Such A Perfect Ending - Tumblr Posts
Short Days, Long Nights: 18
Joel Miller x f!reader
Rating: extremely soft
A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.
Series Masterlist
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FIVE YEARS LATER
“Honey?”
Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.
Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you.
The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard.
“Honey?”
“Yea?”
Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses.
“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”
You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand.
“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”
“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”
He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it.
“How we feelin’ today?”
“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.”
Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his.
“How was your day?” you murmur.
“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”
“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace.
“That’s the one.”
“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”
“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”
You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”
He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead.
“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”
His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.
“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”
The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”
Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back.
“You need me to carry anything into the house?”
“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply.
He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.
You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”
“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”
Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.
The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots.
His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.
Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time.
Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same.
Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor.
Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin.
“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months.
Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”
One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her.
“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms.
“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder.
“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”
Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.
After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside.
“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”
“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod.
“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”
Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.
The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go.
The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow.
“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours.
He is different.
The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.
Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.
“You tired, honey?”
“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”
Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut.
His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him.
The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children.
Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving.
The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.
THE END