Slapmewithacroc - Inlovewithmanymen

Best Friend🍂

Summary: Being Seth’s best friend was never a dull moment, always there to cheer y/n up until one day he suddenly stops talking to her and she’s left confused and hurt

“Hey Seth are you still coming over today?” I asked over the phone feeling all warm inside just talking to him

“Of course wouldn’t miss it for the world!” We exchanged goodbyes and I just waited for him to come over

Ever since Seth and I became friends when we were kids, around 6, every Friday we would have a movie night and never once did we miss one

I heard a knock on my door and there he was, smiling like usual, his long hair blowing in the wind as if he was a model

“Well are you going to let me in or just stare at me” he laughed as he pushed by gently and threw himself down on the couch

I blushed and closed the door going to sit next to him

“So what are we going to watch tonight?” He asked as he threw a blanket over the both of us and pulled me to lay down against his chest, it was normal for us but probably looked different from the outside

“Its up to you! I’m fine with anything” I said as I handed him the remote and snuggled into the blanket

Moments like these were what I held onto, I’ll never know when he finds the one and then I won’t have this anymore, so Friday night were what I waited for every week

He turned on an old 80s movie and we laid in silence snacking on gummies and watching

“How’s everything been?” He asked as he combed his fingers through my hair

“Tough, I’ve barely gotten any sleep lately”

“She still screaming at night?” He asked

“Every night since he left”

Bella was my sister and ever since her boyfriend, Edward, left she’s been miserable, I’ve tried everything to cheer her up but it doesn’t seem to work, me and dad don’t know what to do with her, maybe if I was closer to her maybe I’d know how to help but, we haven’t lived together for years until she came back a year ago, we just have to wait until she comes to terms with everything

“Maybe you could come have a sleepover at my place, get some rest” he hummed

“Id love that but you know how Leah feels about me ever since bella returned” I sighed

Me and Leah use to be friends but then bella came back and she turned to glaring at me, leaving the room every time I’d enter and I never knew why

“She’ll get better I hope, I’ll get sleep eventually, maybe I’ll camp out outside” I laughed feeling sleep slowly creep up on my from the warmth he was creating

“Get some sleep now” he hummed again lulling me to sleep

•*•*•*•

I woke up to the sun in my eyes but I noticed the absence of the warmth that I loved, I opened my eyes and he was gone it was just me on the couch wrapped snuggly in the blanket

I got up with the blanket draped over my shoulders, I walked to the kitchen and dialed the Clearwater residence

“Hello!” I heard that sweet voice of Seth’s mom

“Hi Mrs.Clearwater it’s y/n I was wondering if Seth was there? He left last night without waking me and I wanted to make sure he made it home safe”

“Oh ya, he came back late last night, he said he wasn’t feeling well and he’s come down with a fever”

“Oh no, tell him to call me when he feels better, could I come over and bring him soup?”

“Its probably best if you stay away for a while, don’t want you coming down with this either, but I’ll tell him you called dear” and with that she hung up which was not like her at all

•*•*•*•

I called back everyday for a week and it was the same answer for the first few days, that he was just sick but after the first few days they stopped answering and it was worrying me, Sue, Harry or Seth never treated me like this and it hurt to be completely honest

I didn’t have many friends at school and since Seth was my best friend and went to a different school down at la push, it kinda sucked being in this position

“Hey sweetie you okay?” I turned on the couch to see dad at the door coming back from working

“Oh I’m alright, ummm have you talked to Sue or Harry lately?” I asked

“Ya Harry is coming by later why what’s up?”

“Have they said anything about Seth?”

“Harry mentioned he was under the weather, did something happened between you guys?” He asked sitting in his lounge chair

“I don’t know, we had our movie night last week and I fell asleep but when I woke up he was gone and hasn’t called since and you know he doesn’t do that and tonight is our movie night again and…and I’m just worried, what if maybe I did something to upset him” I asked as my voice waivered

“Hey don’t stress I’m sure it’s nothing, maybe you should go out, clear your head for tonight”

“Maybe you’re right” I sighed as I got up grabbed my headphones, jacket and shoes and head out to the forest paths behind the house

I kept walking through the woods until I reached the cliffs where I knew some guys would recreationally jump

I sat down near the edge feeling the cool wind blow against my skin calming me down, still listening to the music Seth showed me

I stayed like that for a while until the sky turned orange and purple as the sun set

I stood up to leave but when I turned around I was met with glowing eyes

•*•*•*•*•

Part.2<-

PART 2 COMING SOON🤍

475 notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

3 years ago

I need a quote for my yearbook, please help!

8-9 words, preferably short words because there isn't much space. No swear words, science gags excepted but can't be inappropriate because the teacher putting the book together is a science teacher.

live laugh lasagna

1K notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

4 months ago

tonight i feel like more

summary: dry humping. sub daryl (but he doesn’t know it) lets goo. awkward sex. probably ooc. they do everything but kiss LMAOO.

inspired by that one s2/3 panel where norman says if someone tried to kiss daryl he’d start crying cause he isn’t ready for all that. hasnt left my head since i watched it. title from digital bath by deftones

dry humping farm era daryl :( coming out to his secluded tent one night under the guise of checking on his injuries and your playful flirting gets too real too fast somehow. you’re both pent up from what feels like months of tension that you can’t even bother to shed your clothes— or maybe daryl just isn’t ready to cross that threshold yet— it doesn’t even matter because the moment you sit yourself on his broad lap and feel the hard, thick outline of him pressed against you through your clothes, you forget to care.

he’s instantly whining at the friction, ducking his head and using your neck to shield you from seeing how red his face has grown, how embarrassed he is that simply talking to you has made him so hard. you do it on purpose, talking to him in that sweet, endearing tone that you know drives him crazy. constantly teasing him with your eyes and touches until he scoffs off your advances. in your defense, the effect you have on him is just too addicting not to play with a little.

“aw, dar, don’t be shy.” you giggle out quietly, your soft arms coming to rest on his shoulders and intertwine behind his back. “look at me.”

the defiant grunt he lets out doesn’t have the same effect when it cracks with desire. like yanking the leash on a dog, you pull the hair at the nape of his neck firmly enough to send him into action. his pupils are dilated, but his eyes remain squinted stubbornly even as he does as he’s told.

“what? we gonna make out all night like a coupla teenagers?” he attempts to be snarky, but the nervous tremor in his voice betrays him.

“why, is that the farthest you’ve ever gone?” it’s half joking, half a genuine question.

from what you’ve heard, daryl had spent most of his life following merle around like a lost puppy pre-apocalypse. you wonder if any significant others had filled some of the space in between, and a part of you is jealous just thinking about it.

he snorts. “i ain’t no virgin mary, that’s for sure.”

well, that’s too bad. you could’ve really gotten off on being his first.

“oh, okay. so you know what you’re doing then?”

he’s silent, an unreadable expression on his face.

as if to prove a point, you grind down on his bulge with one fluid motion. daryl’s jaw falls slack and a barely there whimper tumbles out, eyes widening up at you with submission, vulnerability. it makes your cunt throb, makes you want to give him everything and make him beg for it at the same time.

“feels good, hm?”

“cmon, stop… stop playin’ around.” he huffs— grits out more like. as if using his voice while he’s in such a compromising position is physically paining him. you watch his eyes drift to your chest, which is quickly rising and falling with your synchronized pants.

“oh, you can do better than that, dixon.” you chide lightly. “what happened to that smart mouth of yours?”

“i… can you…” daryl sucks in a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the spot your groins are connected. “just fuckin’ move.”

you lean back, giving him a better view of the expanse of your torso, the way the strap of your camisole has started to fall down your shoulder. daryl seems to bite the bait, tongue darting out to gather the pool of drool starting to gather around his lip. it rings a laugh out of you.

“with that attitude, i should just go back inside. leave you all alone to take care of yourself.” you threaten. his response is immediate, as his large hands that were once gripping the blankets below him come to hold your waist in place with a bearish grip. waiting, you raise an eyebrow at him.

he looks off to the side. “p…please.”

it’s faint, reluctant. still, the rush of power he’s giving you makes your head spin. he’s realistically much stronger than you, could quickly take control of the situation without breaking a sweat with that advantage alone. but he’s choosing to let you lead, to do as you say. you can’t say it’s something you expected, but you’re not gonna complain.

your lips stretch into a grin, patting his cheek like one would a puppy. “attaboy. that’s what i thought.”

you can feel daryl’s cock kick at the praise, and it encourages you to buck down into it. you both moan at the same time, hands tightening around each other as you continue to slowly drag your cunt along his cock. the heat emanating from your clothes is blossoms in below your navel and traps you in.

“you like that, don’t you? doing what you’re told?” your hips slowly gain speed, hands traveling to perch on daryl’s shoulders. his muscles flex underneath your fingertips from exertion.

he does nothing but lowly whine in response, attempting to duck his head again.

“say it.” you push. “say it or i’ll stop.”

“fuck. yeah. i don’t know.” he grunts, his hips canting to chase your warmth. “i like hearin’ you say it.”

“that you’re being so good for me? letting me get off on your lap?” you tease meanly, lifting forward to talk in his ear. “that your cock feels like heaven right now and it’s not even out of your pants?”

the groan that emits out of him is followed by a frustrated sigh. daryl’s hands shakily run under your shirt, up to your waist. you can tell he’s unsure of his movements.

“you can touch me.” you allow graciously.

building up to it, his hands travel slowly. you almost start to believe he’s purposely teasing, but the clumsiness of it all makes you think otherwise. its like a dam breaks when daryl finally reaches your breasts, the fabric of your top bundling up on your chest. he squeezes hesitantly, then his calloused thumbs circle around your areola as your hips draw circles in his lap. daryl watches your nipples harden in unadulterated fascination, his breathing heavy. either he does know what he’s doing or he’s aimlessly exploring and just so happened to make the right move.

he looks up at you for permission and your nod is all he needs to lean forward, catching one of your supple titties on his tongue. it sends your back arching, nearly knocking him back onto the ground.

“fuck, yeah. just like that, baby.” you feel his spiky hair underneath your fingertips as you tug on the roots for stability, which earns a distinct noise from the man below you. the pleasure curling at your spine from his tongue spurs your movements on, beginning to hump into him with all your effort. his bulge keeps knocking against your clit in a way that has you on the verge of seeing stars. “feels so good, daryl.”

“oh, shit. y’gonna… i’m about to…” his voice splits on the last part and it makes your heart clench, disbelieving as you lift his head up to meet his eyes. sure enough, they’re glistening with unshed tears in the dim light.

“already?” your smile and voice are dripping with sympathy. “it’s okay, let it out. i want to feel it.”

you’re bound to have bruises from how hard daryl squeezes you when he releases. it’s a sight to be seen; his face twisting up, strong muscles bulging as he struggles to stifle the cry that’s ripped out of him. his hips drive up into yours, and you swear you can feel it paint his pants, his cum mingling with the damp spot you’ve left.

“you’re so sensitive. god, that’s hot.”

he’s too high on his orgasm to come up with a retort to that. to his surprise, you continue chasing your own pleasure, paying no mind to the fact that he’s rapidly softening. your hearts racing, body tingling with warmth as you reach the brink.

“wait,” his voice is watery. “s’too much.”

“don’t be selfish, dar. i’m not finished with you yet.” you’re breathless at this point, just barely expending the last of your mental energy to respond to his whines. “you can take it a little longer, can’t you?”

his head falls back, and you’re not sure if the noises come from his mouth are from pain or pleasure or both. he nods anyways, watery eyes flicking down to watch your supple tits bounce.

you squeeze onto his biceps. “you’re being so good. gonna make me cum so hard.”

daryl’s whining and squirming underneath you, fingertips piercing your thighs exposed by your shorts.

“you’re so pretty.” he sniffles, whispers in a way that seems subconscious. “how … how can i help?”

ironically that question, of all things, is what sends to the edge. your orgasm is wrung out of you, rippling through your body like a wave as you spasm on his lap. daryl’s noises rival your own in volume, the overstimulation becoming painful.

you both pant together as the last of the aftershocks fade.

“are you okay?”

“my dick is sore.” daryl says at the same time. his voice is raw, vulnerable.

“i’m sorry.” you giggle breathily, going to stand up. his hands hesitate in letting you go, but eventually he drops them to his sides again.

he scratches the back of his neck as you straighten all of your clothes out.

“where’d you learn to… talk like that?”

a smile makes its way back onto your face as you shrug. “you kinda just brought it out of me. seems like you liked it.” you pointedly glance at the large stain on the front of his pants.

“shit. gonna have to burn these in the walker pit. don’t want carol clutchin’ her pearls at me on laundry day.”

“nuh uh. save ‘em for next time.” you joke.

he squints at you again in true daryl fashion. his face is red and his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat. the sight is almost enough to make you want round two right there and then. maybe with a little less clothes.

“ain’t gon’ be a next time.”

you snort, bending down to grab your forgotten flashlight. “right.”

he watches you unzip the tent, eyebrows pulled together pathetically. there’s definitely going to be a next time.

361 notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

3 weeks ago

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

author's note | i'm taking a little break to work through some series and pre-write but i needed to write a little fix it fic for my own well being. ANYWHO, if you're reading this, thank you <3 and thank you to @chaotic-mystery for the beta read, love you bitch

content warning | hurt/comfort, fix-it-fic, jackson!joel, s2ep2 spoilers, established relationship, medic!reader, wound tending, mentions of leg injury and some face injuries, old man joel using a cane, flirting, fluff, kissing, i'm going to go cry again

word count — 3.8k

He’s breathing. Alive.

You’ve patched up Joel countless times - cuts and gashes that were too far out of reach for him to handle on his own, a busted ankle from a construction project gone wrong, the occasional painkiller to help with his aching bones. He was a regular within the clinic, like most of the patrol team. And he was your favorite, which wasn’t a secret.

But, this was different.

Tommy - as hard as he tried, attempted to shelter you with the rest of Jackson’s women and children, but it was useless.

You spent the last hour patching up the towns wounded and helping lay to the rest some of the less fortunate, but brave people who had attempted to defend Jackson from the impending horde.

In the chaos of cleaning up bloodied bandages and used medical supplies, the front door to the clinic sounds, bells ringing out so deafening it makes your heart stop.

And the sound of Tommy’s panicked voice as he called out your name.

When you turn the corner to catch sight of him, it was Tommy and Jesse carrying a limp, sleeping Joel on a makeshift gurney and equally injured Ellie holding tight to her ribs as Dina and Maria supported her weight, your eyes widening in shock.

“Fuck—I—what happened?” you ask, immediately sliding the supplies off of the only semi-available operating table you had in the office - it used to be a veterinary clinic, but the town was making do with what they had.

“You save my goddamn brother,” Tommy demanded, his tone riddled with an emotional pain you couldn’t fathom, taking the order in stride as you nodded and put your own curiosity aside, slowly accessing the weight of the situation and surmising that this had been an ambush, more or less, “alright?”

You access his knee, jeans matted with blood around his festering wound, his leg tourniqueted by a belt that Tommy explains wasn’t there doing, rather the attackers. His pulse is steady as your fingers over his femoral artery once you’ve cut his jeans open further with the scissors.

“El—Ellie,” your voice shakes slightly, looking over your shoulder to catch her grimace as she hunched over further in pain, “she needs—”

“I’ve got her,” Maria assures you and Tommy, who was understandably only focused on Joel.

You don’t waste another second, working around Tommy on instinct while Jesse followed the girls to the back room, a gentle but reassuring hand on your shoulder as he passes by.

Your hands move gently over his wound, mind racing through every step of triage and trauma care as if your nerves hadn’t already been shot an hour ago. You didn’t know how many wounds you’ve treated today, but Joel’s was the worst—and unspeakably, the most important.

The wound is bad. Deep.

Frayed flesh around the spread of the bullet, a shotgun you can assume, already turning an angry red. The steps were simple, fortunately. You’ll have to clean it out, maybe even dig if the bullet fragments were lodged in deep.

His face is a mosaic of bruises and dried blood, and he hasn’t stirred once.

That—more than the sight of the injury itself—makes something in your chest clench.

Tommy’s gripping the table tight, white knuckling as his jaw clenched in worry.

“Do I want to know?” you ask softly.

Tommy shakes his head slightly, “Ellie ain’t said much—jus’ know whatever the problem was, it isn’t one anymore.”

“He’s gonna need blood,” you explain to him as you work quietly but carefully on the wound, grateful that most of the issue was at the surface and that with enough time to heal and consistent check-ins, Joel would recover.

Undoubtedly with a limp, but you knew Joel—he’d manage.

The quiet is unsettling, though.

He should be fighting this. Groaning. Cursing. Something.

But he’s still.

Too still.

Tommy stays rooted in place like he’s afraid Joel will vanish if he lets go.

Part of you carries that fear, too.

With the attack on Jackson, everything seemed up in the air.

“I need you to keep your hand here,” you say firmly, guiding his hand to the artery in his leg, feeling the steady pulse underneath your fingertips. “Count the beats, focus. If it slows, weakens—don’t wait, tell me.”

Tommy nods, jaw still clenched tight.

He’s got blood dripping from a cut in his brow, covered in dirt and grime, streaks on his face from the tears he was shedding quietly, it was your only attempt to busy his mind.

You work diligently, more focused than you had been all evening.

Forceps clink against the metal tray as you dig out fragments, your breath hitching every time Joel twitches—barely, like his body’s fighting beneath layers of pain and unconsciousness.

You glance toward the IV stand that was taped to hell, barely holding on.

Just like everything else in Jackson at the moment – like Joel.

“I’m gonna flush the wound,” you murmur more to yourself than Tommy, gripping the saline syringe with steady hands. “Then I’ll stitch it. Antibiotics to be safe. He’ll need pain meds and I need to work on the cuts to his face, but I want his body to rest. We have morphine stored away, but I know Joel will probably refuse…”

Tommy doesn’t respond. Just keeps his hand pressed where you told him, eyes locked on Joel’s face like he’s willing him to wake.

“He still needs blood, Tommy,” you remind him, “but I don’t know his blood type.”

“I’m O-negative,” Tommy interjects.

“That works,” you assure him, nodding for him to sit as you grab the supplies to draw Tommy’s blood, unflinching as the needle slips into his vein.

It’s all rather quick, kneeling to hold the bag as it fills while Tommy stares at his brother, looking briefly over your shoulder to catch his breathing, a slow rise and fall.

“He’s gonna be alright,” you assure Tommy, “the worst outcome here is him complaining about having to use a cane, if it comes to that.

Quietly, you tend to the small head wound that Tommy has and he doesn’t even attempt to argue, eyes flickering to your briefly at the gesture, tilting his head up for better access.

You move efficiently, like muscle memory as you tape up his wound before transferring the blood and prepping the line for Joel.

The line finds Joel’s vein without much resistance, and you secure it with shaking fingers, your breath held as the dark crimson slowly, mercifully begins to flow into his body.

“C’mon, Joel,” you whisper under your breath. “Not you.”

“He was in and out on the way here,” Tommy comments, holding the cotton ball to use the wound as he stands and you quickly return to him to bandage up and pressure the wound, “but now he’s just…still. That ain’t good,”

“It’s the body responding to the pain,” you remind him, “he’s clearly lost a lot of blood, his face is bruised—the important thing is he’s breathing and his pulse is good. Just…let me work on him. Go check on Ellie.”

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at Joel like his feet were already rooted permanently to the floor. Then his eyes shift to yours—tired, firm, unwavering—and he nods, finally stepping away.

Just far enough to check on Ellie.

Just long enough to breathe.

The second he’s gone, it’s just you and Joel.

–

The room feels colder without the presence of Tommy’s worry.

You stitch slowly, methodically, carefully maneuvering around the skin until you are satisfied, constantly eyeing Joel to gauge a reaction, noticing some of his color had returned, hair damp with melted snow.

If he was awake he’d be grumbling and complaining and part of you hates how much you wanted to hear it as you bandage up his knee, assuring that bleeding was under control before you removed the belt on his upper thigh and grabbing a spare blanket to drape over his body as you move down to tend to his face, riddled with cuts and bruises.

You press a hand against his and pull it to his chest, resting gently against the fabric of his shirt.

His palm is rough, calloused, and warm—thank god, still warm.

You clean the last of the blood from his face, wiping gently along the arc of his brow, around the corner of his eye that was slightly swollen. A bruise is blooming dark down the line of his jaw, but under it—his face is still familiar.

Still him.

After a stretch of time that feels like eternity, Maria and Tommy return to the front room of the clinic, looking fearful as their eyes land on Joel.

“He’s alright,” you assure them both, “he probably needed the rest, too.”

Tommy chuckles weakly at that, “I—we’re…we’re gonna go pick up Benji, but we’ll be back, alright?”

You nod in response, “I’m not leaving until he wakes up Tommy, I promised.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tommy says endearingly, approaching you with arms open slightly, enveloping you into a short hug that were few and far between, “Ellie’s asleep, too. Dina and Jesse are sticking around until she settles.”

The front door clicks shut behind Tommy and Maria, the heavy silence seeping back in soon after.

You don’t move far, bringing a stool to sit beside Joel.

The clinic is dim now, the lights softened by fucky wiring as the evening crept in.

You can hear Jesse’s and Dina’s muffled voice in the back—low and quiet—and the distant creak of the cot Ellie’s curled into. But here, in this room, it’s just you.

And Joel, and the quiet hum of his breathing.

You reach up to brush a stray bit of hair from his temple, your hand pausing just above his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whisper. “If you were awake, I’d be screaming at you,”

And you know he’d only smile.

Joel doesn’t respond, but his breathing shifts.

Not much—just enough to prove he’s still there, riding the edge of sleep and pain.

“You enjoy it, though. You always laugh, I know it’s pointless and that you’re just stubborn as all hell and I’m willing to put up with it,” you push the few strands of hair away from his face and sigh, “guess there’s a reason why you always ask for me.”

A few hours pass, the night creeping in slowly amongst the storm that roared outside.

You glance at his hand after a thorough check-up and redressing his wound for good measure, still resting palm-up where you’d placed it. Hesitant, your fingers slip into his, lacing slowly.

You wait. No squeeze.

But, the warmth is enough.

Then, a shift.

A low grunt, almost imperceptible.

Your breath catches. You look up sharply, eyes scanning his face. One eye twitches. His brow furrows just slightly.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth moves.

“Ellie?” he asks weakly, squeezing your hand back.

Tears burn your eyes before you can stop them, relief flooding your chest in waves.

You squeeze his hand back again. Tight. “She’s okay—she’s good,” you whisper quickly, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, not that it helps.

Joel breathes out, like the tension’s finally releasing from somewhere deep inside his chest.

You watch the slow rise and fall of him for a moment, just taking it in. Life.

Then his eyes crack open, albeit one is swollen, but hazy and bloodshot and focused on you.

His brows twitch as he looks at you.

“You cryin’?” he rasps, voice rough but teasing.

Even now, he teases you.

“You worried the hell out of me,” you tell him.

“Did I?” Joel asks genuinely, “M’sorry, darlin’.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Joel grimaces and makes a soft noise, “S’all touch and go, right now. I’m really tired, that normal?”

“I gave you some painkillers,” you explain, “probably why.”

Joel looks around gingerly, noting the mess with an amused expression.

“Cleaned up real nice for me, didn’t you?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you mutter dryly, shifting to adjust the blanket over him. “Next time, I’ll set up some mood lighting and put some music on for you.”

Joel groans low in his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Nah. You singin’ for me would be good enough.”

You snort softly, “I don’t sing.”

“Shame,” he murmurs, barely audible, his eyes slipping closed again. “Bet it’d be real pretty, you got a pretty voice, know you’d sing pretty too.”

Your chest squeezes, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath you can’t quite take.

“You’re losing it, old man.”

Joel smiles weakly.

“Maybe.”

A long pause and he speaks even soften.

“Still think you got a nice voice, though.”

–

You stay beside him. Even after he dozes back off, you don’t move—not far. Never quite letting go of his hand either. Just shift the stool closer and brace your elbow on the edge of the bed, chin tucked in your other hand.

The storm outside has softened, now more wind than snow, rattling the windows with every gust.

You don’t realize you’ve nodded off until something shifts. A sound—low, grumbly.

“…you snore a little,” Joel rasps.

You straighten quickly and shake your head, blinking through a sleep haze as you answer him defiantly, “I do not, Miller.”

“Oh—you do, sweetheart,” Joel challenges, a subtle smirk playing at his face, staring at you through his swollen eye.

“Good to know you never stop being insufferable,” you tease him.

“Just like seein’ you laugh,” Joel admits before a silence grows, a look of subtle concern crossing his face, “How bad was it? The horde?”

“We’ve dealt with stuff like that before, maybe not at that level but it isn’t something we’re not prepared for. A couple didn’t make it, got bitten defending the watchtower—Jackson can always rebuild, we mourn, move on, you know? With you, s’different,”

Joel, for once, doesn’t know how to respond.

You see it then—that quiet, careful look he sometimes gives you when he thinks you're not watching. Like he’s cataloguing you. Not in some grand, poetic way. More like he’s memorizing how you look when you're safe. When he needs the reminder of it.

You’re too tired to do anything but meet it.

“I ain't goin' anywhere,” he says finally, voice rough but firm, “You can stop lookin’ at me like I’m about to flatline.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Joel smirks faintly. “You’ve been holdin’ my hand for a while,”

“Oh,” it started to feel like an extension of you, his touch, but you slowly attempted to retract.

“Don’t,” Joel tells you, gripping your hand tighter, shifting his head against the makeshift pillow underneath his head that you had made out of his jacket halfway through the night.

“Thanks for not givin’ up on me,” Joel says gently,

You glance over, unsure how to respond at first.

“You really think I would?”

“Dunno,” he says, voice low, “don’t really think I deserve the effort anymore from anyone…”

He trails off, but it hangs between you anyway.

The way he says it—soft, raw—like the words snuck out before he could stop it.

You lean in slightly, brushing your thumb just once over the back of his hand.

“I’m not anyone, Joel.”

Joel looks at you again, his expression shifting.

His fingers curl around yours again. Warmer this time. Intentional.

“Five years I’ve known you—I’ve patched your ass up more times than I can count. I’ve had dinners with you, beers with you and your brother. This isn’t my attempt at gaining some good karma. I care about you just as much as the rest of this town.”

“You’re too good to me,” Joel says quietly.

–

Jackson rebuilds, but it takes time.

Eventually, you find out that the assailants were after Joel—but Jesse and Ellie had shown up at a crucial point in the ambush that saved Joel and Dina’s life, despite his extensive injuries.

And Joel, stubborn as he was, began to heal.

The first few weeks are slow, mostly bed-ridden - or office-ridden, leg propped up at his desk as he and Tommy planned out the rebuild process and you rounded your daily office visit to him for assurance that he was taking the antibiotics you had given him and checking on his wound.

It takes a few months, but he does get on his feet again.

He’s resilient, you’ll give him that. An injury that would take no less than six to eight months before the healing was done and Joel was already moving, though with some noticeable pain.

You spot him halfway down the main road on the first name where Jackson was finally starting to feel normal again, walking out of the Tipsy Bison with a pronounced limp.

You sigh to yourself, shifting the object under your arm and start down the road.

“Joel Miller.”

He doesn’t stop walking, but he flinches a little.

He’s been avoiding you for a couple weeks now, knowing how insistent you had been about him using something to support his leg, just to give it a break once in a while.

“I will chase you down.”

He stops.

You close the distance, holding up the object in your hand.

“If you don’t use this, I’m following you everywhere, barring you from walking, and pushing you around in a wheelchair.”

He eyes the cane. Then your face. Then the cane again.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

He scowls. “I’m not usin’ a damn cane.”

“You’re still healing,” you tell him, “and if you care about my worries—you’ll use it.”

“That’s low,” Joel counters,

You had spent a week sanding down the cane to a smooth texture, rounding out the handle to something comfortable to grip, even polished it up. It was extravagant or crazy, but it was clearly made with love.

“Did you make it?” Joel asks curiously.

“Doesn’t matter,” You shrug.

Joel smirks at that.

You had. He knows it.

He takes it wordlessly, wrapping his fingers around the handle and planting it into the ground.

He tests it out wordlessly, leaning his weight into it and only slightly annoyed at how it eases the weight on his injured leg, looking up at you sheepishly.

“So….should I say it now or?”

“Zip it,” Joel retorts with a faint playfulness, “it…helps, s’real nice of you, you know?”

You raise your brow. “You sayin’ I was right? Knowing you needed it?”

“Don’t push it.” Joel warns

“Say it.” you tease with a flirtatious smile that doesn’t go amiss.

Joel sighs, scratching at his jaw. “You were… not completely wrong.”

You beam, and he rolls his eyes, though the edge of his mouth quirks up.

After a beat, he taps the cane gently against the side of your boot.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask.

–

There wasn’t any indication of where you were walking to, but naturally you drift to your shared street, homes sitting on opposite sides of the street, but near enough that you were only a short walk away.

The cane clicks softly against the dirt road like a steady metronome to the quiet shuffle of your boots. His limp is pronounced, but less severe than it was a few weeks ago.

The streets are quieter these days. Jackson feels like it's exhaling after holding in a long overdue breath.

Joel walks with his shoulder close to yours. Not touching, but close enough that it would only take a shift. He’s never been one for words, not when the moment matters most—but his silence is full of meaning.

Or, maybe he is just savoring the peace.

“You really made this?” he asks again after a few paces, like he needs to be sure.

You nod shyly, hands shoving into your coat pockets.

He’s quiet for a while, but then, “It’s real thoughtful of you.”

“I was gonna carve your name into it, actually,” you joke, nudging him gently with your elbow, “but Tommy said that was a bad idea.”

Joel chuckles low under his breath. “He’d be right.”

Through your sudden shared laughter, your knuckles brush.

It’s nothing, but it feels like so much.

As you approach your houses, Joel turns to you.

“Do you need anything?” you ask him gently. “I can stop by later if you need some pain meds or anything? Or yell at you for not resting up at home like you should.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head. “Always lookin’ for a reason to yell at me, huh?”

“Only ‘cause you keep givin’ me so many,” you tease.

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face in the too quiet dark.

“You stayed the whole night,” he says finally, like he’s been holding it in for a while.

“I told Tommy I wouldn’t leave until you woke up.”

Joel nods once. He shifts his weight on the cane, hesitating just slightly, before adding, “I heard you—talkin’ to me.”

“You did?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Well, that’s…embarrassing.”

Joel’s gaze drops to your hand lingering close to his—he hadn’t even realized he’d reached out until it was too late, his hand dwarfing your own in a gentle hold of your fingertips.

It’s a small touch, but it grounds him.

You flinch slightly at the touch, feeling the heaviness of the moment

“You can let go,” he says, looking back up at you.

You smile faintly. “I don’t want to.”

Joel hums thoughtfully. “Seems I don’t want to either,”

And in that soft hum between houses, under the stars beginning to peek through the roaming clouds overhead, Joel leans in, his cane shifting a few inches behind you as he leans his weight into it to reach you, his lips pressing against yours in a quiet, tender moment of vulnerability under the dim street lights.

“Never got to thank you properly,” Joel admits.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” you ask curiously.

“Can be,” Joel responds mischievously, a smirk tugging at his lips as you pull back to look at him.

“I think you can do better,” you challenge him, nose brushing against his own.

“You’re damn right,” he agrees, using his free hand to curve around the back of your neck as he pulls you in, stealing your breath away with the second press of his lips.

When he parts, you can’t help but giggle against him, an indescribable feeling tightening your chest.

“Yeah…that’s—” You breath stutters as you nod, “that’ll do.”

Joel chuckles softly, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Good, ‘cause I got a lot of thankin’ to make up for.”

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago