#mare... girl... what was THAT

[ball-of-butter]

i come back to say that maven's back had to be somewhat arched in that bathtub scene. he did not take his heat suppressants or something. because like what was that.

[dragonspiral-tower]

AS LONG AS YOU BREATHE I WON'T STAY DEAD

[lupi-usque-ad-finem]

ever since i was a young pup i knew i wanted to be a werewolf cowboy

[voievod]

Wowza, reading the paper on the Wallachian housing styles of noble classes in the 14th-16th centuries, and it is all so very simple and practical.

About 50% of all known historical sites were simple dwellings consisting of one living level built above ground, and one below ground level for the cellar (pivniță). This was the most preferred type of house for the high nobility. The second most popular type was a single-level structure, but this was mostly found inside the cities, so they usually belonged to merchants and artisans. There was a type of house with an upper floor as well, but it was mostly found within voivodal complexes, and only the really fancy, extra few boyars had these types of houses. (Lower classes in both urban and rural areas had houses built partially or even entirely below ground level.)

It makes a lot of sense when one thinks about the workings of the society and the general structure and priorities of the state, but it still might catch someone off guard, especially if they think about noble residences as structures known from Western medieval societies.

[lucy-the-cat]

Would Mare ever cheat on Cal to be with Maven (any au, modern or otherwise)

[aromanticasterisms]

khaenri'ah focused patch ohhh my god

[my-beloved-lakes]

We got these two new horses at work today and let me tell you, they are an absolute nightmare!

[omarfor-orchestra]

The face of a guy who has just convinced his crush to go to therapy (he's got several unresolved traumas and an ongoing trial which will probably end with him in adult jail)

[diamantdog]

"If I had a nickel for every time Hollywood remade my iconic romance movie and turned it into some generic romcom flick, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice."

— Jun Ji-Hyun, probably

[justcrafting]

Love being reminded that Geralt is the character of all time. He’s a horse girl. He’s a girl dad. Before he went out on the path he gave himself 5 names to seem more like a knight but everyone bullied him about it so he settled for being called “of Rivia” even though he was not from Rivia and had only been there once after he’d become a Witcher. He’s constantly bullied by everyone around him because he’s an idiot. His two best friends are a bard and an elderly higher vampire who doesn’t drink human blood because the last time he did he got so drunk on it he flew directly into a building. He names every horse he owns Roach and always picks chestnut mares. He’s centuries old and didn’t know about periods until he got Ciri and he and the other Witchers got chewed out by a sorceress for not knowing what periods were

[maveys-baby]

This but specifically I think a lot about the scene in RQ when maven stands up for mare and elara goes into his head and he tells mare to leave. I would give anything to read that from his pov..

REAL

[aura-acolyte]

This diary is really weird if it’s giving advice

Right? It's so strange? Like there's real people on the other side.

[cherrycranes]

A Proper Thank You (Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female reader Summary: You're Tommy's younger girlfriend who he loves to spoil. Thankfully, you always know how to thank him. Word count: 2,954 Contents: (Minors DNI) Age gap (reader is in her 20's, Tommy is in his 40's), smut, daddy kink (a serious use of the word "daddy"), oral sex (male receiving), cum eating. Author's notes: Another collab with my bestie @fuckiingloser. Don't forget to give her some love too! Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer. Love ya!

You were not the first young woman to be with a man in his 40's. It was still very common even if the times were changing. But there was something about this relationship that did mirror the societal shift. You were his sweet girlfriend who he paraded around town, who shamelessly sat on his lap while he worked and who shared his bed. Quite the scandal for those still stuck in Victorian times who would expect this to happen only between a married couple. Good thing the Victorian times had ended over 30 years ago. 

Tommy loved having you by his arm half of the time. The other half he loved having you under him. Or on top, he wasn't picky. He got a kick out of the variety of looks some people would give him for having a pretty, young girl as his sweetheart. But above all things, he absolutely adored the way his pretty baby looked at him whenever he spoiled her rotten.

Today, you went with him to a horse ranch near Southam. A lovely place where Tommy intended to see that beautiful look in your eyes once more. He smirked, seeing you caress a beautiful mare’s nuzzle, the animal calm and docile under your touch.

“Aye, I think she likes you.” Tommy announced with pride, already planning to buy the horse for his beautiful girlfriend.

“You think?” You turned your head to look at him and admire his poise. The cigarette kissing his lips, the fine dark suit, the piercing blue eyes. So intimidating to many, so dear to you. “She’s beautiful…” Your thoughts and eyes returned to the mare, giving her another soft pet.

“You two make a very pretty picture, baby girl.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out skillfully before making his way to you. His big arms wrapped around you from behind while he rested his chin on your shoulder. You smirked when a surprisingly sweet kiss was planted on the side of your head. Thomas Shelby was never sweet to anyone, not even in the dark humor jokes of those who knew him. His portrait could have easily been annexed to the definitions of “rugged”, “serious” and even “ruthless”, yet, here he was. This was what his lips that had spat out curses and threats were doing. Kissing. And very gently at that. 

Above all women, you had a special place in his soul. You had him wrapped around your finger like those expensive rings you wore. Anything you wanted, you could have it. And if tomorrow you were to ask for a heart on a silver plate, he would tear anybody’s chest open and serve it to you himself.

You leaned into him, just in time to meet his husky whisper:

“If you want her baby… She’s yours.” 

With a big, spoiled princess grin, you turned around and looked at him in complete elation.

“Thank you, daddy!” Your sweetness intoxicated him, the way you looked into his eyes killed him, and the way you called him “daddy” raised him from the dead. He absolutely loved it. 

A calloused hand came up to touch your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing over your bottom lip. He admired the joy upon your beautiful face and studied it devotedly.

“Anything for my girl.” He spoke softly, his sexy Birmingham accent made your knees feel weak and your pussy become wetter. In a heartbeat, Thomas spoke to the farm owner, purchased the mare without even caring about the cost and made the necessary arrangements so you could have your pretty horse. 

After a successful purchase, Thomas helped you into the passenger seat of his car, driving you back to town. You would have your horse tomorrow morning, right now, business called.

He drove you to the Garrison, the Shelby's family owned pub for a Peaky Blinder business meeting. Usually, women were not allowed, but you were not just a woman. You were Thomas Shelby’s woman. And the people who knew would rather chop a limb off than dare to deny you access.

With his hand on your lower back, Tommy guided you inside the rowdy bar towards the private Peaky Blinders table. Everybody was waiting for your arrival between sips of irish whiskey and puffs of smoke. Thomas took a seat and you took yours on his lap, the feeling of your weight on him as natural as the feeling of air entering his lungs. 

The men at the table did not bat an eye, your presence was the new normality. And in a way, a sign that things were good, that Thomas was relaxed and no conflicts were on the horizon. If something bad or difficult was preying upon them, you would be hidden away in some safe heaven and not happily sitting on Tommy’s lap. Perhaps, the only other emotion a few of the men could feel when looking at you was a secret, deeply buried longing. Anybody would love to have a beauty like you sitting on their lap. Not that they would allow Thomas to hear them admit that.

The meeting started around you, some usual business and many details you didn’t care for. Thomas concentrated, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your clothed thigh. You liked the skirt you wore, the fabric was soft, and it incited Tommy to touch. It was not exactly close to the feeling of your bare skin when you fucked him, or when he would make you sit naked on his lap while he worked in his house studio, but it was pleasant. 

The more the meeting dragged on, the more you started to grow restless. And a little bored, in all honesty. Sitting on his lap sounded glamorous and sensual in theory but in practice it was a test of resilience and patience. Being a sweet arm candy girl like you required more than a pretty face and a hot body. You also had to possess the skills to tell when a meeting was dying out and calculate the exact perfect moment to lean closer to Tommy’s ear and whisper something to save you from boredom.

“You know… I never properly thanked you today for getting me my beautiful horse… I think daddy needs a proper thank you…” Thomas turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk.

“Is that right?” He leaned closer to you until your noses bumped together, giving your thigh a squeeze. “And just how would you thank daddy, then? Hmm?” He whispered, the meeting a mere background noise now. You leaned towards his ear again, whispering so quietly so only Tommy could hear.

“I wanna suck your cock��� Or you can fuck me over your desk in the back?” You purred so innocently despite the pure filth of your words. His cock told you all you needed to know about his opinion. The twitch inside his pants impossible to miss. You pulled back to stare into his eyes and take in his tiny smirk. He knew that resistance was futile and completely incompatible with him when it came to you.

Without excusing words or explanations to the other gentlemen, Thomas scooted you two out of the booth, taking your hand and guiding you to the back. He kicked the small office door open and locked you both in. You could almost feel his piercing blues tracing the shape of your ass under that fashionable skirt you wore. 

“So...” You started, walking over to his desk and luring him to take a few steps closer to you. He towered over you, his rough hands touched your hips with interest. “How does daddy want me?” You purred innocently, looking into his eyes.

Thomas’ cock hardened even more in his dress pants. Your figure, your soft face, your pretty eyes, your voice, you. Lust took over his eyes.

 “On your knees baby… you know what daddy wants.” His voice was husky, overcome with his need for you and your pretty little mouth. You grinned, a hungry look in your eyes replicating his own. Steadily, you sunk to your knees, the fabric of your skirt your only padding on the cold floor. Tommy leaned against his desk and watched you work your magic. Your fingers undid the button of his pants with torturous care.

“You know… If you wanted to fuck me in front that whole room of men… I’d let you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me..” You were a tease, you killed him slowly. His breath hitched a bit, his possessive streak driving him to total insanity. You were right. You would let him do anything he wanted. He knew. But hearing you say that made the fire of his lower stomach ignite him whole.

“Oh, I know you would… You’d be my good little girl, wouldn’t you?” He whispered, brushing a hair out of your beautiful face. You nodded so innocently, and then lowered his pants down until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'll always be your good girl… I’ll always please you and let you use me however you need…” You whispered back, a soft sensual smile gracing your lips. Tommy couldn’t help but groan at your words, his painfully hard cock pulsing in his boxer briefs right in front of your face.

“God, you’re such a good girl… You’ll be good for daddy now won’t you?” He cooed. 

“Always.” You purred in devotion. Your hands reached up to grab the band of his boxers and, with one swift, well trained motion, pulled them down. His large throbbing cock sprung free for you to drool over. Mere inches away from your face. 

“You gonna thank your daddy properly, hmm?” He asked with a sexy smirk, heavily accented and incredibly husky. You nodded obediently, your eyes going from his beautiful irises to his hard cock. It had been over four months since you became his sweetheart and you still felt enamored at his sheer size.

“Yes daddy…” You answered softly then looked back up to his pretty blue eyes. “Gonna suck your cock and drain these perfect balls just how you like…” You made it a point to speak so innocently, stirring something in him. He could have lost himself right then and there from your words alone. It took him a second to fully take in the idea. The dirtiest promises coming from the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“Fuck baby… You’re gonna be the death of me someday, you know that?” He asked in a playful little smirk, and you attacked. Your soft hand wrapped around his aching hard cock. He groaned softly.

“But at least you’ll die happy.” You purred, gifting him a few seconds to prepare himself before finally leaning in to swirl your tongue skillfully over the head of his dripping cock. Thomas let out a guttural moan, his hand gripping his desk behind him in an attempt to steady himself. His head fell back, the texture of your wet, warm tongue erasing each and every thought off his mind. It all became you and you only. You licking him, tasting his sensitive tip, you pleasing him.

“Fuck, baby… My perfect girl…” He managed to choke out, affected yet addicted. Your tongue swirled over him expertly, and you looked up at him. A sweet happy hum reverberated in your throat as you tasted the salt of his precum. Every drop that ran down his tip not making it far thanks to your eager licks. Your hum sent vibrations up his cock, making him feel like his knees were about to buckle under him. The only time he appreciated feeling vulnerable.

Tommy looked down at you servicing him, taking your sweet time on his sensitive tip. The fire in your eyes recognized his and burnt with it. 

“Holy-f-fuck.. my girl knows how to suck her daddy’s cock so good….” He groaned, and you took more of his lengthy cock in your mouth, working your way down and sucking it, your tongue massaging it slowly.

He tried his best to maintain his composure and control, but another swirl of your tongue made him admit to himself that he would not last long.

“F-fuck, baby girl… You keep going like that…” He groaned, gripping the edge of the wooden desk harder and urging you.

You bobbed your head on his cock in a skillful rhythm. The sounds coming from you were so filthy and obscene. Nothing could have torn his gaze away from you. It was a war between him and his throbbing cock. He wanted more, desperately needed more, but his orgasm neared closer than his next breath.

 “You’re too good to me, baby girl… You’re gonna make daddy come… And it’s gonna be right in your pretty mouth, and you’re gonna take every last drop, aren’t you?” He cooed with one hand touching the top of your head for support. You bobbed your head, up and down his shaft, with your nose bumping his pelvic area. You looked up and hummed in response. You always swallowed.

Noting his increasing pleasure, you pushed yourself to take more of his thick cock. You gagged a little and earned a loud moan from him akin to music to your ears.

“Goood girl… Good girl.” With his praise like a mantra, he watched over you, almost out of breath. “That's it. I'm gonna come for you… ‘m gonna come in this mouth and you’re gonna swallow all of it, aren’t you baby?” He repeated, unaware by now. No thoughts inside his head, only your perfect mouth that pulled back for just a second.

 “Yes, daddy.” You purred, looking up at him with innocent eyes before taking him in your mouth again, this time working faster and with much more intensity. Constantly swiping against the underside of his thick cock.

Thomas had to resist the urge of bucking into your mouth and fuck your face just the way he likes, but he found the willpower to stay calm. This was all about you pleasing him, putting that mouth of yours to work and thanking him. 

“Good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl…” He praised, his orgasm so close to hitting him and knocking him flat out. “Now, remember, baby girl… What’s my rule?” His voice almost cracked. Dominance was a hard thing to upkeep when his balls tightened this hard and your throat hummed around him. Your pussy grew wetter at the mention of the rule, one you had committed to memory.

“Before you can swallow, you have to show it to daddy... Need to see my come all over your pretty tongue, hmm?” Thomas said, barely hanging on at this point. One of his hands holding your hair back and the other gripping the desk behind him for stability.

You hummed as loud and as best as you can, his thick cock barely giving up space for sound to travel. You kept sucking him, and his resistance was hung on by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. His moans, his heavy breaths, the hot puffs of air he lets out, the way his cock throbbed in your  mouth… You wanted him done for. 

Your hand came up, gently cupping his balls and giving them a soft squeeze. His breath hitched and he cursed under his breath.

“Holy fuck, baby-” He choked out, and everything snapped inside him. “Coming..” That was the only word he managed to utter before his resolve crumbled and his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. His hand grabbed your hair firmly, but not painfully, keeping you there, ready to take it all.

Your movements stopped in anticipation and his cock pulsed inside your mouth. A salty load of cum coated your tongue completely and his sensual low groan filled your ears. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment and his lips stayed parted. When every last drop was unloaded, he opened his eyes back again and looked at you intently.

“Show daddy…” He murmured, his voice a little strained. You obeyed, pulling off him and sitting back on your knees. With pride, you stuck out your cum-painted tongue for his viewing pleasure.

“My good girl.” Tommy praised. You were indeed so good. So obedient. So perfect for him. “You can swallow now, baby girl.” 

His hand petted the top of your head with appreciative softness, and you, living up to his praise, did as he said. The salt taste of his cum mixing with your saliva before passing down your throat. A soft hum of approval coming from you made him smile ever so gently.

He reached down to pull up his pants, tucking his now soft, sensitive and tired cock back into his boxers and buttoning his dress pants. He reached his hands down, pulling you up from the floor easily into his arms. When you were close to his face, you gave him a cheeky little smile. His hands cupped your face and gently pulled you in for a burning hot, passionate kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, making him taste himself on you. A pervertedly satisfied smile crept into the kiss.

Slowly, he pulled back, looking at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You know… If all it took to get you to do that for me is to buy you a horse… I think I'll buy you a horse, or anything else you want every single day for the rest of your life.” Tommy whispered in a mix of sensuality but also pure, deep love. 

Your eyes twinkled a bit and a soft smile appeared on your face. He was just as obsessed with you as you were with him. 

“Deal”.

[elytrafemme]

every single fictional character i like should split and have mood swings like me. "ohhhhh but it's not canotical" "ohh they have good control over their emotions and stable views on the world" i don't fucking care. i see cq in his fake desert i see klavier's control dialogue i see dahlia and her serial murders and komaeda and the gun literally fuck with me right now. we need to stop being cowards about our fictional character headcanons i think everyone should kill people always because i can't

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Unrequited (Arthur Morganxf! Reader) - RDR2

A/N: Whoever decided that there could be a button where Arthur Morgan says "good girl" how ever many times you want, I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Synopsis: Arthur loved Mary, didn't he? So, why was it he was spouting all this nonesense about loving you?

Warning/ Tags: Angst. But like SO MUCH FLUFF. Allusions to Sex. Mentions of violence. Coarse language. Kissing. Hurt/ Comfort. Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.1K

Masterlist

Even now, Arthur Morgan was a lovesick fool for Mary Linton.

You shouldn’t have been surprised; you weren’t really. Arthur doesn’t talk about her much anymore, but you’d known him long enough to see he’d never really let that part of himself go. The part of him that loves. That dreams of something better for himself even if he thinks he’s the big, bad, scary man that he is.

And maybe in some aspect, he is that man.

Threatening, bartering, killing. Sometimes you look into his eyes and see nothing but a hard, desolate exterior that wouldn’t think twice about shooting anybody up so long as Dutch told him to do it. But the reality Arthur Morgan doesn’t want to accept is that there’s goodness hiding within the moulding of a gunslinger enforcer.

You can glimpse that goodness when he helps a woman on the road or gives medicine to a man dying from snake poison, and you can especially see it when he’s hauling his ass on his horse to help Mary even when he’s being pulled left and right to finish errands for the camp.

So no, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Arthur would ride out the earliest he could to help his past lover.

But hell, why did it have to hurt you every damn time?

He returns to camp just after the sun rises and light starts to colour the world around you. The air is still crisp, and the heat of the sun is non-existent on your skin.  You’re brushing your horse’s mane when you hear the familiar holler of his voice towards Bill. You don’t look towards him as his horse trots towards the hitching post.

As he dismounts, he greets you, a little pep in the tone of his voice.

It irritates you immediately.

“Mornin’.”

You grit your teeth and put on the brightest smile you can muster. “Mornin’!”

He takes a moment. His eyebrows crease. “Something matter?”

“Uh-?”

“Nothing it’s just-“ he breaks to think about the right words to say. “You don’t look- Never mind.”

This only encourages you to grow your façade stronger. “So,” you start “what’d Mary need this time?” It comes off a little pettier than you intended it to be. He doesn’t deserve that, hell, Mary didn’t deserve your bitterness either, fine woman she was.

That little fact seemed inconsequential however every time he uttered her name and the familiar feeling of jealousy pricked, downright stabbed itself in your gut.

He picks up on your tone, not appreciating it one bit. The displeasure that carves into his expression almost makes you wince and the fake smile that’s plastered on your face twitches the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You take the coward’s way out, you always do.

You break eye contact and continue to brush away the embarrasment. You’re rewarded by a loving whinny and it almost distracts you from the ice-cold awkwardness you’ve built around this conversation. “Nothin’, just asking.”

Whether he believes your fib or doesn’t, he doesn’t let it show. But him moving on has you thanking God regardless. He takes out a brush, starting to work on his own mare’s mane. “Good girl.” He whispers. Warmth creeps up your neck as your ears tingle towards the baritone timber of his voice. It makes you lose all self-respect for yourself. He sneaks a look at you for the tiniest bit of time before continuing your conversation. “Her brother was involved in some weird religious group.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” he sighs “buncha turtle lovers.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you even though you don’t understand it. When you glance towards Arthur’s direction, the indifference has faded away from his features and all that’s left is a sarcastic smirk in its place. All frost has melted away and all too quickly you’re back to the ease that usually came with your dynamic.

You can’t help but throw a snide joke his way. “Gosh, if you’re still this involved in their family drama, you should just make it official and propose again.”

The idea haunts you, of course, it does. But you weren’t going to let Arthur know that. The more you joke, the more it becomes real, the more your true feelings become buried underneath a pile of age-old lies and supportive nonsense. Because at the end of the day, if it would make Arthur happy, you’d keep biting your lip and pushing him towards that happiness. 

Love worked funny like that.

His smirk falls and you’re worried you pushed it a tad bit too far. “I tried once and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen.” He turns almost sombre, like thinking back on old memories that were equal parts sweet and bitter and this bothers you in a different way.

“I sincerely think if you were to propose to her right now, she’d say yes with no questions asked.” You hope he sees the genuineness in your intentions.

He merely gives you a scoff, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah well,” he trails off. “It’d never work out now.”

You decide not to continue pushing. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to dig deeper into the situation and even in your sorry narrow-minded state, you could understand and respect keeping your mouth shut when you needed to. You lick your lips and stick another sickly-sweet smile to your face. “Well, you continue on moping, but I can’t say I’ll be sticking around to see you grumbling around.”

That gets him to snort. “And where will the rough and tough princess be today? Helping a rabbit off the road? Wait-“ he pauses for dramatic effect “Talking to the birds and singing em’ a song?” He makes himself chortle quietly at the idea.

“I have a date.”

That gets him to stop cold turkey. He’s only met with a smug appearance on your end. “You?”

You fake great offence and snap at him. “Hey! Even I can seduce someone if I try!”

“No, I know- I” He appears shaken up about your revelation and for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, you could almost see the tensing of his jaw. “With who?”

It’s your turn to leer at him. “Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t I-“ he stutters “I just-“

You raise an eyebrow. “Well if you must know, he works at the hardware store.” You say as you recall the day you met the gentleman. “I helped him carry out some tasks and he gave me a daffodil in exchange, of all things.” You pointed at the flower currently tucked in the band of your hat. “Cutest thing.”

“Is that right?” He gruffed out.

“Mhm, so I’m gonna escort him and his granddaughter to a birthday party out in Strawberry.” You giggle. “He said he needed a ‘fighter’ with him because of his ‘old bones’ and ‘lumbago’” You roll your eyes. “Sounds like Uncle.”

This seems to take Arthur by surprise. The dark clouds in his eyes clear out and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha-?”

You bite your lip to keep your internal laughter from spilling. “Listen, I offered.” You explain. “He’s been giving me discounts at the store and that girl is just the sweetest thing and well-“ you shrug, “I couldn’t say no like the goddamn softie I am.”

The blades in his eyes dull at the statement. The mysterious scrunch of his shoulders from earlier disappears. He steps away from his horse and walks around his mare to shorten the gap between the two of you. It reminds you that he’s tall, much bigger than you are. “That bleedin’ heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day.”

He mutters his words lightly and yet, there’s some odd sadness you don’t understand attached to it. He puckers his lips as if he wants to say more on the matter yet can’t.

You put on your best Arthur impression, puffing up your chest and scrunching your face. “Well, somehow this don’t suit me, now does it?”

He wouldn’t even have to touch you.

At that, Arthur chuckles deeply. “Nah, you obviously ain’t tall enough to be me, shortcake.” He jabs you playfully at the shoulder and in response, you over-exaggerate the motion of being pushed back.

Though, if he really wanted to, Arthur could have you on your back in less than a second.

Before you can go further down that rabbit hole of thoughts, you carry on with the train of humour. “Besides, heard from Jerry there’ll be plenty of cute fellas around to keep me entertained.”

The clouds start to roll back in his demeanour, dare you say with a touch of thunder this time. “You gonna be looking at other men?” The lightness in his voice is gone, only replaced with the venom from before.

You’re befuddled at the quick-changing atmosphere, but don’t go back on what you said. “All I’ve got to look at are you folks all day,” you quip “A girl needs a change of scenery every once in a while.”

He crosses his arms, clearly not amused. “We not pretty enough for you?”

“Well, you are certainly, but I don’t know about Pearson.”

You purse your lips immediately and silently curse yourself at the admission. That same old shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “Is that right?”

You push his arm back, but unlike him, you hardly get the man to move more than half an inch. “Oh shut it.” You quickly un-hitch your horse and mount her. All you want to do is wipe his lips so it turns back into his usual frown, but you’re afraid you’d just embarrass yourself further. “I won’t be back for a while.” You pull your horse away and pat her on the side. “Didn’t know children’s birthday parties could take so damn long.”

“How long will you be gone for?” He mumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

“However long it takes for a fella to get me off.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. The sun highlights the tips of his ears go red. “Wha- What?” He strained out like he wasn’t quite sure of what he just heard.

A real, true laugh comes out of you then as you spur your horse into action, cantering away from camp. You don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. His flushed look is enough of a prize to take with you.

You replay it all the way to Strawberry.

------------------

It was well past sundown when you return. Truthfully, you don’t even know what time it is, all you knew was that you were gone long enough that laying down on your cot would be much appreciated by your aching muscles. There’s a light breeze and you take your hat off, shaking out your hair.

The party was a success. Jerry and his granddaughter got to and from Strawberry safely, and really, that was all you could wish for when you were being hunted constantly because of the bounty on your head. You knew you offered, hell you were pretty self-approving when you did. But even then, you made sure to ask if Jerry really wanted a gunslinger as an escort, to which he replied, “Oh, shove it.”

Wonderful man.

The rest of the camp, well those that were here anyways, aside from Bill who was back on guard duty, are already fast asleep. The crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your ears other than your own footsteps.

There’s a small oil lamp turned on in the corner of your vision, brightening the blue hue and you instantly know the only bastard who would be up at this hour.

He’s drawing again. His brows are focused in that way you loved so much and he only looks up from his journal once you amble closer towards him. You almost hate that you’ve disrupted him. You could watch him draw for hours and hardly get bored.

He closes the book and looks up at you. You nod towards his hands. “You’ll have to show me what you’re working on at some point, Picasso.”

Arthur lets a huff through his nose. “Not gonna happen.” He motions you to sit beside him and you take him up on his offer. You catch a whiff of his scent, something like tobacco mixed with old leather. It may have been slightly repulsive to anyone else, but this was Arthur, and all it made you feel was safe. “You was gone a long time.” He points out, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your head at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You just went off and didn’t come back until now.” The bitter tinge morphs into something like annoyance. “I was worried.” He mumbles low.

“Oh, I was fine.” You bump your shoulder against his, but it again, doesn’t make him sway. “Besides, I had a fella with me.”

His hand, the one closest to you, balls up at his side. He’s always been hard to read, but he clearly isn't happy at your revelation. You had half a mind in this late hour to stew in that fact. “Did you now?”

“Sure, one of them single fathers.” You let a small laugh escape you and shake your head, kicking the dirt with your worn-out boots. “Don’t worry, I’d never steal one from a married woman.”

“Was he…cute?” He mutters.

“Never thought I’d hear the word ‘cute’ come out of Arthur Morgan’s mouth.” You catch a glimpse towards him and again note the same pink twinge on his ears, probably embarrassed at being called out on something so stupid.

You finally start to feel that familiar flutter in your stomach hidden behind all that supportive “do what makes you happy nonsense”.

No, you couldn’t have that.

So, you bury it down.

It just became easier that way after all these years.

“That ain’t the damn point.” He continues to grumble. “Was he?”

You ponder the question for a short while. “I mean, he was alright in the looks department, not cute-“

He cuts you off quickly. “Just alright?” He scoffs lightly.

You remember the aforementioned single father in question. His looks are the last thing on your mind. He was alright, not cute, not ugly. Sure, you wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, but-

“He was damn good with his kid, and I thought I’d like to get to know someone like that more.” You reveal through a whisper.

This causes Arthur to frown, but his expression softens. Some of that constant bitterness fades away. “You- “he cuts off and thickly swallows. “You weren’t doing anything strange were you?”

You can feel a prickle of heat in your face at the question. “I mean, we talked sure, but if anything, I just maybe wanted to indulge in a fantasy.” You shrug.

He snaps his gaze back towards you. “A fantasy?”

“What it’d be like-“

God, why was it so hard to say?  “Being normal, having a family.”

The silence that follows is thick and you immediately scold yourself for ruining a perfectly airy conversation just like this morning. You regret it, you do, but you can’t deny how nice it is to finally get that dream off your chest. It wasn’t original, what woman at camp, save Mrs. Adler, didn’t want that stability?

The feeling of riding was freeing. It gave you the grace of flying during a time when you were being held down and that will never change. But nowadays, you find that instead of being held down, you want to be held close. To be called important, matter to someone, so that when you felt lost soaring, you’d always have a beacon home.

“Damn it, you can’t be sayin’ things like that.” He forces out a murmur, a shred of his usual gruff tone.

“You ever think about that?” You tread lightly. “Having kids? Building a farm out somewhere and just-“ a deep sigh escapes you. “living and not surviving?”

It takes him a while to answer your question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” The vulnerability colors his voice and it starts to trip you over the edge.

You nod, pursing your lips. “With Mary?” You meekly ask, the crickets chirping making the exchange more awkward. You almost cringe at the silence of it all.

He tenses at her name and it seems like you get your answer.

“With Mary? I mean-“ He tries to dissuade you with absolutely no conviction in his voice. He pauses and curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment. “Y’know, it ain’t always about Mary.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Arthur, it’s always been about Mary.” Sighing deeply, you bite your cheek at the acidic truth. “Even when you met Eliza, it was still about Mary.”

He’s taken aback by your statement and a subtle look of frustration overcomes his features. “No, it hasn’t.”

You want to say more, but your sardonic nature halts at his stoic reply. It’s like your heart stops, a coldness and a shrill wake your senses from the inside out. “What?” Your brain halts, all thought ceasing to exist except to process his next response. He tries to avoid eye contact, but you seek his gaze as you tilt your head sideways. “Arthur, what do you mean?” You repeat more sternly, begging to get a straight answer.

He throws you a stick of dynamite.

The smoke clears and all that’s left is the destruction that caters right in the center of your chest.

“What about you?” His voice is hoarse like this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to squeeze out of his mouth. “What about when it became you?”

Ka-boom.

There’s no longer just a flutter in your stomach, there’s a whole damn circus, and it decides to release the butterflies you worked so hard to keep from their magical chest of caution.

You shake your head and your body goes rigid. You move away from him and stand abruptly as you place your hands on your hips. He’s quick to follow you on your feet.  A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat before you can stop yourself. “Arthur-“

“No, let me finish.” He steps in front of you and holds your shoulders square, turning your body towards him. Even in your bubbling anger, you hate the way your skin immediately melts under his touch. His eyes and actions are pleading for you to stay, so you let him speak, biting your tongue to keep yourself from interrupting. He stumbles over his words. “It’s been you for a long damn time.” He admits. “But I was, I don’t know-“You notice the light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. “I was scared to say something.”

“If this is some dumb joke-“

“No!” He immediately denies like he’s appalled you would even think of it in that way. 

“Well,” you sneer “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” You remove his hands from your shoulders stiffly and start to trudge away back to your horse.

In the years you’d known him, Arthur had been a force, even more so when he was younger and reckless. He was stubborn as a mule and despite keeping the peace for the most part, there was a strut in his step when he walked because he knew he had the power to change that fact whenever he wanted and get away scotch-free. Arthur was arrogant in that way, always threatening people with a smirk or an edge to his voice.

But this is the first time you see him flinch and it happens to be at your curt words.

A lump catches in your throat, but you’re too annoyed to care, all but continuing the short distance back to the hitching posts. Arthur is hot on your tracks, not letting up one bit. Maybe Bill was overhearing, maybe one of the girls stirred awake. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to get the hell away from here.

His catches up to you in no time, his strides much longer than yours. He steps in front of your path and when you make a move to step aside, he mirrors your actions. You click your tongue, glowering at him from beneath your lashes. “Look,” he starts “now I know you may not like me, but I-“

That gets your anger rising to incomparable heights. “Not like you?!” You practically shout out. Looking around, you remember where you are and it’s the only reason your voice lowers. “Arthur, I’ve liked you since the day I met you!”

His eyebrows pull together and his nose crinkles. Arthur’s face morphs into something like agitation from its previous confusion. “So, why all this attitude?”

You’re dejected. “Why all this attitude?” You softly hiss. “Why all this attitude when I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve heard about is Mary?”

Arthur winces. He steps back from you, recoiling like he’s just been shot by a sniper rifle.

Good, you think. He should feel like a right asshole.

“’Why all this attitude’ he says!” You giggle manically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Where do I even start?” You begin to rant, hands back on your hips to give you some sort of anchor from sinking towards the ground.  “I don’t know Arthur, maybe it’s because while I’ve been here stewing in self-pity, you were always out seeing her.  Maybe, it’s because every time you were young, drunk, and broken, you’d come back whispering her name, mistaking her for me, and I was the one helping you pick up the pieces.”

Your heart was racing a million yards a minute, but you couldn’t stop now. All the hurt and sorry baggage poured out like molten lava, burning with years of intensity. “Or maybe-“ you point an index finger at him and snap sarcastically as if you’ve just discovered a newfound truth “Maybe, it was because I worked so damn hard to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you and you just-“ your voice breaks.

Arthur doesn’t interrupt you at any part of your monologuing. Just like usual, you can hardly decipher his emotions except notice the colour draining from his face.

“So, I’m sorry that I don’t believe you when you say It’s been me.” You continue. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

You sidestep him, not taking a single look back in fear of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You unhitch your horse, giving her a slight pat before mounting her again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t see or speak to Arthur for a few days after your argument.

You don’t have much energy to talk to anyone really.

So, you somehow end up back at a familiar field surrounded by evergreen trees and flowers. The crystalline water of the hot springs gleams in your eyes and a chill wind sends shivers up your spine.

You set up camp and stay a while. The serenity of the woods is welcomed. You don’t consider yourself the best hunter, but fishing didn’t require the same amount of dexterity. It's quiet, peaceful even. All you hear is the chirp of the birds and the steady flow of water.

It gives you time to cool off, reflect on everything that’s happened.

The more time you spend out here, the more hesitant you are to leave. It's a nice reprieve from the perils of civilization and you find yourself slipping away, trying to grasp a sense of comfort that's unimaginable for you most days.

Tends to happen when you're an outlaw, you suppose.

But one day, as you’re laying under the shade of a tree, feeling the blades of soft grass beneath you, you hear heavy footsteps starting to approach.

There's no need to bother even acting surprised.

Arthur takes a seat beside you with a deep sigh. He leans back, using his hands to support him.

The both of you are silent for a while, not one peep out of your mouths. You expect it to be uncomfortable but having him by your side brings an ease you haven’t felt in days. Arthur continues to stare up at the sun starting to descend in the horizon and you follow suit, eyes trained to the sky above.

“When I met you, I thought you were nothing more than a naïve, innocent little thing.” He starts, baritone drawl catching you off guard. You don’t realize how much you’d missed hearing it until now. “You were this small girl I needed to protect. “

 You glance towards him and notice the small smile now gracing his lips, his eyes glossed over like remembering memories from so very long ago. “You could barely ride a horse, hell, you could barely mount one.”

The genuine warmth in his voice continues to chip away any frustrations left within you as you recall those days like snapshots in your mind.

“Every day, it was something new with you.” He laughs out, making your heart traitorously skip a beat. “You were learning the ropes of it all, and for a while, you were just a ratty brat who wanted to try on boots that were too big for her.”  He pauses and you look at him more clearly this time, head turned towards him fully in an effort to really listen to what he has to say. “But Mary, she-“ he swallows “I could just turn my thoughts off with her.”

He gives out another sigh. “I loved her, I did.” He admits. “It was so easy loving her at the time. We had no expectations of one another, and then all of a sudden that shifted and I don’t know if I could have been the man she needed me to be.”

You ache but it’s not because he mentions his past lover’s name.

“So I ended up actin’ like a goddamn fool. Boozin’, sleeping around.” He groans, obviously not proud of his previous ventures. “Dutch and Hosea, they couldn’t pull me out of it. I mean, they tried everything, but then-“ He releases a relieved chuckle. “Some woman I’d never met before poured a bucket of cold water over my head and pulled out her revolver, threatening to shoot my dumb ass if I didn’t get up.”

You snort as you’re reminded of that day.

It was dry and humid, overall making it a miserable summer afternoon. Arthur stumbled back into camp smelling like he was doused in moonshine, groggy and slurring his words together. Even Hosea, forgiving as he was, cringed at his sorry state.

You just about had it.

After collecting some from the nearby stream, you pushed Arthur down and doused him in ice-cold water. He sputtered, clearly not happy about what you just did and attempted to get up to confront you. You pulled out your gun before he could and shot right between his legs onto the dirt below. “If you don’t pull your damn weight around here, I’ll make sure the next shot hits!” you shouted, utterly disappointed.

“Good times.” You mutter and Arthur’s smile widens.

“Sure.” He agreed. “When my eyes started to clear, I swear to god I thought I was looking at an angel.”

You had a hard time believing that too. “You looked at a woman who just shot at you and thought she was angelic?”

He tries to find better words. “I guess you looked ethereal all together.” He tries to explain. “Like you were something I’d see at the pearly white gates of judgement.”

You sat amused at his thoughts. “That so?”

He’s finally able to make eye contact with you and revels in that fact. “My vision was still a little hazy and you just stood over me, posture straight, hat on.” He takes his hand and scratches his chin. It’s a tick for when he’s nervous. “Your hair had a glow to it from the sun and your eyes, they just- had this fire in em’ I’d never seen before.”

His shoulders drop and the mood suddenly turns mellow. “When we were ridin’ around and ended up at this clearin’, you just took off without me and I realized how much you’d grown into yourself right under my nose. You didn’t change much, you were still the same old, sunshine, animal-lovin’ princess, but the way you carried yourself? Asserted yourself more?  God-.”

He holds your gaze as he continues and it’s like the world holds its breath for whatever he has to say next. “You rode off, hair wild, not looking back at me one bit and I just couldn’t stop starin’ at you because I thought you were such a damn sight.”

“It made me wonder-“ his words trail off. He stops for a while and you let him. You know how much courage it was taking him right now to admit this to you, letting down those guarded stone walls he loved so much.

You lick your lips, and in an act of your own bravery, you settle your hand on top of his, to which he visibly softens upon. “Made you wonder?” You urge.

“If that’s what Mary felt like, seeing me go all those times.” He finishes. “Because I hated it. I hated every time you got on that horse and left, and it would only hurt less whenever you came back.”

Arthur’s hand starts to clench, but you flip his hand in yours so you can interlock your fingers properly. You give his hand a squeeze and the tension eases off.

“But then I hear you wantin’ to go off with some man and all I could do was mope like a sorry idiot because what if-“ His throat works. “What if you rode off and didn’t come back this time?”

“Oh, Arthur.” You softly coo.

His hand starts to make small slow circles over your hands. “You know I realized something when I last saw Mary that I didn’t before.”

You’re expectant to hear what it is.

“Every time it got a little too rough between us, she was done with me.” He perceived. “I don’t blame her, she deserves someone to make her happy, but I wasn’t gonna change fast enough in her eyes.” He squeezes your hand tighter. “But you- you didn’t expect me to change on a dime. You were patient, you understood that I didn’t want to start a family not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid of feeling that pain again.”

After clenching his jaw, he takes his other palm and cups your cheek with the utmost tenderness a man of his size could muster. “With you, I feel like I can be something else, something good.” You lean towards his touch, begging that if this were a dream, you never wanted to be woken up. His gaze is soft on your features, highlighted by the starlight above.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago Arthur Morgan.” You confess. “I keep running away because no one holds me close enough to keep me somewhere.”

You feel a lump in your throat as you remember all the times you rode off wanting to hear him shout "Wait!", but he never did.

“I know and I’m sorry for that sweetheart, I really am.”

Tears start to escape your eyes and you don’t bother wiping them away. “Loving you hurt so much Arthur.” You whimper. “I started to pack all of those feelings away if it meant I didn’t have to ruin what we already had.”

He presses his rough lips to your forehead and leans back. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He tilts your chin up with a finger. “If I could go back and change the way I handled it all, I would.”

“Give me something to believe that this is real. That I’m not just making this up in my misery.”

Arthur takes a moment to look at you before he speaks. He takes the time to figure out how he’s supposed to approach what he wanted to convey “Close your eyes for just a second.” He mumbled, his voice pleading.

You don’t question it and do what he wants you to do. You fully accept you’d be one of those pathetic individuals who’d follow him off a cliff if it meant staying with him and keeping him safe.

In the darkness, you feel him pick up your hands and place them on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the fast thrum of the beat of his heart and the laboured way his chest rises. You stay like that for a few seconds and match your breathing to his.

“Okay,” his voice cuts through your thoughts “now open your eyes.” You follow his command and you open your eyes to Arthur with a tender expression. You feel his breathing get faster, like he’s almost waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Arthur chuckles quietly at your question. “This is me trying to prove I’m serious about you.” His hands are still around your wrists, keeping your palms on his chest in place.

“By what? Letting me feel you up?” You jokingly say. “Arthur, who do you think’s being lugging your heavy ass around when you’re drunk, cause it sure as hell ain’t Uncle-“

Even in the darkness that surrounded you, you can sense his embarrassment. He starts to sputter to quickly get words out “Wha- no, that’s not what- I- you-“ He stutters, clearly flustered at the comment. He sighs. “Now, that’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.”

“So then, what?” You push. You’re not trying to be obtuse in any way, but you want to hear a proper answer.

Arthur swallows awkwardly. “I’m just- I want you to know that my heart beats for you.”

It puts you in such a complete state of shock, it renders you speechless.

Just a couple of days ago, you would have been thirsty to hear those words drip out of his lips, but now that you’ve actually heard him say it, you don’t know how to exactly respond.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, voice laced with worry.

You slowly lean down and press your ear against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He smells like gun smoke and mountain air. The fast bu-dump of his heart is intoxicating, making you break out into a smile.

After a few seconds, he slowly places his own arms around you and pulls you in closer. His hold is firm. Secure. A bandwagon of bandits or federal agents could show up this instant and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone so much as even look at you the wrong way.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I can’t give you a house, or children, or land right now, but I want you to know you have my heart.” He places another soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ve had it for a long time and it’ll always be yours as long you’ll have me.”

“Well, I never thought Arthur Morgan was capable of such sweet words.” You tease.

You feel the rumble of his chest as he freely laughs. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other it seems.”

You give his statement some thought. “Maybe we can start to find those things about each other out.”

He nods against you. “I’d like that.”

You sniffle and follow him in letting out a laugh. “I’ll end up falling asleep here if we keep this up.”

He snickers at your comment. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you to bed then, huh?” He teases back, his tone light and playful.

You push away from his chest and fix your gaze directly at him, a dazed smile on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to, Arthur Morgan.”

His breathing hitches, obviously not expecting to be accepted on his offer. “Yeah, I suppose I will, sweetheart.”

You place a kiss squarely on his mouth and he reciprocates it almost immediately.

You grasp his face with your hands and do something you’ve been wanting to do since the day you met him.

His lips, though slightly chapped are soft and his stubble that he hasn’t shaved for weeks tickles your cheeks, poking you in a pleasurable way. You taste the tobacco on him and though you don’t smoke, maybe through kissing him you get the appeal. Fingers thread through your braid that’s falling apart by the second.

For the first time, you don't hold the butteflies back.

You part your lips to deepen the kiss and allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

It becomes hungry. Insatiable. It's years of pent up frustration and confusion exploding into a possession that consumes your whole body. He groans and you barely notice when he scoops you up, hooking his arm under your legs. “God, we could have been doing this earlier.” He growls.

As you giggle against his lips, Arthur continues to carry you, walking briskly towards your tent.

And the world around you stayed silent that night, except for a few hushed noises.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Yee-haw. Pls interact, I need to to talk to more RDR people lmao. pls.

[mari-positas]

a safe haven | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

chapter summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the first time and a foreign feeling instantly takes root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AGE GAP (reader is 29 and Joel is 57). minimal physical description of reader, she is shorter than Joel and has longer hair (exact length/type is not specified). reader is married, reader’s husband is mentioned and makes an appearance at the end of the chapter. lightly implied domestic violence. mentions of character death (reader’s father, unspecified illness). tlou2 timeline deviations (maria has only just found out she’s pregnant).

word count: 6.1k

a/n: well, here she is! apologies for the delay. life happened. :( i had this huge nervous ramble-y note planned out, but instead i just want to thank anyone who has shown me kindness for this series. this is for you. <3

His dark eyes linger on you from across the mess hall.

He doesn’t mean to stare.

Though, truthfully, Joel Miller doesn’t even realize he’s staring in the first place.

It’s half past twelve o’ clock in the afternoon, Jackson’s designated lunch hour, and the steadily growing town’s cafeteria is nearly too overcrowded, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter. He pays no mind to the commotion around him—bitching patrolmen, gossiping women, children running around as if the mess hall was their playground and it’s time for recess. He tunes it all out, much too focused on the prettiest damn thing he’d seen since the world ended two decades ago.

You’re sitting at a small, round table made for two that is tucked away over in the furthest corner of the packed eatery—as far away from the chaos as one can possibly be during midday mealtime.

Craning his neck slightly, Joel squints to get a better look and notices your only company for lunch is a large open book beside your plastic tray that takes up most of the table’s surface. In between bites of Cornish hen and roasted vegetables, you thumb through the book’s pages, occasionally pausing every here and there to scribble something in the notebook on your lap with a pencil.

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around. In fact, he still remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago that cold, winter morning.

He’d been fresh on the heels of a devastating fight with Ellie. She’d confronted him about his plans to hand her off to Tommy—a choice Joel believed to be selfless, the right thing to do, had been mistaken as a selfish act of abandonment, leading to harsh words exchanged and a door slammed in the heartbroken girl’s face. Little had she known that it’d been just as painful for him to walk away from her.

His choice hurt him too, but he couldn’t keep on failing her.

Older, slower, his hearing no longer what it used to be, he feared he would only end up getting Ellie killed if she continued on with him. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would not cradle another child’s dead body in his arms, not again. Not her.

Following a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel pulled himself out of bed the next morning, quietly slipping past Ellie’s bedroom door and out of the house with his pack in one hand and a map in the other. He’d quickly made his way across town towards the stables, hoping he could escape Jackson without notice from his brother—and more importantly, without notice from Ellie.

It’s not like he wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel couldn’t be certain he could find the strength to stand firm on his decision if he saw her face again.

So there he had been, in one of the stalls at the stables saddling up a mare he planned to take off on when you walked by, the loud crunch of your heavy winter boots on the frosted concrete startling him.

“Good morning,” you’d greeted politely, flashing him a friendly smile over the top of the thick, knitted red scarf around your neck.

Silent, Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line, no trace of emotion on his hard, stony face.

“Getting ready to head out on early morning patrol?”

“Yeah,” he’d replied curtly.

Another smile. “Be safe out there.”

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Jackson. While Ellie settled herself at home, he took a trip to the market over on the main street to pick up vegetables for their dinner—it would be the first real, proper meal he cooked in twenty-one years. No more stale jerky, no more old, barely-edible Chef Boyardee.

“Regular potatoes or sweet potatoes?” he’d muttered to himself, hands on his hips as he stood in front of the bins, looking over his options for produce.

“Sweet potatoes aren’t in season yet.”

Eyes widening, Joel looked up only to see you standing one aisle over in front of a cardboard box full of carrots, a woven shopping basket hanging over your arm. Much like that winter morning in the stables, you offered him a friendly smile he didn’t return.

Surely by now you must think he’s an asshole.

He wouldn’t blame you if that’s the case.

“Hellooo?” Tommy waves a hand in front of Joel’s face looking thoroughly amused. “Anyone home?”

“Sorry, you say somethin’?”

“Maybe we should find you a damn camera,” he teases, chuckling when once he finally garners his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Joel scowls at him, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught gawking.

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots. Heat floods his face when he catches the mischievous glimmer in his younger brother’s eyes.

“Hey, I don’t really blame you.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of iced tea and picks it up, gulping half of it down in one swallow. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs a shoulder, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch yourself. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing about another woman,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Much less now that she’s expectin’ your kid. Have a little more respect for your wife, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no harm in just lookin’,” he remarks, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. He sets his glass back down on the table and leans back in his chair, glancing over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man ‘round here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s gorgeous. And a real sweetheart, too. But don’t go gettin’ any ideas about her.”

He asks without thinking. “Why not?”

Tommy’s brows raise to his hairline in surprise. “Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your age, you old fucker. Jesus, what is wrong with you?” Rolling his eyes, he adds, “And besides that, she’s already spoken for.”

“Oh,” Joel clears his throat awkwardly and sits back in his chair. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s married, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to the town’s doctor.”

“Luke?”

“You’ve met him?”

“Heard of him,” Joel clarifies. “Maria keeps on insistin’ I get checked out by him. Ellie too, but—” He glances at his own forearm. “Don’t think that it’d be wise.”

Stiffening in his chair, Tommy’s lips purse together. His one rule?

Ellie’s immunity was not to be mentioned.

Ever.

Joel clears his throat again, shifting gears and steering the conversation back into less sensitive territory. “He legit?” he questions before shoving another forkful of carrots into his mouth. “Luke?”

The younger man’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah, he’s legit. Well, as legit as he can be—he was still in medical school when the outbreak happened,” he explains. “Bit on the younger side, but he knows his stuff, Joel. Looks after everyone in town. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a ridin’ accident a year ago and he set the bone right back into place. Had me as good as new within a few weeks. It’s a miracle we’ve got someone like him ‘round here, y’know?”

“Mm,” he hums in response, twiddling his fork between his thumb and index finger.

Of course you’re a married woman.

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

Underneath the table, Tommy lightly kicks his shin with the steel toe of his boot. “Y’know Joel, there are plenty of other single women in the community. If you want, I could introduce you around. In fact, Maria has a friend named Esther, she’s a real cute blonde. I could set you two up if you’re interested—”

“I’m not,” Joel interjects with a tight shake of his head. “I just got got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to look after. She’s my priority right now—my only priority,” he emphasizes firmly. “Not meetin’ women.”

Knowing better than to push him on it, Tommy changes the subject. “Uh, speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? I haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back. She alright?”

Joel hesitates, averting Tommy’s gaze.

It’d been a couple of weeks since the events that took place in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Tommy’s clueless, had been fed the same bullshit story as Ellie about raiders invading the hospital—he had no idea about what Joel had done. How he ruthlessly killed all of those people. How he shot Marlene dead at point blank range without hesitation, not an ounce of mercy despite her gasping pleas for him to let her go. How he single-handedly prevented the Fireflies from perfoming that operation on Ellie, stopping what might have been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure.

The surgery would have killed her.

So, he had no other choice but to kill them.

Joel doesn’t regret it. If it came down to it, he would do it all over again.

Though he doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, he does carry the guilt of having lied to Ellie about it after it was all said and done. 

“Swear to me,” she’d said, her eyes looking up into his as they stood atop the mountain overlooking Jackson Hole. “Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

“I swear.”

Ellie’s smart—too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew Joel wasn’t being entirely honest about what had gone down in Salt Lake City.

Joel’s chest heaves as he exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried about her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, hell, she hardly even talks to me these days.” He sighs again, tiredly scrubbing his free hand down the side of his face. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than people.”

“Think maybe it’d be a good idea to have her see Gail?” Tommy suggests lightly.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” Joel snorts. “Take her to see a fuckin’ shrink?”

“Don’t knock therapy. It’s been pretty helpful for a lot of folks ‘round here, y’know. Gail’s pretty good, she could give Ellie some guidance on how to make friends. Ain’t that what you want for her?”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “And how well do you think it’ll go over when I tell her I’m puttin’ her in therapy?”

“You’d have to sleep with one eye open,” Tommy muses with a laugh. He catches the tick in the muscle of Joel’s jaw and his smile falters. “Just give her time, Joel. After everythin’ she’s been through, it ain’t exactly a surprise that she’s strugglin’ to fit in. I know Ellie means a whole lot to you, and you’re worried about her. I would be too. But it’s only been a couple weeks. Give her some more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she will. She’s a strong kid, brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” he murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tommy reassures him with a confident nod. “She’ll find her place here. You’ll see.”

Joel sighs in defeat. “I sure hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight on your skin.

Summer’s arrived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and after a particularly long, brutal winter that swept the western state last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see warmer weather well on its way. Sure, summer heat can be just as unforgiving as bitter winter cold, but at least now, you’re not walking around ankles-deep in the snow or rubbing icicles out of your nostrils.

Clutching the thick strap of your old, but sturdy leather satchel, you leave the town mess hall and hastily make your way toward the horse stables. It’s after lunch, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around—most of it which would without a doubt trickle into the next day, as it usually does.

You hold your together fairly well, bear the brunt of your stressful job without making too much of a fuss. But on those rare occasions where you feel completely in over your head, you wonder if maybe you’d made the wrong decision taking such an enormous responsibility in your hands. Then again, the more you think about it, it’s not like you had been given much of a choice. In a way, this had been expected of you.

Prior to his passing two summers ago, your father had been the town’s equine veterinarian. He had offered to begin teaching you to care for the horses, knowing one day, eventually, someone would have to take his place. Not long after you started joining him at the stables, he became ill, and over the course of a year, your father’s health began rapidly deteriorating, his sickness one you both knew couldn’t be treated, much less cured, not in the post-outbreak world. Even as he wasted away, he’d used every ounce of strength he had left to teach you. He spent countless hours in the stables with you, until he lost most of his mobility—when he became bound to his bed in the final weeks of his life, you curled up at his side, the ache in your heart growing more painful as you watched him scribble notes in the margins of his copy of Horseman’s Veterinary Encyclopedia with a weak, trembling hand.

“My body might be failing me,” he’d rasped. “But I still have my brain.”

Your father prepared you to the best of his knowledge and ability, and while you certainly know a thing or two, it’s still so daunting. Horses are how everyone travels when in search of supplies, how patrolmen and women get around while protecting the community against the dangers that lurk outside the gates. Horses are one of the most important, most precious resources Jackson possesses—they keep everyone moving, everything going, and you’d be lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them doesn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

“You need to stop doubting yourself,” Maria would tell you. “He believed in you. Everyone believes in you. It’s about damn time you start doing the same and believe in yourself.”

You rush inside the stables, already going through your mental checklist of all the horses that still need to be looked over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol.

But first, you decide stop in and see your favorite girl.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, walking into a stall housing a beautiful, chestnut-brown pregnant mare. “Hi, gorgeous. How are you doing today?”

“I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples I know you’ve got in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you.

Peering around Stella’s body, you find Ellie laying on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall, her head resting on her backpack as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for the hundredth time.

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly.

She offers you a silly, lopsided grin. “Howdy.”

“What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Keeping ol’ Stella girl here company,” she shrugs. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

“Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your satchel onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those aforementioned apples.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair and to her clothes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids? Until you’re sixteen, that’s the rule isn’t it?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in Boston. FEDRA’s finest, man.”

You don’t know much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happens to be Tommy Miller’s older brother, and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, and when Maria informed you he had no familial relation to the girl, you had been completely taken aback.

“I don’t believe it. They’re really not related?”

“I know, those two even walk the same. But nope, no relation.”

Their arrival in Jackson in the winter had caused a bit of commotion and had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had been, or why they decided to leave the safe haven in the first place.

Much like everyone else, you’re curious about Ellie, and you’re especially curious about Joel. You’ve seen him around, had a couple close encounters with him where your pleasantries had not been returned—a man of few words, he keeps to himself for the most part, seems to have no interest in getting to know the townsfolk.

Ellie’s just as reserved. She spends most of her days in the stables with the horses while she reads her comics or listens to tapes on the old Walkman she’d borrowed—stolen, rather—from Tommy. Having taken notice of the young girl hanging around your place of work, you began carving out some time in your hectic schedule to talk to her. You’d tested the waters with casual chatter about the most trivial of things, such as the weather or what had been served in the mess hall for lunch that day.

Although Ellie seemed annoyed at first, she’d quickly warmed up to you, and by the end of the week, you had yourself a little foul-mouthed shadow following you around.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

“Friends your own age,” you rephrase yourself, biting back a smile. “My husband has a niece about your age. Her name is Dina. I could introduce you to each other if you’d like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everybody around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Fuck that.”

Sighing softly, you squat and lower yourself to her eye level. “I know how hard it is when you don’t fit in with others,” you emphasize. “It’s tough.”

“You? Not fit in?” Ellie scoffs and rolls her eyes in reply. “I don’t believe that for one second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, I was fifteen once too,” you chuckle. “When I was your age, I was living in one of the quarantine zones. In Albuquerque. My mom was a nurse there, so she had the privilege of enrolling me and my little brother into their best school—a preparatory school. She hoped he and I would become officers, have a chance at a decent life. She didn’t want us working in the sewers.” There’s a, strange glimmer in Ellie’s eyes, but she says nothing.“So, as you can imagine, I went to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and other higher-ups in the zone.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And it was the worst three years of my life,” you tell her. “The world may have ended, but teenagers are still fucking assholes.”

Ellie laughs loudly. “Jesus, I thought you were too prim and proper to curse!”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, winking playfully. “Besides, I think you might be starting to rub off on me a little bit.”

You grin, but upon meeting her gaze, it falters.

Ellie certainly isn’t the only child refugee who has lived a life outside these gates. Yet, there is something about her that sets her apart from the others.

She’s different.

There’s no telling what unspeakable things this girl has survived, but one thing is for certain, the haunting look in her eyes confirms your suspicion that she has been through a horrific kind of hell.

“So,” Ellie finally says after a minute. “Is it okay if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Rising to your feet, you glance at Stella. “But on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short-handed lately and I could use the extra help. Plus, if you aren’t going to school, then you need to pitch in around here. Do we have a deal?”

She jumps up, nodding eagerly. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving through mess hall’s double doors. He steps outside and starts toward the horse stables to find Ellie, who had skipped lunch.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction. People seem to be getting used to him, but they’re still wary, and he feels like something of a pariah.

He can handle it, though.

Stares, whispers, pointed fingers.

Being an outcast.

It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between her survivor’s guilt and her struggle to fit in, Joel feared for her well-being. He can only hope Tommy’s right, and all that she needs is time—that she’ll find will find her place here.

Joel walks into the horse stables. “Ellie?” He calls her name, peeking into each stall. “Ellie? You in here?”

“Wait, what?”

He hears her voice.

“Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel finds Ellie standing there, her hand resting on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she holds a mane brush.

She’s not alone.

You stand in front of her, one hand planted on your hip, the other resting on the animal’s back. Joel takes in the sight of you, your lower body clad in a pair of well-worn blue jeans, the legs tucked into weathered black riding boots whose soles are caked in muck. He recalls you in a long-sleeve red, flannel shirt, but it’s now tied around your waist, leaving you in a white cotton tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and his eyes wander, settling on the patch of smooth skin peeking between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans for a brief moment before trailing back up to your face.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

Bewildered, Ellie glances at the horse. “Really? They’re pregnant for a whole year? That’s fucking insane!”

“Well, eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat. “This is Stella’s first. I’m hoping to see her pregnancy reach its full term, but sometimes babies decide to come sooner than expected.”

Joel’s lips part slightly.

He almost can’t believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in two weeks and yet there she is, engaging with you so effortlessly. His gaze flits over to her just in time to see her crack what had to be the first real, genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed the giraffe in Salt Lake City. Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws dropped in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

Simultaneously, you and Ellie both whip around in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” Her smile falters as he approaches her.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to eat, kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her backpack, she hands you the brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Suddenly, the stall feels much too small, and just as he opens his mouth to excuse himself and leave, you say, “You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake. Your name is just as beautiful as you are—he repeats it, and it rolls smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own; it’s small and soft in his large and rough, a stark contrast but perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades stir.

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes two steps back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m sorry about Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I can have a talk with her.”

“She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you assure him, shaking your head. “It’s been nice having her around. I enjoy her company very much.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Yes. Is that strange for me to say?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to her new life here. Meetin’ people and things like that. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His raises his eyebrows.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You seem to pick up on the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly warn you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about Ellie. Her being different is something he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts to relax. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen, and all it is taking is being in your presence for him to understand why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re bright, and radiate such warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the equine veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Veterinarian? Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’, but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. M’sorry to hear about your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, unable to mask his curiosity.

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white house right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults. “It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it's time for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got some stuff to take care of before evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together on Saturday night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, towards the open window. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. It’s for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big cookout, drinks, and even a band to play live music. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“People still know how to party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know, it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you. Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you?

He mulls over it in his mind for a moment. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of patrol duty, but if going to the thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a small sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you both on Friday night, then.”

“I’ll see you Friday night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you again.

Shit.

He’s in fucking trouble. 

His fork scrapes against the plate a little too loudly, the noise echoing throughout the kitchen. Your fingers curl tightly around your own silverware, and you flinch—it’s been a calm, quiet, and uneventful few weeks between you and your husband, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction you can’t control when you’re alone with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

Loosening your grip around your knife and fork, you let your shoulders drop and force yourself to relax. You eat slowly and in small, measured bites, every move careful and contained, purely out of habit—because as tranquil as things have been, his moods are unpredictable, and you never know which version of your husband will be coming home to you.

Your marriage to Luke hadn’t always been a nightmare—in fact there was a time where you could have sworn there was love. Somewhere along the way, he began to resent you, and now anger and control fills the space where affection once lived.

Nights like this one, where it is silent and hollow, you’re almost grateful for it. His coldness can be painful, but his fists hurt even worse.

Luke abruptly pushes back from the table, the chair’s wooden legs scraping harshly against the tile.

You flinch again, your stomach twisting.

“I’m going to bed,” he murmurs. “I have a long day at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You bring yourself to meet his dark green eyes, giving him the best smile you can muster. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t say it back, simply nods and disappears out of the kitchen.

It’s not until you hear the door close upstairs that you exhale a small sigh of relief.

After finishing your dinner, you bring both plates to the sink. You run the water but make no move to wash them, and instead you stand there, hands braced on the counter.

Your wedding band gleams under the bright, overhead lights, catching your eye, and all you can do is wonder when—or even if—he will ever let you go.

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