull, and there were only so many good-looking men your age that your dad’s work allowed you to see.

Sometimes, when business was good, your old man got his hands on an extra shipment of liquor, inviting all of his favourite bandits in the Zone and throwing a “party” in one of the run-down, less monitored buildings. You did yourself up as best as you knew how to, shared a flask with your friends and flirted with young smugglers.

It was seedy, but it was fun.

Joel was always there, usually asking around for parts or looking to cut deals. Usually, he drank and stayed out of your way.

Once, however, after being extremely irresponsible with your consumption, you found yourself alone with Andy, a young FEDRA guard (working for your side, of course), slurring your words and stumbling on your feet. He was good-looking in a boyish way and handsy to high heavens. You vaguely remembered his insistence on taking you back to his place and the feel of his wet lips against yours. You clearly remembered hearing a gruff, “Get off,”—Joel’s baritone echo taking you both by surprise. Andy’s head swung to find Miller’s looming form in the doorway; he immediately tore his hands from your body and scampered off. You were alone with Joel, his expression a mask of rage and contempt tinged with—could it have been—jealousy?

After that, it was all bits and pieces of blurred images and sounds. Big hands pulled you into strong arms; your feet were lifted from the ground. You retained flashes of drunken faces smiling and jeering at you as you were carried away from the festivities—then it was dilapidated hallways, the jangling of keys fumbling with a lock, and finally, the ceiling above your bed as Joel gently set you down. Even now, you could clearly picture the way his eyes traveled along your exposed skin as he stood, arms crossed, at the edge of the bed.

Sitting up, fixing your drunken, playful eyes to look deeply into his, you slurred, “Got a bit jealous?”

He said nothing. He only held your gaze and crossed his arms, the muscles beneath flexing and relaxing in rhythm with the motion.

“C’mon Joel,” you teased him, “so serious, all the time. I was fine.”

Now that had an effect.

He growled, “one more minute with that asshole…” and shook his head, his words trailing off as he fought the urge to take your bait. “Just go to sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He turned, heading towards the door. Perhaps the excess liquor made you reckless or Andy’s kisses left you wanting—either way, you needed to push the limits with Joel. You needed him to stay, to turn around and play your game.

“I could thank you now, if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks, his head slowly turning to the side. Your blood burned in your veins, both from the alcohol and from the tension pulsing between you and him in that darkened room. He paused for a moment and it felt like a lifetime—laid on the bed, watching his shoulders move with every breath he took. He flexed a hand, something he often did when he was around you.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to sleep.”

And with that, he shut off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.

So, you decided it was probably all in your head. Maybe the looks and the tension and the teasing were just part of a one-sided game you played with yourself. Still, you couldn’t help thinking about the strain in his voice when he ordered you to bed or the anger that went beyond disdain and contempt at the sight of Andy’s hands exploring your body. You regularly reminisced about the events of that night, most often without meaning to. Most often alone, between the hours of one and three AM, sneaking a guilty hand down between your thighs.

That was the last time Joel had interacted with you.

At least before tonight.

—

NOW,

Joel stands between Tess and a seedy looking short guy you’ve never seen before, clearly not paying attention to whatever the two of them are hashing out. Tensions are low, which makes Joel look comically out of place. He lifts a silver flask to his lips.

The chatter of people talking and laughing fills the narrow, dusty space—from somewhere down the hall, you hear your father’s booming laugh. You’re finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on whatever your peers are gushing on about. The warmth in your stomach and the buzz under your skin from whatever liquor finds its way into your cup brings you back to the last time you’d seen Joel at one of these get-togethers.

“Can’t believe Miller comes to these things,” one such peer—a bandit in training, your good friend Emma—remarks. “Weird seeing him… well, not relaxed but… not stressed.”

You laugh. “I know, right. When he’s passed out, I don’t even recognize him. Looks completely different without his signature scowl.”

She turns away from him, focusing her attention instead on you. “Right,” she says, “I forgot him and your dad…” She trails off, her expression changing as her interests do, as well.

Emma suddenly smirks at you. “Does he sleep naked?” she asks, mischievous. This piques the interest of the others paying attention to your conversation, who subsequently tune in to hear your answer.

You smile, shaking your head. “No,” you respond, keeping your voice low. “Fully clothed—with his gun in hand.”

Emma’s eyes settle back on Joel as her smile fades. The other delinquents go back to their respective conversations. “Such a shame,” she says, wistfully. “I’d bet a month’s rations that his dick is huge.”

You giggle at that and she passes you the flask. You take a big swig, heat blooming across your tongue as the whiskey burns down your throat.

He catches you staring—his eyes darken when he notices the drink in your hand. Smiling innocuously at him, you wave your fingers in an extremely girlish greeting gesture. He raises his thick eyebrows, unimpressed.

A familiar figure interrupts your silent conversation.

“Hey,” Andy says, his voice unsure and subdued.

“Hey.”

He looks rumpled and flushed, as though recent weeks had not been kind to him. Andy’s not-brown-not-blonde hair hangs limp around his crown, mirroring the defeated air his stature gives off. Despite the near foot he has on you, he seems ironically small.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Look,” he tries, awkwardly stuffing his fingers in his pockets, “I’m sorry about last time. I was really drunk and I don’t really remember what I said, but I know it wasn’t cool.”

You scoff. “I don’t really think it was so much what you said, Andy,” you respond playfully. After all, you know he meant no harm. Drunk people get horny, and you had both been very drunk. “Don’t worry about it. No hard feelings,” you add.

That’s when, from over Andy’s shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Joel’s expression. Pure disapproval. Cold, ruthless contempt burns in his eyes.

“At least not from me.”

Andy turns around slowly, following your eye-line. By the time he clues in to who you’re referring to, Joel’s already looked away, turning his attention to the still-ongoing conversation between Tess and the stranger.

“Right,” Andy says, wincing. “He’s been giving me a hard time on the streets.”

“Don’t sweat over Miller,” Emma interjects casually. “He gives everyone a hard time.”

Once again, you find yourself distracted from the conversation, focussing on a different man in the room. Why should he get to decide when you get to be wild? What business does he have protecting you from other guys? After all, Joel Miller is not your father.

It frustrates you that he keeps pretending not to notice your stare. It frustrates you that he keeps his head ducked, feigning interest in the deal being made beside him. Taking in his size, the salt-and-pepper of his hair, and the fierce angle of his jaw, you steal another swig from the flask, wiping the excess off your lips.

It emboldens you.

Leaning up on your tippy-toes, you muster up your most sensual tone, whispering softly in Andy’s ear: “Let me make it up to you.”

You pull back to catch his look of disbelief, his pouty pink lips parting slightly as he struggles to locate his words. Grabbing his hand in yours, you nod your head to the right, wordlessly encouraging him to take you down the hall. He obeys without a sound.

You quickly shove the flask back into Emma’s hand.

“Save some for after,” you plead, and she shakes her head, tossing you an exaggerated eye-roll.

You lock eyes with Joel momentarily before you’re pulled down the hall, satisfaction leaking from your gaze—you’re not quite sure why. You break away, ignoring the non-verbal warning in his stare.

Who cares what he thinks, anyways?

You wind up in a run-down, dim-lit room, empty save for an old desk. Andy pins you against the wall as soon as the door creaks to a close behind you, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, tipsy kiss. His hands travel south to grab your ass and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck. Things heat up—his clumsy fingers brush the fabric over your breasts and you dig your hip into the bulge beneath his denim.

It’s not that you want Andy. Frankly? It could be anyone. None of the boys you hang out with really interest you beyond being potential partners for youthful experimentation—which is exactly what Andy is to you. In all likelihood, that’s not what you are to him.

Oh well. Those are morning thoughts.

Andy’s hands snake under your shirt, the pads of his fingertips creeping up to your breasts.

The door slams open.

Andy basically leaps off of you, a horrified expression settling on his features as he registers the identity of the intruder—as history repeats itself.

“Out,” Joel orders through gritted teeth, holding the door open for the boy to walk through. Andy practically sprints free—without risking a goodbye, without uttering a “sir, yes sir.”

You sigh once you and Joel are alone, adjusting your clothing and casually leaning back against the wall.

“Okay, Joel,” you say, exasperation coating your words. “What’s this all about.”

Wordlessly, he closes the door and locks the handle. His movements are slow, precise, and calculated—butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He approaches you, leaning one hand against the wall behind your head and using a pair of thick, callused fingers to tilt your head up. He smells like sandalwood and hard liquor; he smells like a man. Electricity crackles throughout your entire being.

The touch of his hand on your face drains every last drop of your boldness.

“I think,” he grumbles out, his voice low, gravelly, dangerous, “You know exactly what this is about.”

You swallow, focussing all your energy on holding his severe gaze. Between your thighs, your nerves begin to pulse, responding to his proximity with enthusiasm.

“No, I really don’t,” you respond, mustering up some confidence from god-knows-where to render your tone convincing.

He scowls. “S’lil’ game you’re playin’,” he mutters softly, coolly. “Comin’ downstairs half-naked, clingin’ onto me in public when you know I can’t do anything…”

He shakes his head, his grip on your jaw tensing slightly.

This time, when he speaks, his tone is hoarse. “What are you tryin’ to get out of it?”

A smile creeps onto your face at the anguish in his voice.

So you hadn’t imagined it. Joel had been in on it from the start.

You look up at him with big, sultry eyes, taunting him. There’s no point in avoiding the truth anymore—you want joel. And you’ve never really been the type to not go for what you want.

In this moment, you’re willing to risk anything to have Joel do something, anything to you.

Wicked innocence drips off your every word as you purr, “Whatever you’ve been dying to give me, Joel.”

You watch your answer take effect. A vein in his jaw twitches—lust floods his eyes.

In a flash, you’re facing the wall with both hands pinned above your head by one much larger, much stronger hand. Joel’s weight presses against you, pinning you in place.

“That right, angel?” Joel challenges under his breath as his other hand explores your chest, grabbing roughly at your breasts. “Want me to show you what I’ve had in mind?”

His hand travels towards your underwear, sliding down your front in a tantalizing motion; you moan before his fingers even brush your most sensitive spot.

“I do, Joel,” you moan, desperate for his touch. The feel of his chest against your spine is intoxicating, your mind goes blank at the sensation of his cock pressed against your ass.

Joel’s index and middle fingers find your clit, rubbing torturous circles around the throbbing bud. His thumb presses into your skin, anchoring his hand in place.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he groans. “Wonder what your dad’d say if he knew his lil’ girl was soakin’ wet for this cock.”

He slips a finger inside you, curling it up, making your mouth gape open in a silent ah and your eyebrows crease together. “You think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” Gasping and struggling against his hold, you nod enthusiastically, overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, wanting more, more, more.

“Manners,” he growls, tightening his grasp on your wrists. “Please, Joel,” he corrects, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, his palm flattened and working against your swollen clit.

“Please-please, Joel,” you gasp out, throwing your head back against the crook of his shoulder. He leans forward, laying a soft kiss in the delicate nook of your neck. Then, he’s releasing you, pulling his fingers out and taking a step back.

He gestures to the desk.

“Facedown, sweetheart.”

You obey, stumbling over to it and laying your chest against the cold wood. It stings and you shiver.

Joel fumbles with his belt and then he’s behind you, unzipping his fly and pulling his length out. With your cheek laid against the desk, you get a perfect view of him towering over you, a dark God, holding his cock in his hand.

Emma had been right.

“You gotta be quiet,” he warns, before flipping up your skirt. He groans at the sight of your ass, roughly grabbing one cheek and squeezing it—hard.

“I will be,” you whine, desperate to take him in.

He chuckles, pulling down your dripping panties, letting them fall to your ankles. His tip runs between your folds, teasing your clit in tormenting strokes. You whine and moan, “Joel-s’good,” responding to every brush of his tip.

“You’re needy,” he says, gruffly.

He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, settling every inch of himself inside you.

“I like needy.”

You gasp at the sting and the pleasure and the fullness, unable to control yourself. Joel is huge—your walls wrap tightly around him as he pulls out near-completely before snapping his hips against your ass, filling you up to the brim again. You cry out as he holds your arms in place, setting a rhythm, grabbing you just as roughly as he fucks you.

“Joel,” you moan loudly before a large hand slaps over your lips.

“Shut up,” he growls.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you give yourself to him entirely, cravenly grinding against his hips.

“Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my cock,” he taunts. “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the room, dirty and filthy and hot.

Joel’s fingers muffle your moans of abandonment, every “fuck,” “yes,” and “thank you,” coming out simply as “mmm.”

“This what you fuckin’ wanted?” he asks gruffly, leaning a hand next to your head and bending forward to loom over you. “Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age?”

The angle allows him to push even more of his length inside you, causing you to squirm pathetically against his hips. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he adds, “That right, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, your eyes growing heavy, filling with abandon.

He looses a hollow laugh. “Needy lil’ thing,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in your hair. “With a needy lil’ pussy.”

Freeing your mouth, he throws his head back, straightening out and bringing both hands to your circle your waist. Now, he fucks you fast and brutally, his breath coming heavy and hard. With every stroke, Joel’s tip grazes your inner most sensitive spot, causing sheer ecstasy to radiate throughout your core.

“Come inside me, Joel,” you beg. “Come in me—please.”

Joel groans sinfully. “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

Fluttering waves ripple from your cunt down your legs, threatening to take you over the edge.

“Joel,” you half-sob, “I’m gonna-”

He slows down, thrusting into you in great, harsh strokes, well-versed in the art of bringing a woman to climax. You cry out as your orgasm tears through you, unable to form words or thoughts or anything beyond “Joel,” “Ohmygod,” and “yes-yes-yes.”

“S’it baby,” he coaxes. “Come aaalll over my cock.”

Your walls clench around him, your pussy just as desperate as you are to keep him tucked inside you.

He exhales shakily, grabbing fistfuls of your ass in his hands.

“Fuck it,” he groans, thrusting faster inside you. “M’gonna fill you up.” Your eyes are still rolled to the back of your head, your hands desperately searching for something to grasp onto. His cock swells inside you, tensing up between your walls as his seed spills out between them—he comes with an “oh fuck” and a final, brutal stroke.

You lie still for a moment, listening to the sound of your ragged breathing harmonizing with Joel’s. He runs a massive hand along your arm, his touch suddenly delicate, revering.

“You’d better fuckin’ pray I can find the pill for you tomorrow,” he says finally, his husky voice both amazed and amused.

Lifting your chest off the table, you slowly flip around, perching on the edge to face him as he reorganizes his clothes, pulling his boxers up and tugging at his fly. He looks so handsome between your knees, with his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt all rumpled.

“Get extra,” you coo, your breath still uneven, your thoughts still bungled. You run a slight hand devotedly down his plaid shirt, marvelling at the pleasure the proximity brings you.

He laughs low, shaking his head. “S’was a one-time deal, angel,” he says with a smile. He finishes doing up his belt and leans both his hands on the table, his nose just centimeters away from your own. “Can’t be caught fuckin’ my associates’ daughters—bad for business,” he adds, pulling your underwear back up your thighs. You adjust yourself and pout at him, playfully.

“You didn’t like it?” you ask, pretend-innocence soaking your tone.

He smiles softly. “I liked it too much,” he responds. “S’why it can’t happen again.”

You raise your eyebrows defiantly. “Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on you, Miller.”

He slowly straightens up, offering you a hand as you scoot off the desk. Your legs feel shaky, but his hold anchors you in place.

“M’countin’ on that.”

With that said, he gestures for you to leave the room, following closely behind you. He opens the door and you peer into the hallway, making note of its emptiness before stepping out. Joel exits soon after, taking off in the opposite direction. You catch him looking back at you, a dazed, hungry look still lingering on his expression.

It makes you smile.

Later that night, you find Emma and Joel finds Tess. You’re back to your side of the divide and he’s back to his.

It’s as though nothing ever happened.

“Hey, check it out,” Emma remarks. “Miller actually looks, like, chilled-out,” she slurs loudly.

You smile knowingly, nodding in agreement.

“‘Guess he found a way to blow off steam.”

She gives you a quick, faded nod before becoming absorbed in something else. It doesn’t bother you. You’re also absorbed in something else: lost in thought, consumed by the lingering echoes and traces of Joel’s skin on yours.

When you catch his eye from across the room, you can tell that his thoughts are haunted by the very same thing.

This was no longer an innocent game.

It was a dirty secret.

other list

「 ಌ 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒 」

✰ fair trade - @wndalovebot

✰ sleeping bag - @quin-ns 

✰ small favors - @grippingbeskar

✰ weakness - @cevansgoatee

✰ save a horse, ride a cowboy - @mandoalorian

Keep reading

THE PROFESSOR’S DAUGHTER

PART ONE: ONE NIGHT ONLY

Pairing: Morpheus x Reader (Hob Gadling’s Daughter)

Warning: SMUT

Words: 8,203

SEE BACKGROUND EXPLANATION HERE

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

PLEASE NOTE MY MAIN BLOG IS @endlessdreamqueen​ WHICH HAS BEEN SHADOW BANNED. I AM WORKING TO RESOLVE THIS ISSUE!

Dream’s & Death’s POV

It has been a few weeks since Morpheus broke free from his imprisonment at Roger Burgess’s house and gathered his tools, following which he felt somewhat lost and frustrated.

He had rebuilt the Dreaming and sought revenge on those who harmed him. He had also built up his powers again and carried out his functions as Dream of the Endless and, yet, something was missing. But he did not know what it was. The feeling itself was absurd and he never quite felt that way before.  

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please make a request to the entire tumblr community to make more tom sturridge stories please I need more content from him

Heya

Could you write a Tom sturridge one where the reader is also in sandman and is doing press with Tom? And they’re not yet dating, but they’re friends and very touchy (or maybe they’re like fwb, but not dating yet)

Idk, something like that

Oh yes I CAN!

Interview | Tom Sturridge

Sumarry - Tom and Y/n in an interview together, can you imagine the chaos that would be?

Pairing – Tom Sturridge X Actress!Reader | WC – 519

Notes: You guys are asking me SO MUCH more stories with Tom Sturridge, but don't worry I'll do it.

"I can't believe I'm here with You guys" The interviewer says fanning himself with the papers.

"Oh thank you." Y/n says smiling and Tom smiles too.

"Did you meet during the recordings?"

"Oh yeah, maybe you don't know but Y/n was a huge fan of mine you know? I'd even say she was obsessed with me, and it was even hard to make the recordings since she was looking at me all the time." Tom says making Y/n roll her eyes, and the interviewer laughs.

"Don't do that Tom, we all know that's a big lie."

"We know?" Tom says wiggling his eyebrows.

"Do you have any embarrassing moments to remember?" The interviewer asks and they both look thoughtful.

"Oh yes!"

"Y/n please no." Tom says holding Y/n's arm.

"Come on Tom, this is great."

"No, it is not!"

"Shortly after we met, Viviene and I went out for drinks at a little bar, so when Tom arrived he looked at me very surprised and said 'Are you old enough to drink?' That was so funny." Y/n says and Tom laughs remembering the scene.

"Oh come on look at that face!" Tom says pointing to Y/n.

"Tom I'm almost your age!" Y/n laughs and Tom hides his face in his hands.

"Oh my God!" The interviewer says laughing.

"He kept apologizing to me afterwards." Y/n says still laughing and taking Tom's shoulder.

"I personally am addicted to the interaction of your characters." The interviewer says to Y/n and Tom.

"We love our scenes together too." Tom says looking at Y/n.

"And it looks like your fans do too since there are a million edits of you out there."

"Really?" Tom says surprised.

"Yes you would know if you had a phone." Y/n says teasing Tom.

"I have a phone!"

"Yes, let's pretend we believe that."

The rest of the interview went well, with lots of laughs and memes, and when it was finally over, the two said their goodbyes to the interviewer and went backstage.

"Hi kitty come here often?" Tom says coming to Y/n's side with a bottle of water in his hand.

"Only when you're not." Y/n says teasing Tom.

"Ah." Tom says putting his hand on his chest.

They smile and look at each other fondly.

"How many more interviews do we have?" Tom asks taking a sip of water.

"Until we die."

"If it's with you, fine." Y/n pushes on Tom's chest making him laugh.

Tom looks around seeing that everyone is too distracted to pay any attention to them.

"So you…want to go out tonight?" Tom asks awkwardly.

"With whom?" Y/n says teasing him.

"Oh you are a difficult woman I see." Tom says bringing his face closer to Y/n's.

"Only for goths with blue eyes." Y/n says and gives Tom a kiss on the cheek.

Tom smiles and sees Y/n walking away.

"Is that a yes?!" Tom screams.

Is perfect 👌

weakness (joel miller x female reader)

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s takes an unexpected turn for you and Joel when some feelings start coming to the surface.

pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader ; post-outbreak

warnings: Bill and Frank! Not really a warning, I am just obsessed. Set a few years before series timeline, salt and pepper daddy Joel but not all out quite yet. Hefty age gap (reader in her mid twenties, Joel is in his earlyish fifties). Soft!Joel, but not too soft. Dash of angst, a bit of fluff, and lots of Frank because he is a sweetheart.

length: 5.3k

Part II here

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolded lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moved his hands back up to your hair, which was out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much needed wash. The sweet scent of the vanilla shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingered deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing change from what your hair normally smelled like: grime and smoke from hours of work detail. After combing out all of the stubborn tangles that he could find, Frank then picked up a boar hairbrush and he carefully began to run it through your locks. He started from the roots of your hair and brought the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sighed softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he had you perched on before giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” You mumbled. You brought your knees up against your chest and let out another small sigh. You could picture the small, satisfied smile on Frank’s face as he continued brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” You questioned him just a minute later, as if he hadn’t already explained it to you a dozen times; he wanted to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank stated as a matter of factly. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it's something of a special occasion today. It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You couldn’t help the way the corners of your mouth turned upwards into a small smile. One might think that was kind of silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you had to admit it, you admired the way Frank managed to find genuine happiness in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looked like. He had such a beautiful soul, something very, very people in this new world possessed.

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observed a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. He took two handfuls of your hair from the front, twisting them gently and bringing them around to the back of your head. Frank secured them with a clear elastic band and then ran his fingers through your locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascaded perfectly around your shoulders in long, natural waves. He walked around your chair to face you, fussing until he made sure that every stand was neatly in place. “You should wear your hair down more often. It suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” You laughed, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the QZ require anyone who has long hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You pushed your legs out away from your chest and planted your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my usual, greasy old clothes.”

“Exactly. So why not just zip it and enjoy all of this while it lasts?” He suggested with a tiny grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He took your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, and you reluctantly did as you were told. Frank led you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open them.”

Your eyes fluttered open and your mouth parted slightly in surprise.

“What the fuck,” You murmured under your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looked absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of rosy blush on your cheekbones and the thin coat of nearly decades old mascara (that could not be healthy to put near your eyes, could it?) that he’d applied to your lashes; the tube had been bone dry, but Frank used a bit of water to bring it back to life.

Then there was the dress, oh god, the fucking dress he’d forced you into. His favorite part and your least favorite.

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it got too chilly later.

“You look perfect,” he gushed.

You looked different. But that wasn’t exactly what shocked you. More than anything, you were taken aback by how normal you looked.

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, to wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in the QZ. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You didn’t think that you could ever look like this, not in this fucking lifetime.

Frank must have sensed how you were feeling. Still standing behind you, he placed his two hands on your shoulders and leaned his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes met your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve that much.”

Your lips parted slightly and you tried to speak, but words fell short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamped your mouth shut and gave him the tiniest little nod.

Frank smiled. “Good. Come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands dropped from your shoulders and he ushered you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gave you a wink. “I’m eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” You sputtered out, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What was he going to say when he saw you like this?

What would he think?

Probably that you looked utterly fucking ridiculous.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorted. “Yes. Joel.”

You glared at his back. This wasn’t the first time Frank had teased you about Joel, and despite the countless times that you assured him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insisted on believing otherwise. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he led you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” You said. Normally, you weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you weren’t finding his antics amusing in the slightest; not while you were wearing goop on your face and a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You paused briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and added in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. That’s it.”

Frank stopped at the bottom of the staircase and turned to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, sleep in the same bed together, spend every waking moment from sunrise to sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you tried again. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap? Please.”

“Frank,” You nearly pleaded his name. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He threw his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoed in the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a lot of Bill,” he mused. He noticed the horrified expression that crossed your face and laughed again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way.”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” You had to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what’s his,” he further explained. He took a brief pause before questioning, “You trust him, right?”

You didn’t even miss a beat, answering, “With my life.”

He ticked an index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly! You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stared at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Frank rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel.”

For a moment, it felt like all the wind had been knocked out of you.

Could Frank actually be right? Did you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel didn’t really give a shit about anything, except for surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day. And even then, he didn’t speak of his younger brother too kindly.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmered, speaking a truth he’d been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” You confessed, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You crossed your arms over your chest and let out a long sigh. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bit his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, darling. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows came together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He said it so simply, and yet there went the rest of your air leaving your lungs.

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarked, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” You countered, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky to him as it did to you.

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He spoke gently, but with such seriousness that made your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you spoke again, your voice was strained, thick with emotion you were trying desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the romance novels.” Before he could say another word to you about it, you placed a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he took the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course.” Frank took your hand. He opened the front door and led you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he saw you two approaching, Bill threw his hands up. “It’s about damn time!” He grouched loudly. “Jesus, Frank. I’m starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tossed his partner a sweet smile as he released your hand. “Look, I found myself something pretty!”

You blushed. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about you. “Frank, please.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrowed his eyebrows and he glanced over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widened just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown hair might have even had a comb run through it, but it was difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beamed proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel didn’t respond. His eyes remained glued on you, following as you walked around the table and took your usual spot beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” You muttered, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticked by. You silently urged yourself to get a grip as you reached for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and draped it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up smelled heavenly—Frank knew it was your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu.

Joel still hadn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompted as he picked up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glared daggers at him from across the table and hissed, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel set down his glass of wine and turned slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he spoke, his voice was low, but clear as day as he looked at you, “Very pretty.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest. Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he added, giving a subtle nod of his head. He let his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He turned back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again. He chugged what was left of it and then reached for the bottle, pouring himself another.

Bill cleared his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant. Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant. Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies.

As you tucked into your meal of rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grim caked onto your skin and in your hair. Surely he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his work partner.

About an hour later, once everyone had finished eating, you offered to help Frank clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settled for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shooed you away before you could even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he said, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hand. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggested. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like, go check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” You joked lamely, although it earned you a sincere laugh from your friend. You padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that was packed tightly with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months. You started searching among the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you picked it up, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you started thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing it was a play—you’d never read a play before. Still not convinced if it was one you would like to take home with you, you flipped back to the first page and started reading with a curious little, “Hmm.”

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he cleared his throat, and asked, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirled around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” You breathed out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate returned to normal. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he stated, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrossed his arms and pushed himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escaped you, almost nervously, as he slowly started walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floors. He took the book from your hands, giving a low hum as he read the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” You tossed him a teeny, lopsided smile as you teased, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacked your arm with the worn paperback. “Yes, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flipped it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He handed it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real dream,” You deadpanned. You glanced down, running your index finger down the cover. You were trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes were glazing over you from head to toe.

“It’s kinda nice,” he said quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You kept your eyes fixed on the book. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He paused, then added, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even better, though.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. More than his words, it was the genuine tone in which he said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You forced a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his eyes, you turned around and walked over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shoved the book inside. When you heard Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffened slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel remarked. He seemed to hesitate, but then continued, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay?”

“You kidding?” You scoffed in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that.”

Joel’s hands went to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turned around and were caught a little off guard by how close he was standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raised an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

Joel quickly shook his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that…” He stopped and lowered his voice just in case Bill or Frank happened to be nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugged his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content…” He trailed off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence. You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know with Frank’s help, we could talk Bill into it.”

The second you realized Joel was being serious, your smile faded a little. “What? But what about you?”

“Frank’s not a damn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admitted, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, You thought to yourself.

“I know that much,” You replied with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That’s no fuckin’ life—”

You held up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly softened. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen. The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy, not without you.”

Joel tilted his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body could even make the connection, you found yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You looked up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel’s exhaled a breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” You declared, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were finding the balls to confess all of this to him.

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lifted your hand to his face. At first, there was hesitation on your part, but you willed yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch was gentle, Joel couldn’t help but wince. Not because he didn’t want it, but because it had been so damn long since anyone had ever touched him like that. Since he’d let anyone touch him like that. He closed his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allowed himself to relax his tense muscles and sink into your touch.

Joel let himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gave a subtle tremble when you softly started to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully teased him about now that it was beginning to gray just like his hair, felt rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” You murmured, and he forced his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” You assured him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel managed to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that.”

You carefully moved your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“Because.” His voice was hoarse. “Shit like that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” You repeated, almost laughing. “Of all the things…”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier came to mind.

You’re his weakness. He knows how dangerous having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this...

Joel’s dark eyes flickered to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and pulled it up back into place, his rough fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmured under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…” Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he started to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish, but I’m glad you said it. Because no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lifted yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with filled your senses and you yearned to have more of him, you nearly ached to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knew to take over from here. One of his arms found its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reached up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swiped lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly granted him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remained gentle.

The way that he kissed you, the way he held your body against his, the way his calloused hand delicately cradled the side of your face…

“Joel,” You nearly whimpered his name when he broke away. His face remained just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon...”

“I know.” You nodded. You could sense that Joel, much like yourself, was at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly didn’t, but the realization that you two had just crossed a line you could never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifted his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forced himself to release you from his arms and stepped back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nodded again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You paused, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened...”

He silently shook his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss was short and quick, and when he pulled away, he said nothing. He turned on the heel of his boot and disappeared, heading out to meet Bill in the basement.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your face flushed a deep shade of red when you saw Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a satisfied, smug expression on his face.

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you could detect a twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turned away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness. But he was yours too.

this is so good

Us against the World

Summary: It’s one of those days where everything feels utterly hopeless. Joel reminds you that you’re not alone.

Disclaimer: Set post-outbreak, before the show starts.

Warnings: Talk of depression, hopelessness, reference to suicidal talk but not explicit

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Safe-house. Safe-house. Safe-house.

You repeat those words like a chant, a mantra, in your head as you keep on forcing your feet along the dirt and pebble-filled path. A couple days ago, you and Joe had found a miraculously abandoned building that seemed like it used to be a Firefly safe-house. There wasn’t any electricity, but there was some water and heat. You had gone on a simple supply run only to be ambushed by FEDRA officers. Now — you were going home.

You weren’t foolish enough to think of the safe-house as home. No — you and Joel would be moving on in a few days, probably. So when you said home, you meant him. The love of your life. Your reason for living: Joel Miller himself.

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