In Honor Of The New Episode And The Fact That Im Writing A Part 2 For This And The Fact That Some New

in honor of the new episode and the fact that i’m writing a part 2 for this and the fact that some new tlou ppl have been on my blog,, thought i’d reblog this one

i’m not one to be like ‘oh my writing is so good’ but idk,, i like the vibes in this one and i’m proud of the fact that i got it to come across in a way that fit my intended vibe to me at least?? idk if that makes sense

ik it’s pretty common to reblog your own work but i always feel awkward about it 😭 so if you’re like ‘that’s weird, don’t’ but say it in a nice way i won’t be doing it too much, i promise 

What Follows

a/n can (likely) see myself making a part 2 of this, it’s like 4:30 AM and i cannot make that decision rn,, so if you think that’s a good idea or are interest,, lmk, public opinion could make or break my decision once i’m better rested

Summary: If you had to think about the coincidences that brought you to this, you’d realize that it was inevitable. Domino pieces falling into place. Or, to put it simply, it’s the end of the world and yet your biggest concern is your teeny tiny…terrible, life ruining crush. 

*cough* sharing bed trope, and some other stuff 

also i’ve never played the game i’ve only watched the show but i have some context of the game (i’ve watched some videos),, but timeline wise,, location wise, it’s pretty general as i’m just going with what fits for my intended story line like i do with most fics :)) it’s mainly set in a sort of safe house 

warnings: potential timeline errors, mentions of age gap that’s pretty vague, allusions to anxiety and canon angsty-ness

—-

Memories of before are tricky. Most of them hybrids, odd mix-matches of true experiences and snippets of other things. Stories from an uneasy rotation of people, bits and pieces from books and magazines and other odds and ends. A collage that makes up an easily swayed perception of the world before. 

But you know this one is real. You know it is because it’s so mundane there’s no way someone gave it to you. It’s a quick glimpse, a brief flicker of you in a pair of roller skates with those thick, plastic stoppers attached to the front. The memory isn’t of what they felt like, or how many laps you did up and down your block. All you remember is the stinging. The soft skin of your knee scraped raw by the sidewalk. The particularness of that kind of pain. 

That’s what the realization feels like. Knowing that there’s a chance that you might feel something for Joel outside of general gratitude for the unofficial way Ellie and him took you in is speeding down a street just to collapse with no warning against unforgiving concrete.

His fingers brush around broken skin with a delicateness that turns you rigid. These are the same hands that beat a man within an inch of his life the first time he met you. It’s a juxtaposition that twists your nerves tight around your stomach.

It’s quiet now. More so than usual because Ellie’s asleep. If you had to come to your realization at all, you should have done it during the day. With Joel at a safe distance and Ellie awake to distract from the fact that you’ve been staring at his hand in total silence for minutes now. A violently out of character mistake, which is why you’re not surprised when his voice breaks the nothingness with a question: “You alright?” 

You sit up a little straighter. “Yeah.” It comes out flat and distant. “Yeah,” you affirm, a little more here, “Just thinking.” 

Ugh. Not nearly deflective or subtle enough. It’s the kind of cop out answer that worked in the beginning, before there was any form of attachment. Back then, you thought you’d only be around them for a few days. Until the swelling in your ankle went down enough to let you walk efficiently again. It was the least they could do then, after you jumped in to save Ellie when Joel and her were briefly separated. 

Keep reading

Purpose

“This is the fic I talked about here

Summary: Episode 3 was too beautiful for me not to write a fic where bill’s letter makes joel think about reader 

anyways this isn’t an exact recreation of the episode,, it’s more about location and the vibes of the episode

----

The words won’t stop echoing in his head. Again and again, a round of bullets bouncing around in his mind, desperate for a target to pierce. Bill’s letter was written in anything but malice, yet it still manages to pry into Joel, get under his skin the way nothing has in a long time. 

Purpose. Saving, taking care of who’s worth it. The mention of Tess. The way his mind keeps floating to you. 

He shouldn’t. You haven’t been around long enough to even scratch at the surface of what Bill and Frank had. He knows that, but his mind won’t stop weaving the sentiment in Bill’s words to all the bits of you he knows. The tempo of them matches the sound of your laugh, the emotion behind them tethers itself to the tugging feeling that lingers in his chest whenever you tilt your head and look at him with those eyes when pitching something he’d instinctually say ‘no’ to.

It’s never a form of manipulation, either. It’s always teasing, always pushing in good humor, always innocent. You never take advantage, never try to. He doesn’t even think you know that you have that specific look. One person worth saving. 

There’s a soft creaking of floorboards. Joel turns his head instinctually, body stiffening in an instinctual preparation for the worst. Oh. His eyes find you and his stance instinctually eases. “Guys.” You’re more excited than you want to seem, completely unaware of the thoughts in his head. “They have hot water.” 

Ellie recovers faster than he can. For a brief second, Joel feels a pang of something oddly close to jealousy at her ability to interact casually. “No, shit--really?” 

“Really,” you confirm, “Does anyone want the first shower or can I steal it?” 

Turning her head, Ellie briefly looks like she’s considering asking for it instead, but then her eyes flit back to Joel. He’s staring, a little more out of it than she’s yet to see him. There’s something bordering on awkward in the way that he’s watching you. 

Oh. The realization finally hits Ellie. A hot shower would be amazing, but putting it off for a little will definitely be worth this. “I’m okay with that.”

You nod in her direction with a quick mumble of appreciation before turning your eyes to focus on Joel. You’re not doing the plead-y thing. His thoughts swell. Of course you’re just waiting patiently for an answer, genuinely willing to give up the first shower spot that you could have just taken. 

“Joel?” 

Shit. He hasn’t responded. “Ye--” It’s a small sound that’s not quite a word that Joel quickly disguises by clearing his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Ellie’s eyes are burningly obvious. Even if you didn’t notice, Joel’s never hearing the end of it from that kid. 

You lean against the doorway. “You good?” 

“Fine,” now he’s replying too quickly, “Just--Bill said a lot more to me than he ever has.” Great. His second mistake. The last thing he needed to do was hint at emotion, the one thing guaranteed to sway you away from the promise of a hot shower. “If you ask me about my feelings you’re losing your first shower spot and I’ll run the sink until it’s icy.” 

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “You wouldn’t, Miller.” 

“Try me.” 

He can feel your eyes burn through him, can sense the way you see through his shit. You don’t push, you just straighten your stance, “Fine, you’ll only have that threat until I’m out of that shower.” 

Joel keeps his expression flat. “Plenty of time for me to think of a new one.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

 When you disappear out of his line of sight, his breathing improves and worsens all at once. Joel curses the ridiculousness of it. Sure, there were certain thoughts when he was around you before the letter, but this is something else. Something he needs to get over fast.

He lets his eyes drop towards Ellie and he takes her grin as the gut punch it is. “I’ve never seen you shy--it’s cute.” 

“Don’t.” 

She doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be influenced by the gruffness of his voice. “Don’t what?” 

The false innocence in Ellie’s tone isn’t worth engaging with. Joel glares, turning to leave the room before anything else can be said. 

----

Leave it to the end of the world to teach someone how to appreciate the little things. A lifetime of warm showers with a guarantee of water that could hold the temperature long enough for someone to really feel clean and Joel doesn’t think he’s ever understood the world of good a shower could do someone until now. 

You had been diligent, worried about taking up the time and heated water from anyone else, but when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, Joel practically forgot how to look you in the eye. It’s not that the shower changed you completely, though clean and safe is a good look on you, it’s that it made things feel normal. The kind of normal that would take nothing to slip into and turn to habit.

He had practically ducked out of the room when Ellie told him to go ahead since he so clearly needs a shower more than she does. It felt like the beginning of some kind of scheme, but there was nothing he could say with you in the room. So what if Ellie makes a comment or two? That doesn’t mean she knows anything. It’s not like Joel...he doesn’t. He can’t. Not with you. 

As he showers, he thinks of not thinking. Focuses on dislodging those thoughts from his mind. The echo of Bill’s words hold firm as they merge with memories of you. 

What makes a person worth taking care of so completely? Does the worthiness come from kindness or personal attachment or some natural, intrinsic quality? 

It doesn’t matter. No matter how many times he runs through all the potential categories, Joel knows who always fits it. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Ellie’s voice snaps him out of that train of thought. Before Joel can reply, she turns, “Don’t you think so?” 

You blink, Joel briefly debates locking Ellie in some other room until it’s time to go. You take your time glancing over at him. “Yeah.” It’s been too long since things that mattered in the past have come up for him. He isn’t used to being overly aware of his appearance. The strangeness of it is daunting. “Joel’s the prettiest.” 

A cop out enough answer. It’s an easy way to appease Ellie and keep from turning something casual into something weird. Joel mentally scolds himself for being surprised. What else could he have expected? That you’d immediately jump to describe your opinions on his appearance? 

There’s no way that would have been a particularly good thing. He may not be as aware of his appearance as he was before the world changed, but he knows that he’s both older than you and made up of tattered edges more akin to shards than anything else. 

Ellie starts to approach the doorway. “I’m gonna take a shower.” Maybe that will help Joel regain control of whatever ill timed spiral this is. Removing Ellie’s comments and sideways glances definitely won’t make things worse. “For at least 30 minutes.”

It’s said with a deliberate slowness and Joel can feel heat settle in his face. “Just go.”

She holds her hands up in mock defense before turning and finally leaving. Joel frowns at the realization that his mental tension doesn’t immediately vanish with her. 

You turn casually, “That was weird.” 

“She’s a kid,” he mumbles, “Kids are weird.” 

There’s not that much space between the two of you. A casual distance that could be destroyed by a few steps. It’s an impulse that burrows itself deep beneath his skin. Joel straightens to avoid giving into the need to be closer. 

“Yeah.” It’s a breath, casual and flat. Joel finds himself unexplainably grated by the sound. He’s not the kind of person that dwells on others. Especially not in this way. “You know what’d be fun?” 

Joel swallows at the easy transition. You walk past him and towards the wooden table top. He isn’t sure what your goal is until your fingers bend around a neck of a bottle of wine. There’s something particular about the way the corner of your mouth tugs upwards. Mischievous. 

“I-” He clears his throat again. “I’ve gotta drive.” You say nothing, but that touch of an almost pout and the goddamn head tilt. “We need to stay alert.” 

You let out a sigh, turning the bottle in your hand. “You’re going to get out-of-it drunk off of one glass of wine?” 

He can’t afford anything right now. “You might.”

“You’ve never seen me drink.” 

So much indignation. Joel fights against a grin. You’ve spent most of your adult life in a post-outbreak world. There likely hasn’t been much opportunity for you to build your tolerance. And at this point, he feels like he knows you, and nothing about your personality or general being indicates that you’d be able to handle your alcohol. 

Sure, he doesn’t think you’ll genuinely be drunk after one glass, but he also doesn’t believe you’ll stick to that. A light buzz here wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’d be inefficient. An additional distraction that Joel is doing his best to keep from.

Joel sighs at the accusatory way you raise your eyebrows. “I can still tell.” 

You roll your eyes. “I should go through with it just because you said that.” He watches you set down the bottle.

The lack of protest hits him harder than it should. It was a small thing to ask for and there was such a genuineness in the way you introduced it. You know what’d be fun? Even your defense was framed innocently. You’ve never seen me drink. Like the whole idea was more about the two of you than the actual drinking. Like you’re friends more than you are just friendly. 

Once again, his mind latches back onto the letter. An element he doesn’t need in the air right now. “Y/n.”

“I said we didn’t have t--” Joel grabs the bottle and takes a quick sip before you can finish your sentence. The immediate half-laugh-half-scoff that follows makes it all worth it. “Classy.” 

He does all he can to keep from smiling, but he isn’t sure he’s fully successful. “Always have been.” 

It’s the stupid kind of joke that you and Ellie would have exchanged a look over. You two would have picked it a part, pointing out the evident laziness of it. Instead of that, you laugh again before pushing away from the counter. He’s still as you walk towards him. 

The entire thing is casual until your eyes meet his. Joel’s body instinctually locks into place. It’s a form of defense, of keeping this moment from shattering. Your hand moves forward slowly--or maybe you’re moving normally and everything just feels slow when you’re focusing on him like that--until it finds the bottle. The tip of your fingers brush against the back of his palm. 

For a second, that’s all that exists. All that matters. You squeeze the bottle and Joel lets you take it. “You know it’s hard to measure a single glass without the actual glass.” 

You set the bottle down and turn your attention towards finding any type of cup. Joel keeps quiet as you find the set of long stemmed wine glasses. You set out two of them and fill them each a little less than halfway. A reasonable amount. A controllable amount. 

Turning back to face him, you hand him a glass. 

“One glass.” 

Nodding once, you pick up your own. “One.” Extending your glass with no warning, you quickly clink them together. A soft cheers. 

----

About three glasses later. 

“...That doesn’t,” laughter, “make--make sense.” 

There’s no slurring, but the small giggles pressed sporadically throughout the single sentence cues Joel in on something he should have taken into consideration about two glasses ago. You’re tipsy. Not drunk or fully out of it, but buzzed in some sense of the word. Buzzed enough to not even pretend to follow on his comment that hadn’t really meant anything. 

Joel sighs, forcing a bit of annoyance into the sound. “Maybe not to you.” 

You pout without reservation. “That’s rude.” 

Reaching around him without any tact, you try to find the bottle. “That’s enough.” 

Joel can deal with how you are now, but any further could be risky. It’s not like the three of you are settling in this house. His hand finds its way to your wrist as you try to squirm back. It takes you less than a minute to still. Joel doesn’t pull away. A second longer. Just to be sure. 

He returns your hand to his side gently, easing you back into place by your wrist. “I’m not drunk.” 

There’s no argument in your voice, no protest or anything that gives any indication of your flat observation. The certainty in your voice settles against Joel’s skin like a second layer. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the same person that just couldn’t get through a sentence without being interrupted by a fit of laughter. 

Joel’s chin tilts downwards in a barely there nod that he trusts you to pick up on. “Never said you were.” The realization that he hasn’t let you go yet hits him with no warning. His pointer finger and thumb are still grasping your wrist. It’d be so easy to turn over your hand and let your palms meet. “We should keep it that way.” 

“I trust you.” You breath out the words reluctantly, like you’re annoyed by the truth of it. The casualness of your voice has to prove that you don’t mean anything by it. Smiling almost, you breeze past what you just said. “This is fun. I haven’t gotten wine buzzed sin--” The cut off is jarring, but Joel knows better than to push. “Awhile. Since Ruth.” 

A name that has only ever slipped out from time to time. Joel’s picked up on enough pieces to know that it’s sore subject. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know.” Your eyes feel distant, you’re going somewhere else now. “Ruth was like a grandmother to me. Sweetest old lady, tough as nails, too.” You laugh again, the sound sharply bittersweet. “She didn’t like being handled or taken care of, but she was getting a little older and she--she was developing some kind of early memory issue. One day we got into this warehouse and it was full of wine. So we drank and then...” Eyes practically glazing over, you angle your chin downwards. You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. “I don’t know how I didn’t know. She had been talking about not wanting to live in a world where she couldn’t remember her children or-or take care of herself, and she’d been struggling a little more.” Joel swallows once as you pause. “She waited until I fell asleep. Left a note saying she’d never be a burden.”  

Joel relaxes the fingers wrapped around your wrist and turns his palm outwards. You meet him half way, interlocking your fingers with his. It surprises him more than it should. 

There haven’t been many times in which Joel actively reflected and wished that he could be different in some way. It’s his ability to remain detached and distant from emotions that have allowed him to last. But if he were some other version of himself, he’d be able to say something insightful or sympathetic or maybe even kind. 

But he’s not, so after the second, the only thing he can manage to say is, “Sounds like the kind of person you’d care about.” 

It feels like a wrong reaction, and maybe it would have been for someone else, but you give no indication of being upset. You let out a sad kind of laugh. “You know, now that you mention it you do kind of fill the grumpy, old lady void in my life.” 

The implication of your joke should sting more than it does considering the mess of his train of thought today, but it tugs at something in him instead. “Funny.” 

“Just like Ruth would have said.” 

He sighs, too aware that his expression doesn’t project the right kind of annoyance. You’re smiling again, though, like you’re pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. It’s a reset, knowing that you’re feeling better and that in some way it’s because of him. 

It clicks then. Settles like the world after a storm. Joel understands. It’d be easy to build a life out of protecting someone. He sees how it’s the kind of purpose that can burn away the frayed edges of someone that seems to be made of them. 

“Y/n.” His throat feels dryer than he remembers it being. There’s an uncertainty in where to go next, but you feel the shift the same way he does. Joel sees it in the soft nod of your head. “Y’know what Bill said in his letter?” His eyes flit away from you, “’About purpose and...” 

You were exploring the home when Ellie read the letter, but you had picked it up and read about half of it before Joel took it back. It was a bit petty, but you didn’t press. It’s his business more than yours.

What you had read had gotten to you and you didn’t even know Bill and Frank. It must have Joel, even if he refuses to let it be obvious. “I know it must have been hard to hear, but it--what I did read sounded like a better way to live than most did even before.” The response fits you. Of course you’d see it. “Sorry, that was--that was probably overstepping. They were your...” You hesitate, unsure if friend or associate would be more fitting. “You knew them and--” 

“No,” he breathes, “You’re right.” Joel takes a moment to just look at you, to take in what it feels like to be standing somewhere safe, holding your hand. “It does sound like a good way to be.”

Joel doesn’t know what to take from your reaction. The way your eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. You didn’t expect that level of candor from him, especially not about something so close to feel-y. “You think it’s unrealistic?” 

Your question comes out almost hesitant. It’s the kind of thing you would have never asked if it hadn’t been for the wine. The way you clamp your mouth shut after speaking is evidence enough. 

There’s so much he could say to that, but nothing feels like it’d fit. “Not for you.” 

You smile again but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It isn’t for you, either.” Eyes briefly dropping, you tact on an almost shy, “If you wanted it. I know you’re...” Tilting your head in that one way that always gets under his skin, you settle on, “Most comfortable with what you know.”

Joel presses his lips together before correcting his expression into something more neutral. The sensation that he’s teetering on something twists at the air in his lungs. “You sayin’ I’m set in my ways?” 

Your amusement feels genuine again, free from whatever had been eroding at it before. His words are another step forward, an attempt at meeting you in the middle. “It’s not a bad thing.” When Joel raises his eyebrows, you let out a sigh. “You’ve said worse about me.”

He fights down a grin. “Doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Yeah, you’re a damn sweetheart.”

This time Joel lets himself react in the form of what’s almost a laugh. “That’s more like it.” Your eyes soften and there’s a warmth there that Joel doesn’t know how to hold onto. It melts at a part of him he didn’t think existed. It’s dangerous, more risky than the wine. “Do you think you’d--you want that?” 

You blink and Joel can find no way to blame you for your hesitance. The question was blurted out so haphazardly, so unlike what it is and now it’s looming over the both of you. 

Your mind is racing in a way you can’t justify. It’s not the question, but the way it came out of Joel, coated in a layer of hesitance that practically felt nervous in a way that doesn’t suit him. “Yeah.” The single syllable is so low it almost feels like a secret. “I--I think I do.” It’s surprising to you. “You said it yourself--it’s a good way to be. I’m sure for some people, it’d even be peaceful.” 

Joel’s jaw briefly locks at that last part. “And if it’s someone that can’t give you that last part?” 

The hollowness of the question startles you out of your initial reaction. The words alone would have been fine if they felt less raw. Your mind can’t wrap around them this way. “I uh--I’d probably be the unpeaceful one.” You don’t think you can describe it in a way that anyone would understand. “Caring about anyone that openly and trusting them to do the same...I don’t think I’d be a natural at that.” 

You don’t want to dwell on your words or the honesty of them, so you move on the only way you can think to: “What about you?” 

He should have known that you’d ask. He should have thought through some kind of response that wouldn’t leave him exposed. Then again, maybe that was the point of leading you here. Bill and Frank were here one day and now they’re not. 

“Y/n...” You’re silent, waiting patiently for the end of his sentence. There’s so much to say that none of it can come out. It traps itself in his throat. Too much about the day he first met you, the first time he heard you laugh, the first night when Ellie fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, the fact that knowing you’re okay could fix practically anything. “I don’t know why I’m still here and I’m not too sure Bill was right about me, but I...” The words jam in on themselves and Joel takes it as an opportunity to drag his thumbs across your knuckles like this might be his last chance to do so. “I think you might be part of it.”

The lack of immediate response twists at his stomach. Joel moves to take his hand back and at the last second you snap back into reality. You squeeze his hand, pulling him back towards you. “Joel...” You’re watching him so intently Joel needs to do something. He steps forward. “Are you--are you saying--” 

Sometimes action comes more naturally than words. Joel knows that, knows the familiarity of jumping into something when there’s nothing left. He moves his hand up your arm and settles it on your shoulder. His other hand brushes against your cheek. He pauses long enough to give you a chance to protest. You don’t. 

Closing the distance between you is a snap of everything into place. He can’t remember the last time something felt so natural. You melt into him, fitting into place like you’ve always been there. 

You’re warm enough to melt through all of his reservations. Joel places a hand on your side, pulling you even closer. It could be an eternity or it could only be a few seconds. You start pulling back first, Joel chases after you, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip.

You move back only enough to breathe, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “Joel.” You want to tell him you get it now and that you agree. That you’d come back to this again and again. That he’s your purpose. “It’s you.” 

It’s the only thing you can say, but that’s okay. You trust him to understand.

----

Taglist: @ciniluv

Hey! I noticed your scream fics aren’t on your masterlist. Is there a reason for that?

hey!! absolutely no particular reason,, i just started writing for scream more recently and haven't updated my masterlist in an embarrassingly long time

they will be up there at some point tho!!

First Rule

A/n this is my first time writing for The Last of Us and for Joel Miller and i have not played the game!! i’ve only watched the show so far (might have to watch someone playing it on youtube or something to know what happens next sooner 😭) so if the characters feel a little off i’m sorry!! 

writing new characters and finding their voice/securing their vibe is a process :)) 

Summary: Literally just a drabble, i debated making it longer but bc it was so impulsive i didn’t want it to get lost in the drafts and it’s pretty late rn,, i have a clear idea for a part 2 bc it was going to be longer (part 2 is the only way the title makes sense 😭) so if you’d be interested in that let me know :)) feedback sustains me 

this is basically just reader meeting joel and it’s set after the pandemic/outbreak 

----

It’s hard to watch. The stranger did everything right enough to get by until he didn’t. Not to say that his operation was flawless, you picked up on it almost instantly, but in his defense, you know how to look. It’s as much a skill as the ability to turn a blind eye, only a lot less evolutionarily appropriate. 

Because seeing often leads to thinking (or, in your case, not thinking), which leads to doing, which usually leads to the worst result of all--involvement. 

So now you’re here, watching someone that’s likely a smuggler doing their best to act like they’re anything else while dealing with a FEDRA officer. You know better than most that FEDRA’s iron exterior is a poorly constructed allusion. Some like catching smugglers because of the promise of a bribe. Hell, you know some of them are regular customers. 

But the man you don’t know is tense, rigid in his steady stance. And the officer’s uniform is too polished, too new and ready to be stained in blood. He’s untrustworthy. 

This has nothing to do with you. The two men are in their own standoff, and you’re tucked away between two buildings, You could disappear further into the shadows, or you could just walk forward, onto the street behind them. You’re not used to being in a situation in which you really haven’t done anything wrong. Nothing to lie or feel cagey about. 

You’re untethered. 

With a low sigh, you give into the itch that you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist by reaching into your bag’s front pocket. The contraption feels small between your fingers, perfect for the type of distraction you’re going for. A dramatic person would call it an explosive; you like to think of it as a small set up of gun powder and a few other things. A glorified version of those snap things children used to throw at each other’s feet on Fourth of July. 

You twist your body, bending your knees slightly before heaving the small cylinder over your head and far to the right. You duck down before it makes contact. The bang is effective. A sharp, crackling boom that makes your body tense.

The officer snaps his head back, looking above you. You can practically feel his thoughts. Your opinion on the Fireflies are pretty set in stone, but you can’t complain about the cover they’ve provided. Every crack, pop, and boom has anyone with authority abandoning whatever they’re doing in a second. And it’s not like you’re a monster about it. You don’t take the easy way out if you think there’s any chance that it’ll hurt someone. 

After a second of weighing their options, the FEDRA officer turns sharply and runs off. You hear his footsteps disappear somewhere away from you, but you still hesitate to stand straight again. A minute passes and you decide you’re safe enough to move. You walk forward slowly, planning on running in the opposite direction of the man. 

You’re out just enough to round the corner before it happens. One second you’re walking, stepping forward like normal, and the next there’s a hard touch on your arm and the wall shifts to from beside you to against your back. You thrash instinctually, stepping on the man’s foot hard enough to bruise. He curses under his breath and pushes you a little harder. 

“What--” A voice that’s cutting in its irritated indifference. “What was that?” 

Mind running a mile a minute, you struggle to form a sentence. You didn’t think you’d have to talk to him. It was a good dead. A hushed fuck you to one of those asshole officers. 

The man pauses long enough to take you in. You imagine he doesn’t see much, because blending in and seeming harmless enough is what you know. And you’re not much--not now, cursing your recklessness and just standing there with wide eyes. His hold doesn’t exactly loosen, but his touch on your arm becomes less intense. Less demanding. 

You push your back against the wall firmly and he lets you. It’s a small shift that makes no real difference, but it’s space, it’s the illusion of independence. Your eyes flit forward, meeting his. There’s a sharp crease between his eyebrows and an unforgiving focus behind his dark eyes. His features are amplified by an ingrained tiredness, but that doesn’t take away from his attractiveness. 

Wow--okay, that last thought is enough to scare you out of your analysis. You tilt your chin downwards, snapping yourself out of whatever manipulative trance was. The man notices the subtle motion and drops his arm but makes no move to step away. It’s clear that you’re still caged in. 

“You with the Fireflies?” The shake of your head is instinctual. “So you just have bombs you like throwi--” 

“No,” It’s too defensive and you shrug within your limited space. “And that thing wasn’t a bomb. It had less gunpowder than a firework and less than a tablespoon of silver fulminate and even less ammonium nitrate.” 

The explanation feels awkward and you have no idea why. It’s a fair explanation. He takes in the information and waits a beat before replying, “Why did you have a bomb?” 

A correction bubbles in your chest--not a bomb. The distinction matters to you more than it should, but something about the gruffness in his voice feels more like an accusation than a question. 

“Y’know I did a nice thing when I saved your ass from getting busted. A reasonable person would have just accepted that and not asked any questions.” You frown, the amount of allotted kindness in your body suddenly running low. “Actually a reasonable person would offer me a cut of whatever they’re smuggling or what they’re getting for it.” 

Your statement is relatively bold. You don’t know this man, you don’t know if he’ll perceive what’s meant to be a sad attempt at a deterrent as a threat. But something in you tells you that you’re still on steady ground. That this stranger knows when there’s an actual fight. 

It works, the man’s posture straightens in what you assume is his version of a bristle. Though small, the motion creates enough space for you to narrowly slip past him. 

You’re free now. Free enough to run off, though some gut feeling tells you he’d keep at it if he had any reason to want to chase you. He won’t, though. Some gut feeling in your chest is sure of it. It’d be bold to call it trust, but it feels more stable than optimistic intuition. It’s an understanding.

One step backwards, you don’t turn around. Not yet. Assumed understanding or not, you’ve done enough without thinking today. He watches you back, equally silent. And then you end the standoff with a tilt of your chin.

You turn on your heels, walking forward with even paced steps. He’s given you no reason to run, and sudden, panicked movements might trigger a break in the uneasy peace. 

“You make them.” 

He’s not asking, but you turn just enough to shrug at him anyways. 

Hello! Not really a ‘Ask’ but I just wanted to say I love your writing. I just binge read your final girl series of what you have so far as well as some other ones. Thanks for all the time and effort you put into them for lack of better words <3

thank you love !! nothing makes me happier than knowing ppl are enjoying my writing :)

hello! I was hoping for a Joel miller imagine where the reader gets hit on in a bar when she’s dating Joel and he sees this and confronts the guy and hits him because he’s aggressive and is all protective over the reader!

I love your writing and this would be amazing thank you xx

A/n first joel request,, slay

update: watched the new episode, bill and frank, still crying 

i feel like this gives post outbreak joel a little more bc of the physical protectiveness,, but i can't remember if there's much/any descriptions of like literal bars in the QZ,, i've only watched the show and i don't remember seeing details,, like ik there's alc/pills available, but actual bars??

idk it's possible i've missed it or forgot bc i have terrible memory

so enjoy my 'makeshift' bar concept as i try my best to deviate from canon as much as possible

not to shamelessly self promo,, but if you like this fic i have another joel fic with what i feel like is a more developed version of this dynamic (bc it’s longer and more internal monologue centered) here and i’m making a part 2 for it so if you like these vibes and want something similar, it’s there, it exists :) 

----

You're staring again, and trying your hardest to convince yourself that you're not. It's more than pointless, it's bordering on ridiculous.

Joel Miller is not some fleeting crush that’d fit somebody in grade school better than it’d fit you. Not anymore. You know what you are. You've had a talk. The kind of talk that you didn't think existed anymore in this world.

It wasn't exactly the rom-com 'what are we', but after a man Joel was dealing with got a little too friendly, it led to an argument. One you didn't fully understand, especially since Tess practically lived by his side.

Don't pretend, you might come off as all innocent, but you're too smart to be that naive. Men like that only have one intention.

And that had rightfully infuriated you, because after weeks of lingering touches that could be justified with a few words but never were and all the goddamn looks, he had no right to lecture you about another man's intentions with you. His intentions don't matter because that has no affect on me and who I am. Why the fuck does it even matter?

Why does it matter? It had been this subtle scoff of a response that made you take a step back. That made your back brush against the wall of his apartment. Because I don't want other men like that lookin' at you, let alone speaking to you.

The world stopped spinning on its axis and all the air preparing to leave your lungs was trapped with no where to go. Too many implications. 'Other men like that', the inclusion of himself in men that had those intentions. Maybe even more importantly, the implication that he’s some sort of exception.

 Even more deafening, your response: Well maybe I wouldn't speak to them if you didn't entertain ev--

The rest of your sentence, whatever it would have been, was lost to his mouth on yours. A snapping of tension that took its time fizzling down to something less consuming. Something that allowed you both to talk enough to make it clear that Joel was yours and you were his.

It wasn't a magical snapping into place like it might have been in a world without the outbreak. In some ways, it added a new layer of hesitance, and in other ways it propelled you forward. There are growing pains with anything new, and the whole relationship thing is definitely new to you. Especially in this world.

If only you could get past staring. Maybe after Joel secures the whiskey-bourbon-hybrid whatever they're passing as alcohol these days from a less than trustworthy trading contact, you'll get buzzed enough to graduate to handholding, or at the very least, you'll be able to do something besides sit there.

You're starting to feel insane. How is making out easier than the small things? Maybe the setting is more at fault here than you. In the outside world, any form of attachment could easily be twisted into weakness. It’s likely best that you keep some distance from Joel here, especially with the way other men keep looking over at the two of you. 

It’s not like you’re never awkward about the little things when confined safely between the walls of Joel’s place, that’s slowly but surely starting to feel like it’s at least partially yours, as well. But the way you get in public is something else entirely. It’s probably for the best. There are already too many eyes on you. 

Like the guy with red hair that glints oddly in the yellow light of the stranger’s building. He’s swaying slightly, a dark looking glass in his hand that he’s yet to release in the entire time you’ve been here. Every time one of his friends leaves him, his gaze returns to yours. 

Your skin crawls each time, but you keep your expression as stoic as possible. Joel’s getting better at trusting you, better at letting you serve as a sort of backup in the way that Tess usually would. You know that if it came down to it, the man that keeps looking at you wouldn’t be an actual issue, and you know Tess wouldn’t let it get to her. 

Ugh. Another thing you want to get yourself to stop doing. Comparison. It’s ugly and so insignificant. Tess didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms when you first showed up, but you get that. And eventually she warmed a little. You think she’d still trade you for a few ration cards, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s, at the very least, no longer skeptical of you. The other day you caught her hiding a smile over a joke you made.

But it’s hard not to compare. They were the closest thing either of them had to a support system for years before you showed up, and you know that they’ve been together casually. Always casual. Joel stressed that part, but that doesn’t mean it’s an easy thing to know, especially now. 

You bury the thoughts the way you often do and turn your attention back to Joel. Back to staring. At least you’re consistent.

A man peaks out of the closet that seems to be the source of all the alcohol. He gestures vaguely in your direction. “That’s us,” Joel says, voice flat, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” 

Nodding as if to dismiss your own thoughts, you beg your mind to not create imaginary problems by reading into him telling you to stay. He’s walking a few feet away to get some boxes, it’s not the rejection insecurity is making it out to be. “I’ll hold down the fort, keep away trouble.” 

Joel blinks, turning his head in your direction briefly. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, which is more of a reaction than he likes to give when in these kinds of places. He shifts his hand casually, his fingers brushing against yours briefly as he stands. The gesture is small but immediately dislodges the lump in your chest. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It’s little more than a whisper, but there’s something hidden beneath the roughness of his tone. A pinch of lighthearted humor that’s only visible to you. 

It eases you even further. Joel turns away, moving behind the long table serving as a sort of bar counter. You tap your fingers against the surface without much thought, taking a second to absorb the easiness of it all. It’s rare that getting anything require so little. You don’t think anything’s ever come as easy as sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool. 

“So...” You blink, posture straightening as your eyes flit to the source of the sound. “Guard dog finally left you alone, princess?” 

Okay. Ew. Of course it’s the guy that’s been staring you down since you first sat down. You have to fight to not let your nose wrinkle. There’s no good in reacting, in escalating the situation. “Not a guard dog.” 

You hope that it’ll be enough to show that you’re not interested. “Aw, not feelin’ too friendly, baby.” Ew. You’re torn between cussing him out or actually punching him. Neither is an actual option. Places like these are a minefield and you refuse to be the one to set off a series of explosions. “Maybe you’ll cheer up after a drink, could get you one.” 

Turning your head, you take a breath before replying. “I have enough friends.” The stranger is clearly apart of a group. You don’t know if you could call them all friends, you’re not sure there’s enough casual trust in the world left for genuine friend groups. But they’re at least acquaintances, or work associates, or maybe they met here, equally inebriated enough to accept each other. It doesn’t matter, the point is they were chatting up a storm before he decided to wander over here and bother you. “And it looks like you do, too.” 

“Fine,” he relents too quickly, “Let’s not be friends, then.” His hand shoots forward, landing firmly--and disgustingly--on your waist. “Let’s be something else.” 

You’re unsure if you’re more repulsed by his hand on you or how terrible that line was. Your own hand clasps his, pushing and pulling in an attempt to create a space. He’s relentless, even when your nails start clawing at him. “If you want to keep your hand, I suggest getting off of me.” 

He blinks at your threat and then grins, flashing a smile that’s missing teeth. And then he laughs. A cold chuckle that makes its way beneath your skin. “God, I like them feisty.” 

Shoving your fingers under his, you manage to pry him off of you. Your foot moves, heels smashing into his toes as subtly as possible. “And I like them when they know how to fuck off.” 

His smile broadens, a cynical undertone to the look that makes it worse than before. “Oh, darling,” his hand finds your arm, tugging you forward, “You’re gonna pay for that.” 

“Pay for what?” Relief washes through you before you’ve even fully registered the familiar, even timber of Joel’s voice. He’s speaking in a lower tone than usual, an icy rage that you can feel in your bones and it’s not even directed at you. “Touching what’s not yours, ‘cause you’re the only one doing that.” 

There’s probably something you should say. A subtle warning to not go beyond scaring off the man that is clearly incapable of respecting a woman’s autonomy outside of another man’s claim over her. To not take it too far because it’s not worth it. Because you have it under control. Relatively.

Instead, you’re silent as the man releases you. He takes his time assessing Joel. The stranger is physically smaller and Joel does have that edge that only comes from someone that’s lost enough to be dangerous to anyone threatening what’s left. 

The man holds his hands up in defense, his glass sitting precariously between his thumb and pointer finger. “Easy, man.” You don’t even have to look at Joel to know that that was the wrong thing to say. “I didn’t mean any harm, if you set the price right, I’d be--” 

The rest of the proposition is taken care of by Joel’s fist connecting with the man’s jaw. You hear the audible crack before your mind can make the connection between Joel’s quick movement and the man’s silence. 

Holy shit. Joel didn’t just throw a punch, he threw a punch meant to shatter bone. He barely glances at you, and you’re too focused on the fact that Joel’s standing there, completely fine like he didn’t exert enough force to knock over a grown man. You blink as Joel extends the arm he’s been using to hold the small case. 

You’re too shocked to do more than take the box. The implication of why he’d hand you the box while still standing there doesn’t settle until Joel’s throwing another punch. Each hit is more committed than the last, even when the stranger’s knees give in and he collapses. 

Yeah, there’s definitely something you should say. Now. Like right now. You’d never ask him to hit anybody once, let alone do whatever he’s doing now. But words like ‘stop’ and ‘okay, think he gets it’ all jam themselves so far down your throat, you wouldn’t be able to pry them out with a wrench. 

All you can do is watch. It’s the kind of morbid fascination that reminds you of what it felt like to drive a little slower when passing a car wreck. You’re rooted in place by a realization that’s always been there at the back of your mind, an implied awareness. Joel’s more than just prone to violence when he needs to be. He’s angry. 

It should scare you. Terrify you. Your stillness should be some byproduct of that. But it’s not. Joe’s not a danger to you, he’s a danger for you. 

It’s a level of protectiveness you never thought you’d experience. Your chest feels warm. You hope you’re not messed up enough to consider this some grand display of love. However, there’s a vulnerability in the violence you can’t deny. You’re in a public place, the kind of morally questionable people that are far from above exploiting vulnerability. And yet here he is, announcing an undeniable attachment. 

Joel finishes, chest heaving and hands still curled into fists. The low light makes the thin layer of sweat on his skin seem like he’s practically glowing. His knuckles are already evidently split and swirling in distinct shades of blue and red. You’re mesmerized. 

“You can’t do that shit here.” 

That’s it. The only reprimand. In the world of before, he would have gotten the cops called on him. He would have gone to jail. 

Joel looks up, mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously close to fuck off. He then looks at you, gestures with a tilt of his head for you to follow, and walks forward. 

You try not to think of what it must look like when you follow, quickening your steps to get closer to him after you’re out of focus. When you reach the door, Joel pulls it open with one hand and reaches for your fingers with the other. 

----

The way your eyebrows draw together when you’re examining an injury is different than the way they pull together for anything else. It’s too focused to be concerned and too concerned to be focused. 

Joel could stare at that expression for longer than he’d ever admit to. He could concentrate on that little line above your forehead and forget about everything else. “I’m fine,” he mutters, knowing that there’s no real point. You’ll do what you’re going to do when it comes to these kinds of things.

You nod absentmindedly, another small sign that you’re not as here as you normally odd. “It’d be awfully sad if you died of something as small as non-fungal infection.” 

He swallows, minding that look behind your eye. Things are still normal, you’ve yet to show any sign of rejection. He kept your fingers locked practically the entire way here and you let him. Never pulled away. 

It’s not like he needs to apologize. Joel did nothing wrong. He even gave you a minute to handle the situation, but the man was relentless. The kind of asshole that takes advantage of a world with little order to prey on women. Joel would do it again. And again. And again. There are no regrets there.

You’re not naive. You know what you signed up for when you accepted him. He’s never hid that from you. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve always had a pension for forgiveness, a pinch of empathy the world hasn’t managed to snuff. 

“You’re dramatic, anyone ever tell you that?” 

A touch of a smile pulls on the corner of your mouth. “Hm. Think I’ve heard that once or twice from this one guy. Dark hair, dark eyes, cute, but not really my type.” 

Joel smiles, a partial laugh escaping him. “Really?” 

Turning over his hand with a gentleness he still finds difficult to understand, you press a quick kiss to his palm. You move back into your previous position so quickly it almost feels bashful. “I think you know the answer.” You flip his hand so that his knuckles face you again and go back to cleaning them. “You know, you didn’t have to...I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that.” 

Joel can’t help his partial smile at that. Like there was ever any doubt. “I know,” he manages, “You’re not that.” 

It takes a second for you to understand what he’s implying. That you’re not like him. Yes, you get mad and you have nothing against putting people in their place, but you don’t like hurting people. Your lips part awkwardly, like you want to say he’s not that either, but you can’t. He just proved it to the both of you. 

“Nothing wrong with being like that,” you say, all too casual, “So don’t say it like it’s this big thing.” There is no end to the level of understanding you offer him. He doesn’t deserve it, he never will. “And you’re not like that in the way you mean. That asshole was, you’re not.” 

Joel lets out a low breath. Of course, even this you’d find a way to reframe. “You’d think so.” 

“I’m right.” It’s a quick reply, and the exact kind of response he expected. “You’re not a shitty person just because you beat up some guy or any of the reasons you’re thinking. New world, new morals. Accept it.” 

Your lips pull together into what’s almost a pout in your determination. Always so sure when it comes to him. “Mhm,” he breathes, watching your surprise at his compliancy. You know something’s coming, but not what. Your awareness does little to help you when Joel twists your hand in his pushes you back against the couch. “And what about you?” 

He hasn’t grabbed your hands yet, but you stay still, eyes trained on him. “I am a lot meaner than you think I am.” 

He tilts his head down to hide his amused expression. Your version of mean is fighting back. “You want to prove it?”