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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

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It Only Falls Into Place When You're Falling To Pieces

Summary: There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

Pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ HEAVY ANGST, Fluff, Crying, Tears, Sadness, Apocalypse, Cordyceps, Infected, Major Character Death(s), Funerals, Grief, PTSD, Depression, Kissing, Blood, Morgue, Star-Crossed Lovers, TLOU 2 Spoilers,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: Fml. I know that you know I don’t usually write angst, but fuck man, I need to mourn and maybe so do you… God I'm so sad. Like we knew the story and how it would end for Joel. Even if you think you're ready... But I know this from experience, even if you've braced yourself, brutality like this... will hurt a lot.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Still by Noah Kahan

Joel Miller Masterlist | MAIN MASTERLIST |

WYOMING, JACKSON — 2029

The mornings were slow in Jackson. Slow in a way that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t living in the end times anymore.

Joel had a habit of waking up before you. Not out of routine or discipline, but out of muscle memory. The kind that sticks even when the world’s long since changed.

Sometimes, he made coffee. Sometimes, he just sat at the table, plucking at his guitar in soft, incomplete chords while the sun started to push through the windows. The house you shared wasn’t big or fancy. But it was warm. It was quiet. It had his coat always draped over the same chair, his boots by the door, the scent of cedar and pine from the little woodworking studio in one of the rooms.

It had Joel.

You found yourself drifting toward him more often than not. Whether he was sanding a piece of maple or trying to shape a leg for a rocking chair he swore he’d finish someday, he let you linger. You’d sit on the bench next to him, fingers curled around a warm mug. He’d hand you scraps to practice carving, smiling softly when you accidentally broke off a corner.

“‘S alright,” he’d murmur, brushing sawdust off your cheek with a thumb. “Takes time.”

Everything with Joel took time.

Loving him. Learning him. Earning the space between his heart and the pain he never quite put into words.

But the quiet in Jackson gave you time. Time to laugh with him over burned dinners, to slow dance in the kitchen when he played a familiar tune, to lay on the couch with your head on his chest while he told you about old country songs and the guitar he lost in Austin.

And it gave him time, too.

Time to lower his walls. To see you not as a danger, but as something steady—something soft he could rest in. Time to share pieces of himself he rarely offered to anyone, fragile corners he'd kept locked away.

He would look at you and think, If I were braver. If I could just say it.

He’d imagine the words on his tongue, how they’d change everything the second they left his mouth. But he wasn’t ready—not brave enough, not honest enough.

So he just looked at you instead.

And maybe you knew. Maybe you always knew.

Because he did love you.

In quiet, consistent ways. In the way he made your coffee just how you liked it. In the way he memorized the sound of your laugh. In every glance, every softened breath, every moment where he didn’t walk away.

He didn’t love you because he was lonely—Joel had long since learned how to survive in the silence.

He loved you because your light made the dark seem less like a prison and more like a place he could leave behind.

It started small.

A found thing—half-buried in the snow behind the stables. You’d been looking for spare nails in a busted old toolbox when you saw it: a film camera. Dusty, scratched up, but the click still worked. You brought it back like a prize.

Joel looked up from the guitar he was restringing, brow furrowed. “You went diggin’ around in that old junkyard again?”

You grinned, breath fogging the air. “Found treasure.”

He squinted at the thing in your hand like it might bite him. “You sure that ain’t just some broken plastic?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched you tinker with it all afternoon, wiping the lens clean with your sleeve, warming the roll of film between your palms to bring it back to life. You caught him staring more than once—chin propped in his hand, fingers idle on the frets of a guitar he’d been meaning to finish tuning.

When it finally worked, you snapped a picture of the sunset from your porch. Then one of his back as he worked, his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, calloused hands steady over the worn wood.

You took one of his profile too. He’d been humming low under his breath, unaware.

“Hey,” he said, catching the click. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re handsome when you’re focused.”

He huffed a laugh, but he didn’t stop you when you raised the camera again.

Later that week, you asked him for one together.

“C’mere,” you said, tugging at the front of his jacket. “Just one. You might like the memory someday.”

He looked reluctant, like the idea of being frozen in time made him itch. But he let you lead him into the light. You kissed him on the cheek just as the timer clicked. He smiled, wide and surprised and real.

The photo came out a little blurry. But your mouth was pressed to his skin, his eyes crinkled with something close to joy. You kept it in your coat pocket like it might keep you warm.

Sometimes, he came into the kitchen just to touch you.

No reason. No words. Just drawn to you like muscle memory.

You’d be standing at the counter, elbow-deep in something mundane—rinsing mugs, slicing vegetables, stirring whatever was bubbling in the pot—when suddenly there’d be a shift in the air behind you. A warmth. A quiet presence.

Then, Joel’s arms would wind around your waist, firm and steady, palms pressing low on your stomach, right through the thin fabric of your shirt. His chest would settle against your back like it belonged there, like you were meant to carry each other’s weight.

“You makin’ somethin’ good?” he’d mumble into your hair, voice rough with sleep or fresh air or maybe just the softness you always brought out of him.

You barely had time to answer before you’d feel it—his nose brushing just beneath your ear, his scruff scratching tender against your neck. The kind of touch that made the air feel thick with heat and memory.

“You smell like cinnamon,” he whispered one evening, lips grazing the spot where your jaw met your throat.

You stilled, blinking down at the spoon in your hand. “You been sniffin’ me, Miller?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, slow and sweet, like molasses in summer. “You’re intoxicatin’, darlin’. Makes a man forget what he came in here for.”

His mouth followed the curve of your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse. Slow. Patient. Like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

You laughed then, breath catching in your throat. It wasn’t loud—it didn’t need to be. Just a soft, breathless sound that filled the space between your bodies as you leaned back into him, hips settling against his.

The laughter didn’t last long. It never did when his hands started to move—one curling around your hip, the other slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

The spoon slipped from your fingers and clattered into the sink, forgotten.

You turned slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and whispered, “The stew’s gonna burn.”

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling just enough to be trouble.

“Let it.”

One night, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

It was late, storm tapping at the windows, fire burning low. You were tucked beneath his arm on the couch, legs over his lap, your hand tucked into the worn flannel of his shirt. He kissed you once, then again, then a hundred more times.

Short, sweet little things.

He kissed your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. You giggled, cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling.

“Joel,” you whispered, nose scrunched, lips twitching. “What are you doing?”

His palms cradled your face like you were something delicate. Like he’d break if he didn’t touch you just right.

“Memorizing you,” he said. Then he kissed the giggle right off your lips.

Your hands curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, lips sliding together like they belonged there.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice came out low and honest, barely above a breath:

“You’re everythin’ darlin’.”

He didn’t say he loved you.

Not with words.

But in every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every photo you took that he let you keep—he showed you.

And somehow, that meant more.

Love shows up in the quiet moments with Joel. Always has been.

Not in grand declarations or fireworks. Not in promises whispered beneath starlight or etched into stone. No, with Joel, love slips in softly—through the cracks of everyday life, in the pauses between sentences, in the silence he lets you share without needing to fill it. It’s there when the world is loud, and he chooses to be quiet with you. When everything aches and he doesn’t try to fix it—just stays.

It’s the way your hand always finds his, especially when he’s got that look about him—brows drawn low, eyes shadowed, body still as a storm about to break. You’ve come to know it well, that kind of tension that settles in his shoulders like he’s bracing against something only he can see. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel like peace, but like he’s waiting to run or fight or fall apart.

So you reach for him.

You don’t announce it, don’t make a show of it. Just slide your hand into his, palm against his rough calloused skin, fingers curling between his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. Because you’ve done this before, countless times. Every time the ghosts get too loud or the silence feels too sharp. You hold his hand and he lets you, and that’s how you know—how you always know—he’s letting you in again.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Just breathes out slow, like your touch takes some of the weight off, even if it’s just a fraction. His jaw unclenches. His shoulders drop a little. You can feel it—the shift, the surrender, the trust.

“Y’okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, soft enough that it could be mistaken for wind slipping through the seams of the old house, rustling the curtains just enough to remind you that the world is still turning outside these walls.

Joel looks at you. Not a glance. A real look. The kind that lingers. The kind that says more than words ever could. His eyes are tired, but there’s something else there too—something quieter, gentler, something that only ever surfaces around you.

His thumb moves in a slow arc across your knuckles, and when he answers, it’s not just with words. It’s in the way his grip tightens slightly, not desperate, just present.

“I am now,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, frayed at the edges. Like maybe he’s been holding it in all day, maybe even longer. Like your hand in his unlocked something he didn’t know he needed to say.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You lean into him instead, resting your head on his shoulder, letting the weight of you press gently against him like a tether. Like a promise. His arm slips around you, steady and sure, palm settling at your hip. He presses a kiss into your hair—right at the crown of your head, like a seal, like a prayer, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.

The room around you is quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire. Outside, snow falls soundlessly, blanketing the world in soft white. And inside, it’s warm. Not just from the fire—but from him. From this.

From the way he holds you like you’re something he never thought he’d have again. Like the simple act of your hand in his might keep the darkness at bay for one more night.

With Joel, love doesn’t shout. It doesn’t need to.

It just stays.

And that’s always been more than enough.

The mornings are always slow.

Time feels syrup-thick when the sun hasn’t fully crested the horizon yet, and sleep still clings to your limbs like molasses. Your body is heavy, cocooned in the tangle of sheets still warm from the man who slept beside you. The air is cool beyond the bed, but the mattress holds the echo of his heat, and it makes you reluctant to move, even as your senses start to stretch awake.

You shift lazily, one arm reaching across the bed to where Joel had been moments ago. It’s empty now, his absence a soft dip in the mattress, but the scent of him lingers—cedarwood, a trace of leather, the faint hint of salt and earth from yesterday’s long walk back into Jackson. Comforting. Familiar.

You pry one eye open, squinting into the low light. Joel’s already sitting at the edge of the bed, the muscles of his back broad and bare, catching a gentle glint from the early morning haze seeping in through the window. He’s halfway through pulling on his shirt, slow and steady, the way he always is in the mornings. A quiet man doing quiet things.

Without thinking, without even fully waking, your hand slips out from beneath the covers and finds him.

Your fingers wrap loosely around his wrist—barely a tug, just enough to let him know you’re there, still tethered to him. And then you shift closer, burying your face against the small of his back, pressing a soft, languid kiss to the warm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Mmm... good mornin’, Joel,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, muffled by the skin beneath your lips.

He pauses. Still for a moment, like the warmth of your kiss stopped time. Then he breathes out, slow and fond, and turns slightly—just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes crinkle at the corners, soft with affection, and that familiar crooked smile curves beneath the rough scruff of his jaw.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is rough and low, like gravel soaked in honey, warm enough to melt straight through your bones.

You hum in response, already halfway to sleep again, forehead resting against his back. The bed creaks softly as he shifts, brushing his hand over your tangled hair in a slow, affectionate stroke. His thumb lingers at your temple, then trails down to the curve of your cheek, gentle and grounding.

“Go on,” he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss into your hair. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

You don’t answer, not really. Just let out a sigh that sounds like peace and contentment all wrapped into one. He stands slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the blankets more than necessary, and as he moves toward the hearth, you stay curled in the warmth he left behind—your hand resting in the space where his had been, eyes slipping closed again.

You listen to the familiar rhythm of him moving through the room—boots being tugged on, the scrape of kindling, the gentle snap of a match. The softest clink of metal on stone. And through it all, the quiet knowledge that this is what love is.

Not always words. Not always fire and thunder.

But this.

These mornings. These moments. Him.

Sometimes, when the world gets too loud—even in Jackson—you find yourself gravitating toward him without a thought.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the bustle of the market, the chatter of passing patrols, or just the quiet hum of a too-long day catching up with your bones. Something in your chest tightens, overwhelmed and aching for something quieter, something still. And so you find Joel.

He’s usually somewhere close—he always is. Maybe talking with Tommy, maybe checking the perimeter, maybe just standing there with his arms crossed like he’s holding up the whole damn sky on his back again. But the moment your arms circle around his middle, everything else seems to fall away.

You press yourself into him, chest to his back, arms around his waist, and your face buries instinctively in the crook of his neck. That space between shoulder and jaw where you swear the whole world could stop and you wouldn’t mind. The smell of him hits you instantly—faint cedarwood, worn leather, a trace of smoke from the fire pit, and something else too. Something warm and steady and Joel.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away or ask what’s wrong. He just lets out a quiet hum, low in his chest, and leans back into your touch. His hands find yours where they’re linked around his stomach, thumbs brushing idly over your knuckles. You feel the weight of his chin as he rests it gently on top of your head, and then the press of a kiss into your hair—soft, unthinking, like muscle memory.

It’s the kind of affection that doesn’t ask for attention. Doesn’t need an occasion. It just is.

You breathe him in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. Let your eyes flutter shut. Let the rest of the world blur into background noise.

“I missed this,” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, the words barely more than a sigh. You don’t even mean the moment, exactly—you mean the peace of it. The quiet. The him of it all.

Joel turns his head just a little, enough for the edge of his beard to scratch gently against your forehead. His voice is soft when he replies, but there’s something thick in it, something full.

“You’re right here,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gotta miss a thing.”

You shift your face closer, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Sometimes I still do,” you admit.

He nods once, like he gets it without needing you to explain. “Yeah,” he says, his hand trailing up to cup the back of your head. “Me too.”

And for a long moment, neither of you say anything more. You just stand there, wrapped up in each other, while the world spins noisily on around you—too loud, too fast, too much.

But here, in the shelter of his arms, in the crook of his neck, everything is quiet. Everything is enough.

Crowds were never your thing.

Too many people pressed in too close, too many voices overlapping, footsteps echoing off wood and brick. Even in a place like Jackson—safe, familiar—it could still feel like too much. You were used to being on alert, always aware of exits and shadows, always bracing for what could go wrong. Old habits from the world outside didn’t die easily.

Joel wasn’t much better with crowds. Maybe a little quieter about it, a little more practiced at hiding the way his shoulders stiffened when someone brushed past too close. But you’d seen it. The way his jaw would flex when he was trying to be polite but already had one foot out the door in his head. The way his hand sometimes hovered near his belt like he was missing the feel of his rifle.

And yet, here you were.

The town hall was full to bursting, the whole place humming with life. It was some kind of celebration—maybe a harvest, maybe a birthday, maybe people just needed a reason to dance and drink and pretend that the world hadn’t ended outside those walls. Whatever it was, it was loud. Laughter spilled from every corner. Music vibrated through the floorboards. Glasses clinked together and boots stomped in time with the beat.

You stood near the far end of the room, half-heartedly nursing a cup of water, swaying just a little in time with the song playing—more to keep your nerves from buzzing than for enjoyment. You scanned the room like you always did. Faces. Movements. That unconscious search for something familiar, something grounding.

And then your eyes found Joel.

He was on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning against a wooden support beam, arms folded loosely across his chest. He hadn’t joined the dance, hadn’t made a plate from the food table. Just stood there, scanning the crowd—and you knew in your bones he’d been looking for you.

When your eyes met, the noise dulled. Not all at once. It didn’t go silent or freeze like in the movies. But it faded. As if the current of the room moved around the two of you instead of through.

You were mid-sip when it happened, your fingers curled around the cool tin cup, lips barely brushing the rim. But as soon as you caught his gaze, you paused.

It wasn’t a grand thing. No sweeping declarations. Just a glance. A quiet, steady look that said you’re here, and I see you, and that’s all I need.

You tilted your head a fraction, the corner of your mouth twitching upward into the kind of smile you only saved for him—small, but true. Your chest softened. Your breath eased.

Across the room, Joel’s lips quirked into that familiar little half-smile, the one that never quite reached both corners of his mouth, but you knew what it meant. He gave a subtle nod. Nothing flashy. Nothing for show.

Just, I see you too.

You held that look for a second longer, your body still surrounded by the warmth and noise and movement of the room, but none of it really touched you. Not in that moment. Not with his gaze wrapped around you like a thread pulled taut across the distance.

And even though no one said a word, something passed between you.

You smile again, this one a little wider, a little softer. A silent message of your own: I’m not going anywhere.

And Joel’s eyes softened like he heard it loud and clear.

You hum sometimes, without even knowing you’re doing it. It just slips out—soft and low, the way wind moves through tall grass. A half-remembered tune from before the world went sideways. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe from your childhood, maybe your mother’s voice singing over the hiss of boiling water. It’s not the melody that matters. It’s the feeling that comes with it—warmth, familiarity, something that once meant home.

Sometimes, when your mind is far away, you whistle it instead. Just a few notes, carried on your breath.

Joel never interrupts. Never tells you to stop or asks you to hush. He just listens—quietly, carefully, like the sound of your humming settles something in him too. Like maybe the song is stitching him back together in places neither of you can quite name.

He’s usually out on the porch when it happens, sitting on the old wooden steps with one of the guitars he’s been fixing up. Strings stretched taut, frets worn smooth by time and hands that once knew chords. His fingers—rough and weathered—move slow and steady as he tunes it. Every so often, he plucks a string, listens, adjusts. The sun casts a soft amber glow across his forearms, painting the scars in gold.

You’re nearby. Always. Curled up with your legs folded beneath you, back resting against one of the porch posts. A blanket draped over your shoulders. You hum like peace lives in your chest and is trying to find its way out.

Joel glances up when he hears it—mid-strum, his brow relaxed, lips parted just slightly like he’s about to say something but doesn’t. He just looks at you for a moment, and everything about him softens. His shoulders drop. The line between his brows disappears. Like the sound of you is the first deep breath he’s taken all day.

“What’s that song?” he asks after a while, his voice breaking the silence like it belongs there. Low and warm, barely above the hush of wind.

You pause, the melody tapering off in your throat. Your eyes flick toward the sky, as if the answer might be waiting somewhere in the clouds.

“Not sure,” you murmur, a smile tugging lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Mama used to sing it when she was cooking. I think it used to be on the radio, too. One of those songs that just… stuck.”

Joel nods, the kind of slow, thoughtful nod that doesn’t need words to follow. He strums another chord, something soft and sweet, and leans back on his elbows.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “Keep goin’. I like it.”

There’s something in the way he says it—something that makes your chest ache in that soft, full kind of way. The kind of ache that’s not about pain at all, but about being known. About being seen and loved for the quiet parts of yourself you didn’t think anyone else noticed.

So you hum again, picking up where you left off. Joel doesn’t look away. He keeps strumming, matching your rhythm now. Not quite harmonizing. Just being there with you, in it.

And for a little while, the world feels like it’s made of nothing but warm wood, old songs, and two people learning how to feel safe again.

You’re curled up together in bed one night, everything quiet except the low pop and crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. The room glows in soft amber and gold, the shadows on the walls swaying like they’re dancing to the rhythm of your breathing. Outside, wind brushes against the windows, but inside, it’s warm. Safe. Still.

Joel lies flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped loosely around your waist. You’re pressed into his side, head resting just below his collarbone, your hand lazily combing through his hair—fingertips tracing gentle, aimless patterns. His hair’s soft tonight, freshly washed and still carrying the faint scent of cedar soap and woodsmoke.

Neither of you speaks for a while. There’s no need. Just the hush between heartbeats and the sound of Joel’s steady breathing, slow and even beneath your ear.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whisper eventually, your voice thick with sleep. Each word melts into the warmth of his skin. Your eyes are already slipping closed, lashes brushing his chest. You don’t even know if he hears you.

But then you feel it—Joel’s arm tightening around your waist, his hand sliding up under your shirt just enough to rest against your spine, warm and grounding.

“Then don’t move,” he murmurs, voice rough with tiredness and something gentler, deeper. The kind of softness he only ever shows in moments like this, when the world is quiet and his guard is down. “Ain’t no one tellin’ us to go anywhere.”

You smile into the dark, into the skin of his chest, feeling it rise and fall beneath your cheek. His heartbeat thumps slow and steady, and you swear you could fall asleep to that sound alone.

Joel shifts slightly, just enough to press a kiss into the top of your head. His lips linger there—like a promise more than anything spoken.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles.

“So are you,” you say, voice feather-light.

A comfortable silence settles in again. Your fingers slow in his hair, curling around a soft wave near his temple. His hand stays at your back, thumb drawing idle shapes you’re too sleepy to name.

The fire crackles. The wind hums. And you drift off like that—wrapped up in him, hand still in his hair, the weight of his love wrapped around you like a second blanket. Nothing else matters. Not out there. Not tomorrow. Just this.

Just him.

The temperature dips before the sun even brushes the horizon. The last of the daylight clings to the sky in hazy streaks of orange and violet, but the wind has already turned sharp, biting through the seams of your jacket. You and Joel walk side by side down the path back toward Jackson, boots crunching over patches of frost-laced grass and half-frozen dirt.

You don’t say much—patrols tend to leave a certain kind of quiet between you, a silence that doesn’t need filling. But you can feel the chill starting to settle deep in your bones, your fingers stiff and cheeks raw from the cold. You try to rub your hands together for warmth, but it’s useless. The wind is relentless.

Joel notices, of course. His eyes flick over to you, worried in that subtle way he is—more tension in the jaw, more silence than usual. You know he’s about to offer you his coat or tell you he should’ve brought that extra scarf.

So before he can open his mouth, you reach out and grab a fistful of his jacket.

Without a word, you tug him in. Joel stumbles the smallest step forward, surprised but not resisting. You pull until you're chest to chest, until the warmth of his body bleeds into yours. Your frozen hands slip under the back hem of his coat and find the soft flannel of his shirt underneath, palms pressing flat against the heat of his spine.

“Jesus,” Joel mutters, letting out a breath that puffs white between you, his arms automatically sliding around your waist. “You could’ve just asked for my coat, y’know.”

“But then I wouldn’t be this close,” you reply, chin tilting up, a smile tugging at your lips despite your chattering teeth. “You’re warmer than any jacket.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, the kind that melts around the edges. He leans in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You’re a damn menace,” he says—but his voice is warm and low, thick with affection.

You can feel his fingers pressing into your back, holding you tighter. His nose brushes yours as he tilts his head, and then—soft as snowfall—he kisses you. Once. Then again. And a third time, his lips barely touching yours, quick little pecks that make you laugh and shiver all at once.

“Joel,” you whisper, still grinning, your breath fogging between you both.

“I like the taste of your lips on mine,” he murmurs, the words brushing against your mouth like silk. He says it like a secret. Like it’s always been true.

Then he kisses you again—this time slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pours warmth into you one soft press at a time. The world falls quiet. No wind. No cold. No patrols or gates or the threat of anything waiting in the dark.

Just Joel.

Just this.

When you finally pull apart, you don’t go far. He keeps you close, your fingers still tucked against his back, his breath brushing your temple.

You smile into his collar. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”

He kisses your hair, voice barely above a whisper. “Far as I’m concerned, we can stay like this forever.”

And in that moment, time slows. Your heartbeat settles into the rhythm of his, safe and steady. Warm, despite everything. Because love—real love—isn’t just in the grand gestures. It’s in this. A quiet winter dusk. A jacket shared. The taste of his kiss. The way he holds you like you’re something worth braving the cold for.

Then there’s Ellie.

She was nineteen now. Strong. Sharp-tongued and guarded in the way Joel used to be. You weren’t her mother, and she never treated you like one—but she was curious about you. Distant at first. Then, little by little, she started asking questions. Sitting with you on the porch. Bringing you a book she found and thought you might like.

She and Joel… there were things left unsaid between them. You could feel it like a splinter under the skin. Something tender and unresolved.

He finally told you one night, long after you’d both settled into the quiet comfort of shared sheets and a life you thought might last.

It was after dinner. After the guitar and the laughter. After you’d kissed the corners of his mouth and pulled him into bed.

“I lied to her,” he said, voice hollow.

You blinked in the dark, still half-tangled in sleep. “What?”

Joel’s face was turned toward the ceiling. Still. Tense. “I lied to Ellie. About the Fireflies. About the hospital.”

The room chilled. Your fingers reached for his without hesitation.

“I killed them,” he continued. “Every last one that stood between me and her. ‘Cause they were gonna cut her open. To find a cure.”

He didn’t cry right away. He spoke through gritted teeth, like the guilt was a weight he carried every damn day and had never quite set down.

“She would’ve died. She didn’t know—still doesn’t really. I told her there were others. That she wasn’t the only one. But it was a lie. It’s all a lie.”

You didn’t speak. Just curled into him. Held his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

“She hates me for it,” he whispered.

“No,” you said. “She loves you. She’s angry, but she loves you.”

He shook his head. Silent tears rolled into his hairline. You kissed his shoulder. You stayed up all night, fingers running through his graying hair until his breathing steadied again.

That was the last night he told you something he’d never said out loud.

The screams had long gone silent. All that was left now was smoke. Gunpowder. Blood soaking into snow.

Your boots crunch through it—through the aftermath. Bodies, both friend and foe, lie crumpled like broken marionettes. The streets of Jackson, once humming with quiet life, are now a graveyard.

Tommy had held the line at the south gate. You saw him, blackened with ash and soot, flames dancing in the reflection of his eyes as he lit up a bloater with the last fuel of the flamethrower. His scream—raw, furious—cut through the chaos like a knife. You’d joined the others in the streets, turning bullets on the infected… and eventually, on the bitten.

Some of them you knew by name.

You don’t remember pulling the trigger. You only remember the stillness afterward.

The quiet after the roar.

By the time the last runner was put down, your hands were slick with blood—some of it not your own. And when they called for the dead to be gathered, you helped. You counted.

You lost count.

They winched open the gates sometime after. You were still standing by the old greenhouse-turned-morgue, watching Tommy collapse into Maria’s arms, his body shaking with the weight of what he’d survived.

And then—

The hoofbeats. The shuffle of footsteps. The drag of something heavy behind them.

You turned.

Jesse and Ellie rode in first. Dina followed, all their faces hollowed out by exhaustion and something far worse. Behind their horse trailed a shape wrapped in canvas, dark with frozen blood, limp in the snow.

Ellie’s eyes met yours.

Red-rimmed. Wide. Empty.

And you knew.

You knew.

Your legs gave out beneath you before the thought could fully form. The cold didn’t register. Only the scream that tore out of your throat—animal, guttural. You clawed at the snow, sobbing into the dirt and ice, your lungs heaving like they were trying to break through your ribs.

“No—no—no—!” It came out broken. Like you could undo it just by denying it hard enough.

Tommy grabbed you. Held you back. His own face soaked with tears.

You screamed again. You didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care that you were on your knees in the blood and the snow with your heart ripped open.

Maria stood nearby. Hands pressed to her mouth. Silent.

The bag didn’t move.

He was in there.

Joel.

You want to tear the canvas open. You want it to be a mistake. You want to see his face, alive. Cranky. Loving. Whole.

But you already know.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. How long your sobs echo off the ruined walls of Jackson. You only know this: he felt like home.

And now home is just… gone.

They carry him to the chapel. Ellie disappears inside, Dina trailing her silently. Jesse catches your eye and looks away.

You follow the corpse. Your legs move on their own. There’s nothing left to protect now, no fight to win. You’ve survived—but at what cost?

The snow keeps falling.

And somehow, the world keeps turning.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind. No birdsong, no wind. Just the thick, suffocating kind of silence that wraps around your ribs and squeezes until it feels like you might shatter from the inside out. The kind of silence that doesn’t leave room for breath, or hope.

The makeshift morgue is colder than outside, colder than anything should ever be. Too sterile. Too still. Too many bodies of people you once smiled at in passing. A metal table stands at the corner of the room, and he’s there—Joel—lying beneath a white sheet that feels far too thin. Like if you peeled it back, he’d stir. Grumble about the draft. Ask where his jacket went.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t fucking move.

You sink to your knees beside the table. Wood floor biting into your bones, your hands trembling as they hover just above the edge of the sheet. Your throat burns like it’s been scraped raw from the inside out, but you haven’t said anything. Not really. Not yet.

Tommy sits down beside you, legs bent awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest like if he doesn’t hold himself together, he might fall apart right here with you.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye,” you choke out, voice so broken it barely sounds like yours. Your hands finally touch the edge of the table, and you grip it like a lifeline.

“I know,” Tommy murmurs. He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t try to fix it. Maybe because he knows there’s no fixing this.

You press your forehead against the cold edge of the metal, like maybe if you’re close enough, you’ll feel his warmth again. But there’s nothing. Only the chill of a world that kept turning without him in it.

“I needed him,” you whisper. The words break on your tongue like glass. “I still do. I need his voice—I need his arms. I need him to tell me this is all gonna be okay.”

A sob claws its way out of your chest, jagged and ugly. “He was supposed to be here.”

You think about the way he used to hold you—how his hands fit so easily around your waist, how he’d tug you close like the world outside didn’t exist. You think about his voice, low and rough, whispering “I got you, baby,” when the nightmares got bad. About the way he looked at you, like you were something worth protecting. Like you were home.

He was home.

And now he’s gone. And you’re nothing but a house with the roof torn off, standing in the rain.

“I don’t know how to be in a world that doesn’t have him in it,” you admit, tears falling freely now, soaking into your sleeves. “I was never scared of tomorrow when he was with me.”

Your head turns toward Tommy, eyes rimmed red. “How do I do this?”

He doesn’t answer. He just puts a hand over yours, squeezes it tight. It’s all he can give you, and you take it, even though it’s not the hand you want.

You close your eyes, breathing in like maybe you’ll catch some trace of him. Leather. Cedar. That soap he used when he tried to be fancy. But there’s nothing. Nothing but the dull antiseptic of this godforsaken room.

“I thought I knew grief,” you whisper. “But this… this is a whole new kind of broken.”

And it is. It’s grief with no bottom. No edges. No map. Like walking into a fog and never coming back out.

You reach up, finally, trembling fingers lifting the edge of the sheet.

You don’t pull it back.

You just press your palm over where you know his heart used to beat.

And you stay there, frozen in time, whispering his name like a prayer. Like if you say it enough, he might come back.

“Joel…”

He doesn’t.

And you know—no matter how many tomorrows come—you’ll miss him in every single one.

Because he wasn’t just the love of your life.

He was your life.

And now, all that’s left is the silence.

It’s three days later when Tommy finds you.

You haven’t spoken much since that day. Just shadows under your eyes and silence on your lips. People leave flowers near the mailbox. You go through the motions—eating when someone puts food in front of you, lying down when your legs give out—but you’re not really here.

You’re sitting on Joel’s porch when he approaches. Your knees are drawn to your chest, your hands wrapped in the sleeves of a jacket that still smells like him. It’s too big, and it doesn’t make you feel any less hollow.

Tommy stands in front of you for a moment, quiet.

Then he lowers himself to sit on the step beside you.

“I ain’t sure if now’s the right time,” he says, voice low. Rough. “But he… he asked me to give you somethin’. If…”

You look at him. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to. You both know how it ends.

Your heart stops. And then starts again, slower. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small envelope—folded and worn soft at the edges like it had been carried for a long time.

Your name is on it.

Your handwriting. Joel’s writing. It’s him. It's him.

Your fingers are shaking as you take it.

“I didn’t read it,” Tommy says, eyes on the horizon. “Didn’t wanna. Figured that was for you.”

Inside the envelope is a single piece of paper, folded once.

And a gold band.

Simple. Plain. No diamonds or carvings. Just a ring. One he probably bartered for quietly. One he probably kept in his pocket, maybe touched it when he thought about you. One he never got to give you.

Your vision blurs instantly.

The paper trembles in your hands as you unfold it. The ink is smudged in one corner—Joel had probably written it with those big hands, careful and slow. Trying to say something final in a way that didn’t feel like goodbye.

Your eyes find the first words.

Hey, baby.

If you’re reading this… then I’m not where I should be. I’m sorry.

God, I didn’t wanna write this. Been puttin’ it off for weeks. But the way this world is… well, you and I both know it don’t always give you time to say things out loud.

So I’m writin’ ‘em now.

First thing—I love you. You probably know that already. Hell, I’ve said it in a hundred different ways without ever sayin’ the words. In the way I hold you. The way I listen to you hum that song. The way I breathe easier when you’re near.

You gave me something I thought I didn’t deserve. Peace. A second chance. A home.

I hope I gave you the same.

Second thing—you’ll find a ring with this letter. Nothin’ fancy. I wanted to give it to you proper. Maybe on the porch. Maybe by the fire. Just… you and me. I had all these words planned. But none of ‘em matter now.

Just know this—I would’ve asked you to be mine. Not ‘cause I needed to prove anything. But because you already were. In every way that counts.

And I wanted the world to know.

I wanted to grow old with you. Wanted to find out what your hair looks like when it’s all grey. Wanted to kiss you goodnight a thousand more times.

I wanted all of it.

But if I didn’t make it—if you’re readin’ this now—I need you to do something for me.

Live.

Please. Don’t let this break you.

You got too much light in you to burn out now.

So wear the ring, if it helps. Or don’t. Keep it in your pocket. Toss it in the river. It’s yours, either way.

You’ll always be mine.

Forever and then some,

Joel

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until Tommy places a hand on your back, steadying you as the weight of the words crushes you from the inside out.

The ring glints in your palm, catching the dying light of the day.

You bring it to your lips, kiss it once, then curl it into your fist and press it against your heart.

“I would’ve said yes,” you whisper into the air, broken and breathless. “I would’ve said yes a thousand times.”

And the wind moves through the trees like it’s carrying the words to him—wherever he is.

Because love like that doesn’t die.

It just waits.

It lingers in the quiet. In the echo of footsteps that aren’t his. In the smell of cedar and leather that still clings to the collar of his coat. It stays tucked in the corners of every room he touched, every breath he took beside you.

You will mourn him forever. You will miss him every minute.

Your hands will grow old holding a photograph of the two of you—sunlight on your faces, his arm around your shoulders like he always meant to keep you safe. Your bones will ache with the shape of him, your soul carved hollow where he used to be.

And when your time comes, when the world fades soft and slow at the edges, you’ll go with his name dancing on your lips. A whisper. A promise.

Because some loves aren’t meant to end.

Only to be found again.

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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A/N I'm so glad yall enjoyed part 1 ! made me so happy seeing all the comments, hope you enjoy this part x

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You adored Tommy and Maria. That was no secret. Their house felt like a second home—the door always open, the hearth always warm, baby Benji always giggling in your arms like he knew something the rest of the world had forgotten.

You were there often enough that your teacup had a place on the shelf, your name was a murmur in bedtime lullabies, and your laughter belonged to the walls.

But Joel? Joel was different.

Despite your closeness with his brother and Maria, you and Joel had never been anything more than… polite shadows crossing paths. A nod at the gates. A quiet "morning" when your boots passed on the trail. He never stayed long enough for more.

Everyone in Jackson knew it—felt it. He carried himself like a man built from silence and steel, like someone forged in grief and never fully cooled. Where Tommy was sunlight, Joel was shadow. And not the soft kind, either. The kind you noticed in your peripheral vision—unavoidable, unmoving.

You didn’t need to know his story to recognize the shape of it. You saw it in the way he moved: cautious, careful, like the earth beneath him might give way if he stepped wrong.

You saw it in the tension that never left his shoulders, the way he never lingered, never asked questions he didn’t need answered. His eyes held the look of someone who had loved and lost so deeply he’d buried the whole concept beside whatever grave he no longer visited.

And he was, quite plainly, the last man in Jackson you’d ever try to matchmake.

Not because he didn’t deserve love—but because he didn’t want it.

Your methods weren’t scientific, but you had instincts. You always asked yourself the same quiet questions before setting anyone up:

What are they seeking?

What do they need?

And are they open to love, truly open?

Joel Miller failed the last question before it could even be asked.

He didn’t strike you as someone waiting for anything.

He struck you as the kind of man who’d wake up before dawn just to be alone with his coffee and the sound of his own breath. The kind who preferred the ache of his joints to the vulnerability of comfort. The kind of man who built his world out of habit, routine, and distance—and kept it that way because it hurt less.

He didn’t smile at people. Didn’t linger in town square to chat. Didn’t extend kindness unless necessity forced it from him. He wasn’t polite. He wasn’t soft. He was older, rough-edged, and entirely uninterested in being understood.

That was the truth of it.

So when Tommy leaned back in his chair that day, voice teasing but eyes glinting with something deeper, and said, “Find Joel someone,”—you knew exactly what he was doing.

He wasn’t asking. He was testing you. He had picked the one man in Jackson who didn’t want to be chosen.

And maybe… maybe he thought you’d fail.

But something about that challenge stuck in your ribs.

Because while Joel wasn’t looking for love—while he’d built his life so carefully around the absence of it—you couldn’t help but wonder:

What if he used to believe in it? What if he still did, quietly, deep down, in a place too bruised to admit it out loud?

And worse—what if the only reason he didn’t believe anymore was because no one had looked at him like he was worth choosing?

Not until now.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The first time you tried to bring it up, he was in Tommy and Maria’s kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring something that smelled like heaven and looked like effort.

The scent hit you before you saw him—garlic, thyme, maybe something smoked. It wrapped itself around the room like a warm quilt, rich and unexpected. Joel stood over the stove, jaw tight in concentration, a hand towel slung over one shoulder like it belonged there. His brow was furrowed, focused, almost peaceful in that gruff, guarded way of his.

You hovered in the doorway, heart thudding traitorously in your chest.

You were used to being approached by people who wanted your help—who smiled too wide, who leaned in eagerly, who whispered, “Do you think there’s someone out there for me?” Not… this.

Not trying to coax someone toward the idea of love like it was medicine he’d refuse to take.

He didn’t look up when you entered. Or if he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge you.

You lingered by the counter, clutching the edge like it might give you courage. The silence felt loud. You hated that it made you feel twelve years old.

He finally glanced over, barely. “You need somethin’?” His voice was flat, more gruff than unkind, but still edged like a warning. You were an interruption.

“Oh. No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Just—this smells amazing.”

He grunted. Actually grunted. Like a bear in a flannel.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead muttered something under your breath—something like “charming” or maybe just “Jesus Christ.”

You cleared your throat. “So… do you like cooking?”

He turned his head a fraction, enough to eye you sideways. “It’s food.”

You blinked. “That wasn’t really an answer.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I cook. So I can eat.”

You gave him a flat look, but he was already turning back to the pot, stirring like you hadn’t said anything at all.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Dinner at Tommy and Maria’s was always warm—familiar, comforting, threaded with laughter and the scent of something slow-cooked—but tonight, it buzzed with a quiet, unbearable tension.

Joel’s food was, of course, incredible.

Rich and rustic, seasoned to perfection, made with the kind of care he’d never admit out loud. But he ate like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t spent hours making it. He was already halfway through his plate by the time you’d taken your second bite, chewing in near silence, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a storm no one else could feel.

You sat across from him, napkin folded delicately in your lap, heart tapping anxiously against your ribs.

Tommy was loving this. His smirk was nearly unbearable—eyes flicking from your face to Joel’s with all the subtlety of a man watching live theatre. He knew exactly what you were trying to do. He could see the way you kept glancing down, folding and refolding your napkin, trying to find the perfect opening to ask a question you weren’t even sure Joel would let you finish.

You took a breath, then another.

Wiped your mouth—gently.

“This is delicious, Joel,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray how hard your palms were sweating. “Really. It’s… so good.”

He nodded once, without looking up. “Mm.”

That was all.

Tommy bit back a grin and reached for the bread.

You looked at him helplessly, and he looked about ready to combust from holding in his laughter.

You pressed your fingers to your water glass, steadying yourself. And then—“So,” you said, voice a little too bright, a little too casual, “do you cook often for other people? Or… someone in particular?”

Joel’s fork paused. Slowly, he looked up.

His brow furrowed, deep and unmistakable. That classic Joel Miller expression that hovered somewhere between mild confusion and why are you still talking to me?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried to smile, but it landed halfway between charm and panic. “Nothing. Just… this kind of meal seems like something you’d make for someone special.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice.

Then, “This a dinner or a damn interview?”

The words landed sharp. Not cruel, but cutting in that quiet, measured way only Joel could manage. Dry. Dismissive. Final.

It shut you up.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

After that night, after the dinner table rejection that hummed in your chest like an ache you didn’t know how to name, you decided there was no use in subtlety.

You had tried soft. You had tried polite. You had tried slipping things in like compliments folded into napkins, but Joel Miller was not the kind of man who read between the lines.

So the next time you saw him—three days later, tightening fencing wire behind the stables, sleeves rolled and brows furrowed in that eternal expression of someone perpetually unimpressed—you walked right up, leaned against the gatepost, and said, “Hypothetically… if someone asked you out, would you even go?”

He didn’t stop working. Didn’t glance at you. Just muttered, “Not interested in hypotheticals.”

You huffed, pushed off the post, and walked away.

Two days after that, you caught him hauling firewood into the school kitchen, face flushed from the cold, jaw tight. You handed him a cloth to wipe his hands and asked, “Would it kill you to let someone care about you?”

He blinked at you, deadpan. “You tryna get yourself assigned latrine duty with all these damn questions?”

You rolled your eyes and let the door shut behind you.

It became a pattern—awkward, pointed, persistent.

You asked him at the tool shed while he was oiling his shotgun, the scent of steel and turpentine between you, your voice feather-light but your eyes fixed carefully on his profile.

“What’s your type, anyway? If you had to pick?”

He didn’t even glance up. “People who mind their business.”

You tried again during patrol prep, the morning still damp with frost, his belt heavy with knives and yours with hope.

“You ever get lonely, Joel?”

He grunted without missing a beat. “You ever stop talkin’?”

After that, you told yourself you’d stop.

That maybe Tommy was right, maybe Joel Miller was the one locked door even your heart couldn’t open. You weren’t built to beg, and love shouldn’t have to be pried loose from someone like a tooth. So you promised yourself: no more questions, no more attempts. He didn’t want to be known.

But the promise frayed faster than you'd expected.

It had been a soft evening—one of those rare Jackson nights where the world felt quiet and intact, where the sun dipped low and golden behind the trees and the sky blushed lilac at the edges, and everything smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the promise of spring.

He was sitting on the porch steps outside the meeting hall, arms resting on his knees, posture taut like he was keeping the world at bay even while it softened around him.

You hadn’t meant to approach—not really—but something about the hush in the air and the loneliness curling at your ankles pushed you forward before you could stop yourself.

“Joel?” you asked gently, your voice low and full of something raw you didn’t try to hide this time.

He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk away either.

You sat down a few steps above him, enough distance between you to feel it. Enough hope left to try again.

“You really don’t think there’s anyone out there for you?” you asked softly, the words slipping from your lips like petals dropped into water, barely a ripple, as if saying it gently enough might keep it from shattering between you.

The air had cooled into dusk, the kind of quiet evening that made the world feel suspended—trees swaying in slow rhythm, the scent of smoke clinging to your clothes, light from the porch lantern casting golden shadows that didn’t quite reach him.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He exhaled, slow and sharp, and the sound of it felt like something snapping—not loudly, not dramatically, just the quiet, unmistakable give of something that had been holding too much weight for too long.

And then, with his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his voice came low and flat and brutal.

“What I think,” he said, “is that you don’t know how to mind your own damn business.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly, but he wasn’t finished. His gaze never touched yours, his jaw tight with the kind of bitterness that had lived in him too long to name.

“You wanna feel needed?” he continued, each word cut clean and cruel. “Go find someone who gives a damn. It ain’t me.”

And then—he looked away.

Not in shame. Not in regret. Just turned his head with the finality of someone who had decided you no longer existed.

Your breath caught in your throat, small and sharp like the echo of a sob that hadn’t made it out. You stood slowly, hands stiff at your sides, your body moving before your mind caught up, every inch of you suddenly aware of how foolish you must have looked—how fragile your hope had been.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, but the words felt like they belonged to someone else. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for—existing, maybe. Caring.

He didn’t look up.

You turned, your steps uncertain at first—just the gentle scrape of boots on wood—but soon they quickened, like maybe if you moved fast enough you could outrun the heat rising behind your eyes or the way your throat had gone tight and narrow, like your heart was trying to climb out of it. Your shoulders curled inward as you walked, a soft, instinctive folding—as if you could shrink yourself into something smaller, something less noticeable, something easier to leave behind.

By the time you reached the path, the sky had deepened to a bruised indigo, the sun swallowed whole behind the trees, and the wind that had once carried the scent of pine and firewood now felt sharp and cold against your skin, like it knew it had overstayed its welcome.

And Joel?

Joel just sat there.

Still. Silent. Staring at nothing like the world around him had gone quiet too.

He didn’t flinch when Ellie approached—her footsteps uneven, heavy with the kind of angry purpose only a teenager could carry—but he didn’t greet her either. Just kept his eyes on the dark horizon like it might tell him what he’d just done.

Ellie stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, her brows drawn so tight they nearly met.

“That was mean,” she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a branch underfoot.

Joel blinked, slow and deliberate, then rubbed a hand over his jaw, the scrape of his calloused palm loud in the silence.

“Ellie,” he muttered, low and tired, “how many times do I gotta tell you—it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

She rolled her eyes so hard you could hear it in her exhale.

“Yeah?” she shot back. “You know what else is rude? Being a complete asshole to someone who’s literally just tryin’ to care about you.”

He didn’t answer, just shifted slightly in his seat, his shoulders tight and his mouth pressed into a hard, straight line, like he was holding something back but wasn’t sure if it was words or regret.

“She wasn’t asking to annoy you,” Ellie went on, climbing the first step now, her voice lower but no less sharp. “She was asking ’cause she sees somethin’ in you. Which, frankly, is a goddamn miracle.”

Joel turned to look at her then—just barely, just enough—and the soft light caught the edge of his face, carved in angles and shadows, every line telling the story of a man who had carried too much for too long, who had forgotten softness because it had stopped surviving in his hands.

Ellie’s voice came quieter now, stripped of its usual armor, her hands still buried in her jacket but her posture more uncertain than defiant.

“You know I never met my mom,” she said suddenly, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond him, like the words were too fragile to look directly at.

Joel blinked, the shift in conversation jarring, his brow tightening in the center like something had caught him off guard and he didn’t quite know how to hold it.

Ellie shrugged, quick and small, like she regretted saying it the second it left her mouth. “I don’t know,” she added, voice softer now. “I guess I wouldn’t mind you… y’know. Finding someone.”

She said it like it was no big deal, like it hadn’t just cracked the air in two.

But Joel was still staring at her, still unmoving, still caught on that sentence—not the words themselves, but the space between them, the unspoken ache in her tone, the confession she hadn’t made outright but had wrapped in something lighter so it wouldn’t break the both of them.

“I mean,” she went on, her voice wobbling only slightly, “someone who’s good. Who could maybe… I don’t know. Be around. Help. Talk to me sometimes. If you weren’t. Not that I need it.” She swallowed. “Just… wouldn’t hate it, is all.”

The wind shifted again, cool and clean, brushing past them like it too was afraid to speak.

Joel looked at her like he hadn’t known—hadn’t let himself know—that there was a piece of her still searching for something she’d never had. Not just safety. Not just shelter. But softness. Guidance. A presence that could fill in the shape of something maternal, something gentle, something lasting.

Something like love.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, Joel didn’t feel defensive. Didn’t feel the need to retreat behind some cold remark or hard silence.

He just sat there, staring at this kid—his kid—and realized with a slow, dawning ache that in all his effort to protect her from the world, he hadn’t stopped to think she might want more than just protection.

She might want family.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Tag List: (for future i think i will tag #cupidofwyoming for each chapter instead of a tag list because a lot of the time the tags dont work for some reason?! that way you guys can still find the chapters on my blog xx)

@joelmillerswife9 @meanderingcaptainswanmusings @mrfitzdarcyslover @noeeeeeeel @lostinthestreamofconsciousness

@fitzwlliamdarcy @mystickittytaco @millerdjarinn @missladym1981

@bardot49 @valkyreally @jeongiegram @fpsantiago @rattyfishrock

@wildthyng @quicax3 @alesomoza99 @sunfairyy @heartagram-vv

@4allthestars @vickie5446 @needz1nk @sadsydneystuff-blog @sunndroppp @kristinababy @cuteanimalmama @dailyobsession

@dulcebloodhnd @rigoler @brittmb115 @lizziesfirstwife @nandan11

@cinderblock24 @astroid-wanderer @ashleyfilm @lizzie-cakes

@sagexsenorita

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abbytism · 1 month ago

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WISHBONE — a. anderson

SUMMARY: Everyone in town seems to catch Abby’s attention but you, and you can’t help but wonder why in a drunken haze. Little did you know Abby has to stop herself from taking you exactly how she wants you every time she sees you, but you’ll see soon enough.

GENERAL WARNINGS: no-outbreak!au, AFAB reader, smut (in part 2), drug use (marijuana), r! and a! are both faded in this, jealous! abby?, endless flirting, some angst, reader cries because of abby, abby babies reader, lots of fluff, a lot of ooey gooey feelings from both reader and abby, some alcohol consumption. I’m a florida girl who wrote this totally imagining countryside florida and cuntry ass! Abby. I love it. I won’t stop with Florida Cowgirl Abby now… i’m addicted… Lmk if I missed anything!

PAIRINGS: Abby Anderson x Afab!Reader

WC: 5.6k

A/N: Ahhhhh!!!! I had so much fun writing this, I randomly just couldn’t sleep for like 2 nights in a row and I’ve been wanting to actually sit down and write this for so long but I’ve had so much writers block lately :( But anyway! I’m back and better than ever. Please send me a bunch of requests for some characters you want to see me write for!! Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy this, reblog, and like!! :) Leave any thoughts 🩶 Pt. 2 coming soon <3

There was a curse put on you.

Or at least that’s the theory you and your friends had convinced yourselves of, because you’d dreamt of her every night for the last four months without ever muttering a word to her.

Abby Anderson was a paradox.

She had moved to your quiet, quaint little town six months ago with a group of friends, and the second she arrived, she had two girls on each arm. She was worse than the men you had grown up around, persuading and enchanting the misses to go home with her in two seconds, with nothing but her Cheshire grin and an offer to make their night better than their man at the bar could. The countryside wasn’t exactly full of women-loving ladies, but that changed when Abby arrived.

Her and her stupid braid and her stupid boots.

Her stupid, big arms that you had seen beat everybody at the bar in arm wrestling. That you had thought of late at night when you were alone. Her stupid, thick thighs that helped her keep her spot as the number one bull rider in your town, mechanical and real. Her stupid, yet perfect, smile seemed to make its way to every pretty girl in town but you.

You were not jealous-

“You’re so fucking obsessed with her,” interrupted your best friend, Jesse. You had spent weeks trying to convince Jesse that you had not planted this lavender plant just because Abby told him that she had one of your fresh lemon-lavender muffins and loved it. But you both knew it was a lie. Out of instinct, you rolled your eyes and turned around from the beds of your Lavender garden to face him. “What do you want?” You huffed, smacking your gloved hands together to let the soil fall away to the ground. “Now, is that any way to treat your amazing best friend who managed to get you the best shot with the girl you’re not-so-secretly in love with?” Jesse scoffed, following behind you as you put your gloves up in your work shed and opened the back door of your house to the kitchen.

You weren’t sure what was more annoying, the fact that Jesse was right, or the fact that your heartbeat had already started racing before he even told you what he did. “A shot?” you repeated, trying and failing to keep your voice level as you rinsed your hands in the kitchen sink. “With Abby?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smug smirk pulling at his mouth. “You’re catering the VFW fundraiser this Saturday, right?”

“Uhh.. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to this year?”

“She’ll be there. And I signed you up, so you have no choice.”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Abby goes to VFW fundraisers now?”

“She happens to be volunteering. I signed her up.. she was talking about how she wants to ‘give back’ or whatever.” Jesse made air quotes. “So I figured why not. But giving back is just code for; she’ll be standing behind the beer table all night, flexing her arms and smiling like a goddamn wolf.” You cursed under your breath. Because yeah, of course she’d be there. Of course, she'd be charming old war vets and making every bisexual girl in town drop their drinks and their panties at the same time. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered to Jesse, wiping your hands on a towel. “And you’re gonna wear that blue sundress everyone likes,” he shot back without missing a beat.

“I am not.”

“You are. You look hot in it.” He was already walking away. “I’ll see you Saturday, lover girl.”

*:·

You hadn’t seen Abby in person since that mechanical bull contest last month, the one where she’d beat the record and high-fived everyone except you, even though you’d made damn sure to stand in her line of sight the entire night. You told yourself it was a coincidence. That you were just thirsty, and the beer tent was in her direction. That you just happened to be wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks. But you saw it. The way her eyes had skimmed all the pairs of legs filling the room. The way her smirk faltered just slightly when seeing you, before she turned away. Like she wasn’t expecting you to look like that. Like she had to collect herself. You told yourself it meant she was out of your league.

You told yourself that again now, standing in the backroom of the VFW hall with a tray of cornbread in one hand and your heart clenching like a fist in your chest. Because Abby was here. And she was dressed like a real cowboy, not the ones you see in TV, wearing jeans slung low on her hips, boots scuffed, hair braided like always. And that same goddamn smile on her face– but this time, it was for you.

You didn’t see her right away.

Too many people, too much chili, and your hands were full, juggling trays and napkins and people trying to kiss your cheek and ask if you’d brought the peach cobbler this time. But she found you. Of course she did. You were in the back hall, crouched beside a cooler, trying to fish out a bottle of water without knocking over the stack of BBQ trays, when her voice found you like a spotlight. “You always work this hard, Angel?” You looked up and there she was. Abby Anderson, arms crossed, shirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Braid slung over her shoulder. Grin a little too smug for someone who just watched you almost faceplant into a bag of ice.

“I don’t do anything halfway,” you replied, trying not to sound winded. Or affected. Or like your brain short-circuited at the sight of her in that stupid tight shirt. Or at her harsh voice calling you an angel. “Yeah,” she said, her smile tilting. “I’ve noticed.” She offered you a hand. You stared at it for a beat, then took it. And maybe she pulled a little harder than necessary. Maybe you stumbled. Maybe your palm fit into hers in a way that made your pulse skip.

“I didn’t know you volunteered for stuff like this,” you said once you were both upright.

Abby shrugged, looking around the hall like it was a new world. “First time. Figured I'd give it a shot.” You quirked a brow. “Out of the goodness of your heart?” Her mouth twitched. “Something like that.” There was a beat, then she added, quieter, “My dad used to take me to these shelters. Animals mostly. We’d clean kennels, feed the strays. I hated it when I was ten. Thought it was gross.” She smiled to herself. “But he loved it. Thought it mattered.” You said nothing at first. Just watched her. Something shifted behind her eyes when she talked about him– soft, unguarded, like a part of her was still that kid with too-big gloves and a grudge against wet dog smell. “He still does it?” you asked gently. She hesitated. “No. He died a couple of years ago.” Your heart thudded. “I’m sorry,” you said. She shrugged again, but it didn’t have the bite it had before. “It’s alright. I think he’d like this. All the weird old men and canned beer and baked beans.” She glanced down at you. “You?”

You blinked. “What about me?”

“What brings you to the land of lukewarm hot dogs and raffle tickets?” You smiled quietly, sad. “My parents used to come every year. My mom was known for her cornbread. My dad thought he was a grill master.”

“Was he?”

“Not,” you laughed. “But he loved it. They both did.” Abby’s expression shifted. “Are they…”

“Gone,” you said softly. “Car accident. A few years ago.” Silence. “I don’t know… I get you, though. It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.” You expect her to nod and move on. To say “sorry” the way people do when they want the conversation to end. But she doesn’t. She tells you more about her dad, Owen, and how he used to drag her to all kinds of things when she was little. How she hated it. How she pretended she hated the circus and festivals when in reality it was her favorite time of year, and how she pretended she didn’t cry when they left the old dogs behind.

“Now I volunteer ‘cause... I don’t know. Still makes me feel like I’m still doing something with him,” she says. Her voice is quieter now. A little rough. Your heart catches. “I didn’t know that,” you murmur. She shrugs. “You never asked.” That makes you flinch. Because you had, or tried to, in your quiet ways. You’d lingered near her at events, tried to catch her eye at the bar. You’d smiled once, and she hadn’t smiled back. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until she looked at you.

“What?” she asked, head tilting. You shook your head. “Nothing. Just… kind of funny, I guess,” you muttered, giggling. “What is?” You looked down at your hands. “I always thought you hated me.”

There it was. Out loud. The thing that had pressed like a bruise behind your ribs for months.

Abby’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the smirk. Gone was the teasing edge. She stepped in — not close, but closer. Enough to lower her voice. “I don’t hate you,” she said, and her tone made your throat tighten. “Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered. “You’ve talked to everyone else in this town but me.” “I was trying not to,” she said, almost like she couldn’t believe herself. “Because when I talk to you, it’s… different.” “Different how?” Her mouth parted. Closed. Opened again. “You make me forget how to be smooth,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to deal with that.” You stared at her. And suddenly it all made sense. The glances. The way she avoided you. Not indifference — fear. Not disinterested — nerves. You weren’t the only one who felt it. You never had been.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but someone called her name. Someone from the beer table, waving a clipboard. She sighed. “That’s my cue,” she said, stepping back. “And hey…” You looked up. “That peach cobbler’s gonna be hard to beat,” she said, mouth twitching. “But you just might be my favorite thing here.”

You froze.

She smiled, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with your cheeks burning and your heart somewhere near the floor.

Later, you passed each other throughout the night like magnets that never quite touched. In the kitchen, her hand brushed your back as she reached for a crate of cups. You swore you felt it long after she walked away. She smiled at you during cleanup, towel over her shoulder, and you nearly dropped the tray in your hands. You brought her a piece of cake during a lull. She said thank you like it was sacred. You’d bonded. Somehow. Through grief and food, and that thing that always sat quiet and unsaid between you. By the time she found you alone in the kitchen, just you, the peach cobbler, and the hum of old country through the walls, it felt inevitable.

“Hey,” she said when you crossed the kitchen threshold.

It was soft. Curious. You froze mid-step. “Hey,” you managed. She stepped closer, eyes skimming over you. That dress suddenly felt like a terrible mistake and also the best idea you’d ever had. “You made the cobbler?” she asked, gesturing to the pan you were setting down. You nodded. “ And the chilli.” Abby’s smile widened. “You’re dangerous.” That made your breath hitch. You busied yourself with the foil. “You’ll live.” She hummed low in her throat, and god, even that sent heat straight down your spine. For a second, it was just the two of you in the narrow kitchen, the hum of country music floating from the hall, the muffled voices of townspeople laughing over beer and barbecue. Then Abby leaned a hip against the counter and tilted her head.

“You don’t talk to me much,” she said.

You blinked.

“You don’t talk to me much.” She grinned. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.” That did it. You looked up– fully, directly, heart in your throat. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Abby shrugged, that cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re really pretty when you get all flustered. And you don't look at me like everyone else does.” You swallowed. “I don’t?”

“No,” she said, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of the table beside you. “You look at me like you see me. And you don’t run.”

You should’ve run. Right then. Out the kitchen door and down the gravel road and straight back to your garden.

Instead, you said, “You don’t scare me.”

And that made her smile for real, wide and bright and terrifying in its own right. “Good,” Abby said. “Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for months.” Her hand brushed yours, knuckles grazing like an accident. Like she was testing something. And maybe she was. Your breath caught, eyes locked on hers, something tight and burning coiled behind your ribs. “You have it,” you said, voice soft and certain. Abby’s smile faltered, just a flicker. Like she wasn’t expecting you to say that. Like you had caught her off guard for once. She stepped in again, close enough to smell the cedar in her shampoo, the salt of her skin. You could see every freckle, every line, every notch of her jaw as it clenched and unclenched.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured. “Slow shit. Talking shit.” You tilted your head. “You’re doing fine.” Her eyes darkened. Her voice dropped. “If I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because her hand was already reaching up, slow, careful, and then hovering there, palm open beside your cheek, not quite touching. And right before you leaned into it, right before your lips would’ve met hers, warm and sure and all-consuming, the door swung open.

“Cobbler’s out?” someone shouted from the hall. You jolted back like you'd been electrocuted. Abby’s hand dropped to her side. The moment was shattered, suspended in the thick, charged air between you.

“I’ll uh– I’ll take this out,” you mumbled, grabbing the tray. Abby didn’t say anything as you left the kitchen.

But you felt her eyes on you the whole way out.

The almost kiss wasn’t sudden. It was the echo of something already decided. It had already started hours before, with soft confessions and shared ghosts. With laughter in the hallway and your knees brushing under the drink table. With the way she looked at you like you weren’t just another girl at the bar. You weren’t. And she wasn’t just some crush.

Not anymore.

*:·

You don’t see her for the rest of the night.

Which, honestly, feels like a personal attack considering how hard it is to breathe after what just happened in that kitchen. You tell yourself you’re grateful for the space. For the break. For the time to cool down. But then you catch yourself standing on your tiptoes near the beer tent, pretending to grab an extra napkin just so you can see if she’s there. You pass the dessert table twice. You even circle the raffle booth, slow and casual, scanning the crowd for her braid, for her arms, for that crooked, cocksure smirk.

Nothing.

She's gone. Or she’s hiding. Or she’s just too busy. You’re trying not to overthink it, truly, when you catch Jesse near the old jukebox in the back, already nursing his third beer and chatting up a girl who graduated high school last summer. You cut in without apology.

“She almost kissed me,” you hiss. He chokes mid-sip. “Jesus. What?” You drag him away from the dancefloor, behind a row of folding chairs no one’s using. “In the kitchen. Right before that idiot from the aux hall came in looking for cobbler.”

Jesse blinks at you, stunned. Then his mouth splits into a slow, gleeful smile. “No fucking way.” You nod. “I’m serious. She said she’d been trying to get my attention. Said she liked how I looked at her.” He whistles low. “Damn. Okay. Big moves, Anderson.” You’re still buzzed with the tension of it, skin prickling from the almost of her hand. Jesse grabs your wrist and grins. “I told you the dress was a good idea.” You laugh despite yourself. Slap on his arm. He catches your hand in return and spins you in a ridiculous mock waltz, and you're both giggling by the end of it, flushed and tipsy and dizzy from everything.

You don’t know that Abby sees it. From across the tent, from behind the beer table she’s been stuck at for the last hour, handing out plastic cups and watching the girl in the blue dress laugh with someone else. You don’t know how her jaw clenches when your fingers stay on Jesse’s arm. How her eyes narrow like a warning shot.

She doesn’t know Jesse is your best friend. That he’s a brother. That he’s the reason she got to see you at all tonight.

She just sees red.

The rest of the night passed with slow agony. You search for her again once it gets late, but she’s nowhere. And by the time you help clean up, your feet aching and your brain spinning from what-could-have-beens, it hits you, she never came back.

*:·

The days drag.

At first, you think it’s a coincidence. Then you think maybe she’s busy. Then, by day four, you realize it’s avoidance. She doesn’t come into the co-op where you work on Tuesdays. Doesn’t ride by the stables on Thursday night like she usually does. You pass by the gym on purpose Friday morning, sunglasses on, pretending to check your phone, and nothing. No sign of her braid. No sign of her boots. And no text. Not that you expected one. But still.

By the weekend, you’re restless. The buzz from the kitchen moment has curdled into something bitter. Something tight in your throat. So you get dressed. Something stupid and short and flirty. Jesse raises his brow when you meet him at the bar and says, “You’re spiraling, huh?” You are. Obviously. And it’s going okay, kind of. The bar’s crowded and the music’s loud, and you almost forget about her for a second. Until you glance toward the pool tables.

And you see her. She’s standing against the wall. Wearing the same fucking jeans and boots and expression that made you stupid in the first place. Only now, she’s got her arm wrapped around someone else’s waist. A girl. Blonde. Laughing at something Abby just whispered in her ear.

Your stomach drops. Abby leans in closer, hand skimming the hem of the girl's shirt, thumb slipping just beneath it. It feels like being slapped. You don’t remember leaving the bar. Just that the cool air outside stings your skin, and the walk home is slow and silent and awful. Jesse catches up to you on the porch, says your name three times before you look at him.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “You’re crying,” he says softly. “I said I’m fine.” You light a joint on the back steps. You don’t even offer him any. He stays until you tell him to go.

Three more days pass. You tell yourself you're over it. Over her. Then Ellie shows up at your door with that look on her face. “Abby’s a dick,” she says, pushing her way into your kitchen like she owns the place. “You want me to fight her?” You raise a brow. “What?”

“I saw her. Saturday night. With that girl.” You exhale slowly. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. You cried.” “I was high.” Ellie crosses her arms. “You were heartbroken.” You glare. And then you laugh. Not a real one, something mean and dry. “She didn’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not. But she wanted to. That’s what makes her an idiot.” You wave her off, already reaching for your lighter. Ellie sighs and disappears down the hallway. You’re halfway through your second joint when there’s a knock at the door. Not polite. Not soft. Someone is angry. You open it expecting Ellie again, maybe pissed that you locked her out. Maybe Jesse is coming to check on you. But it’s her. Abby Anderson. Leaning on the frame like she’s not shaking. Like she didn’t wreck you last weekend and disappear. You blink slowly. “Seriously?” you say. Abby looks like hell. Hair loose, dark circles, eyes bloodshot. Her voice is rough when she speaks. “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend.” You blink again. “What?”

Your stomach flips. You blow out the smoke slowly. Of course, it’s her. You don’t say anything. You just open the door slightly more. Abby stands there looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen her. Hair loose. Face tight. She shifts like she might leave. Then she looks past you, into your living room, and frowns. “You high?”

You take another drag. “What do you want?” “I didn’t know he wasn’t your boyfriend,” she blurts. You blink. You grab your lighter and hit your joint again as you watch her quizzically. “At the fundraiser. Jesse. I saw you laughing with him. Thought– fuck.” She scrubs a hand down her face. “I thought you were into him.”

“You ghosted me,” you say flatly.

She winces. “I know.”

“I waited days.”

“I know.”

“Then I saw you with that girl.”

Abby looks at you like it physically hurts. “I was pissed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” she snaps. “I don’t do this…feelings. This shit. I’m not good at it.” You scoff. “So you made me think I imagined everything.” She’s quiet. You shake your head, stepping back inside. “You should go.” She follows anyway. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Too late.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You blink at her. Abby steps closer. “Since the day I moved here. Since the first time you looked at me and didn’t flirt. Didn’t pretend.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to say that now.” She’s in front of you. Her voice was low. “I’m saying it anyway.” You push past her, but she catches your wrist. You don’t shake her off. You should. “I hated seeing you with him,” she breathes. “It made me crazy. I didn’t know what to do with that.” Your heart is pounding. “And that night at the bar,” she says. “I didn’t even touch her. Not really. I just wanted to see if it would make you jealous.” You stare at her. “That’s fucked,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I was pissed. Jealous. I thought I’d fucked it all up before it even started.” You’re silent. Just watching her. Holding the door half-shut. Then she says it. “I haven’t seen you in days and it’s driving me fucking insane.” You let out a humorless laugh. “Poor you.”

“I thought about coming here a dozen times,” she says. “But I figured I blew it. Then Ellie found me.” You stiffen. “Ellie?” Abby nods, jaw clenched. “Cornered me outside the gym.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“She called me a coward,” Abby says quietly. You lift a brow. “She said I made you cry.” Your stomach drops. “I didn’t know. I swear. I thought you were just mad. That you hated me. That it was over.” She exhales, like it hurts to admit. “But when she said that, when I realized what I’d done, I couldn’t stay away.” You stare at her for a long moment. Then turn, walking back inside. You don’t invite her in. But she follows. Because, of course, she does.

Ellie had found her that morning. Cornered her between the bench press racks, fury on her face and fire in her voice. “You are a fucking coward. Abby didn’t look up. Kept unwrapping the tape from her fists, slow and tight. “You broke her,” Ellie had said. “She cried. I watched her. I’ve known her for years, and I’ve never seen her look like that.” Abby had frozen. Ellie kept going. “You don’t get to play with people like that just because you don’t know what you want.”

“I wasn’t playing.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ellie spat. “All that tension, that pining bullshit.. then you ditch her and grope the first blonde with two legs?”

Abby had looked up, finally. “I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh, congrats,” Ellie said, voice dripping with venom. “Medal’s in the mail.” That one stung. And when Ellie finally turned to walk out, she left one last blow. “She waited for you, Abby. She believed in you. Don’t show up again unless you mean it.”

Now she’s here. You’re sitting cross-legged on your couch, joint between your fingers, ashtray full. Abby hesitates by the door before she walks in slowly, like it might detonate. You offer the joint without speaking. She takes it. Inhales. Sits beside you like she’s afraid to touch anything. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Finally, you say, “I thought you didn’t do feelings.” “I don’t,” she says. You glance at her. She looks ruined. “I don’t,” she repeats, voice low. “But I do you.” Your chest caves in a little. She passes the joint back. You take it, hands brushing. “You hurt me,” you say softly.

Abby nods. “I know.”

“You didn’t even try to explain. Just vanished.”

“I panicked.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I know.”

You take another hit. Hold it. Let it burn. Then you ask the thing that’s been rotting you from the inside out, “Was it just flirting?”

“No.”

“Then why her?”

“I wanted to forget,” Abby says. “And I thought if I touched someone else, it’d dull it down. Make it easier.”

“Did it?” You smiled at her condescendingly, a hint of disgust written on your face. “No.” Her voice cracks. “It made it worse.” You stare at her. She’s not even looking at you–not really. Just on the carpet. The joint. Her hands. “I’ve never wanted something slow before,” she says. “Never wanted to earn someone. But you..” Abby turns, finally. Meets your eyes. And it’s like her whole face shatters as she looks back down at the floor in shame. “You make me want to try.” That breaks something in you. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, Abigail! You can’t even fucking look at me! And you think you can just show up after fucking with my brain like that? Did you know that I’ve liked you since the day we met? Did you?” You scowled at her. She shut her eyes and winced at your voice rising out of frustration. “I didn’t know that.” She mutters, grabbing your wrists and trying to get you to relax, and maybe even listen for once.

“But what I do know is that I can’t let go of you, fuck, I dream of you and every corner I turn there’s something or someone there to happily remind me of your existence. Do you know what it’s like to see the one girl you’ve had an interest in, touching a guy who looks at her like she hangs the sky with her existence? Do you even comprehend the beautiful and amazing woman you are? Do you comprehend that when I saw him there… touching you… I just lost it. I thought I lost it all before it even started, sweetheart.” She inches closer. You don’t stop her. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night,” she says.

“How close you were. How soft you looked. How bad I wanted to fuck it up because I knew it’d matter if I didn’t.”

“You still fucked it up,” you whisper.

“I know.”

The silence is so loud it buzzes. She presses her forehead to yours, gently and slowly. “Let me try again.” Your hand finds her jaw. And you kiss her. It’s smoke and apology and everything neither of you could say right. She kisses like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. Like she’s trying to make up for every hour she wasn’t here. You climb into her lap. Her hands grip your thighs, your waist, your spine. It’s different now, not rushed, not wild. Still desperate, but quietly. You whisper against her mouth, “You made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “You do. More than I know how to handle.”

“I cried.”

“I know,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

You want to scream. You want to hit her. You want to kiss her until your mouth aches. Instead, you say, “You’re a fucking idiot.” She exhales. “I know.” And then you’re kissing her again. It’s rough and messy and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. Her mouth is warm and desperate. Her hands are everywhere. You back into the wall, teeth scraping, fingers in her hair. She groans into your mouth like she’s been starving. She lifts you without warning, and you wrap your legs around her, letting her carry you across the room, and slam you onto the couch. Her mouth trails down your neck, biting, bruising. “You don’t get to fuck this up,” you whisper. “I won’t,” she breathes. She pulls your shirt over your head. Her hands tremble. You don’t say anything. She kisses your collarbone. Your ribs. Whispers something about missing you so bad it ached. She kisses you again. Slower this time. Like she’s not running. Like, she finally gets it. Like, she finally wants to stay. And just before the rest of your clothes come off, before the night turns into everything you both tried to avoid, she murmurs, “I think I’m in love with you.” You freeze. And then, slowly, your mouth finds hers.

Not an answer. But not a no. Not even close.

Your legs are still bracketing her lap, your knees pressed to the outside of her thighs, but the weight of everything, the silence, the confession, her... has you trembling. Abby’s hands haven’t moved since she cupped your face, her thumbs now motionless just under your jaw, as if she’s afraid you’ll fall apart the second she lets go.

Maybe she’s not wrong. Because you are falling apart, tears slipping down your cheeks without asking permission, your breath catching, your body caught between heartbreak and want, grief and the dizzying, terrifying bloom of hope. You try to laugh, but it comes out watery and thin. “God,” you whisper, wiping under your eye. “I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” she says immediately, firm, low. “You’re- fuck. You’re everything.”

And there it is again, that softness in her voice. That look in her eyes is like you’re made of something sacred. Like you are the thing worth protecting. You lean forward before you can think too hard about it, pressing your forehead against hers, breath mingling between you. Her braid brushes your arm where it falls over her shoulder, and you feel her chest rise beneath yours. You grab the braid, tugging softly at the hair tie before her hair fell out and slowly unravelled itself.

Abby looks at you wholeheartedly, running her hair through her hands to make it sit better. You smile at her, “I love you with your hair down.” Abbys hums, almost as if in agreement, before wrapping pieces of your hair around her fingers. “I don’t know how to say it right,” you whisper. “But I need you to know.” Abby blinks. “Know what?” You let your fingers trace down her jaw. “What you mean to me.” Her breath hitches. She doesn’t speak. So you show her instead. You kiss her. Not desperate, not rushed, but deep. Intentional. Like you want her to feel it in her lungs. Like it’s the only language you speak anymore. Her hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips like she’s anchoring herself. You can feel the tension coiled in her, the need just barely restrained. But she’s waiting. For you. You pull back, just enough to look at her. To memorize her face, how wide her eyes are, how vulnerable she looks, mouth parted, skin warm beneath your fingertips.

“I want to give you everything,” you murmur, brushing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. Her throat bobs. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupt softly. “If you’ll let me.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for the moment to stretch tight, breathless between you. Then, finally, Abby nods. You tug her shirt over her head, slow, careful, and your fingers follow the path of the fabric as it lifts away. You let your palms map the stretch of her shoulders, the strong slope of her arms, the curve of her waist where muscle meets softness. She’s flushed. Breath heavy. But still watching you, eyes burning like they’re memorizing every second. “God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, and you mean it like a prayer. You lean in and kiss her collarbone, the edge of her jaw, the scar on her shoulder that you hadn’t noticed until now. Your hands cup her face, smooth back her long hair, touch her like you’re trying to say I see you. I want all of you. And Abby, who never lets anyone touch her first, who never sits still for this long, closes her eyes and lets you.

You undress her slowly– your fingers reverent, your mouth never far from her skin. There’s no rush. No frantic pulling. Just quiet gasps, lingering kisses, the kind of touches that feel like worship. And when you finally press your forehead to hers again, bare and tangled and aching with something far too big for words, you whisper, “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to give.” Abby exhales like she’s breaking.

“I want you to take, baby. I want you to take whatever you want or need from me. I want to give you everything, too. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” Abby presses gentle kisses onto your shoulders and collarbone as you keep your hands fixated on her neck and face.

“I want you, Abs. I’ve always wanted you.”

A/N: ahhhhh i hope you guys enjoyed this first part!! please like, leave future story suggestions, comment, reblog!! and follow if you’d like :) sorry if some of it has typos, i proofread but not the best…. anyway the second part with all the goodies should be out VERY SOON! if you want to be tagged, comment and i’ll add you to the tag list for this fic! 🫶

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tfatwsbarnes · 2 months ago

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first burn | tlou jesse pt. 1

read pt. 2 & pt. 3 summary: you go against the council’s verdict on avenging joel miller

pairing: tlou!jesse x fem!reader from don’t be tardy!

word count: 3.5k

trigger warnings: angst. swearing, kissing, character death, loss, reader suffers from survivors guilt thinking joel’s death was random, violence, blood.

a/n: not proofread! oh shit. here we go again! i enjoy writing for jesse rn hehe. this is sort of in sequence with don’t be tardy but it can be a stand alone as well tbh. following the show just cause i feel like it lmao xo

gif credit: @pedgito

Joel Miller was dead.

It seemed that Jesse had been accurate in his mild threat about the two more warnings in tow if you were late to patrol again. He was just as serious as Maria Miller when she brought you in, Tommy Miller sat shoulder to shoulder with her as she listed your flaws back to you in black and white. Tardiness didn't slide with the Jackson Commune and you were quick to be reminded when Maria Miller stripped you of your right to the morning patrol and every patrol there after.

The patrol that Joel Miller willingly took your spot from you.

You had meant to be out on horseback with either Dina or Jesse, or even Ellie if she hadn't selected one of the two. There had been a resurge in the Infected, numbers climbing at an alarming rate that was perceived as a threat for the Jackson Community.

It was meant to be you, but you had been delegated and in turn, had to sit through a meeting of the town to raise the red flag in the unlikely chances that the walls of haven Jackson would be breached and those fit for a fight would see it through.

Little time to mope over your reprimand by Maria Miller, the horde came as if Jackson were their home. The bells rang and shouts were heard from above whilst you were knee deep in shovelling manure for the crops. There was little preparation internally, as you hadn't believed such an outrageous idea to come true before your eyes, but the Infected soon showed you that Tommy Miller's forewarning rang true.

A gun shoved into your chest, you found a space above ground where you could pick them off.

It was a valiant fight, the Main Street of Jackson in ruins, a parade of dead littered the length of it — some of it your own people and others that had shredded the wall as if it were paper thin.

After providing what help you could to restore the dignity of the town residents by wrapping them in the linen cloth provided by the medical clinic, you had returned to your house to wash the scent of death off of your skin. A rifle left by the shower, you scrubbed at yourself until you were raw, tears brimming your eyes once the adrenaline of the fight against the dead had relinquished. You couldn't bear to close your eyes when the low pressured shower ran its meagre water over your face; scared to leave yourself vulnerable for the taking.

And then, Jesse came.

You had just turned the faucet off, when he crept in, boots surprisingly quiet but you supposed that was something he was good at. You had jumped with a squeal, hands flying to your rifle — Jesse getting to it before you could blow his brains out — your heart beating tenfold. There was no hint of sarcastic humour in the air, and you believed that to be due to his findings on the attack whilst he was on Patrol. And then, he told you about Joel Miller.

Sitting on it for awhile, you took what you could of the information and attempted to digest it. It would get lodged in your throat, eyes wide as you stared at your wall whilst Jesse took his turn to scrub his hands raw of Joel's blood.

It could have been you.

A senseless murder, a torturous one from Jesse's description to what he found at the abandoned Mansion. He had to pry Ellie Williams off Joel's body long enough to be able to wrap him up; no easy feat when a girl had just lost, essentially her father.

You blinked at the wall. If you had left for Patrol with Dina, that would have been you.

That thought remained at the back of your mind, a persistent niggle that etched so deep within the crevices of your brain, that it consumed you whole for three months. It clawed it's way to the forefront of your mind when you attended Joel's funeral — with the profound absence of Ellie — and as you watched the dirt scatter across his casket, there was an unquenchable thirst to make things right. That you wouldn’t rest until you had embedded at least one bullet in his killer's heads, as he was a man that was there at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Because of you.

You had managed to avoid therapy over it, your mask plausible enough that Gail Lynden had passed you with flying colours because, in theory, you weren't there to suffer from the trauma; or that's what she had discussed over a weak cup of tea and biscuits.

That didn’t mean that it wasn’t there. You were just better at hiding it than others.

Like Ellie.

After she had returned to the Jackson society, there was a newfound sense of anger you saw in her as she casually walked through Main Street on a mission. You thought about greeting her, maybe pushing for an awkward hug, but then you saw her face and knew best to steer clear until she came to you.

There wasn’t the closeness between the pair of you compared to her friendships with Jesse and Dina, however, you knew that you offered a refresher in unbiased opinions, often validating how she felt when the others attempted to stomp out her fire for the sake of peace.

“She’s brought an offer to the Council.” Jesse mumbled in the dark after you saw Ellie storming about that morning. You peeled your eyes open from the sleep that just evaded you and Jesse sighed, “She wants to go to Seattle — where those people who killed Joel are stationed — and, well, avenge him.”

Oh. That piqued your interest.

You turned to face Jesse, his hand absentmindedly trailing his fingers across your bicep to raise goosebumps from his touch.

“That. . . Would be good. Right?” You tested the waters, “They deserve it.”

Jesse remained silent — like he was listening to your heart pick up in its beating — before he continued, “Not everything needs to be followed up with violence. Joel is gone, I don’t think killing them will bring the peace Ellie thinks it will.”

“Hm.” You responded blankly.

“The Council Meeting will be held tomorrow. I gave her some advice tonight and I hope she doesn’t go rogue.” Jesse closed his eyes, “That would definitely turn the vote against her.”

You turned on your back as Jesse’s soft snores told you he fell asleep on the thought. Forefinger tapping against your stomach as you processed the information Jesse had just given you. This was the first you were hearing of a base where you could locate the killers, sometimes dating Jesse came with further perks such as releasing privy council information prior to the rest of Jackson knowing.

Head splitting from adrenaline, you found it hard to raise the sleep pressure up enough to fall back asleep.

This was the opportunity you had been waiting on.

—

"The council voted no." Jesse stated firmly.

You followed him, "Jesse—I know you love rules and regulations. But, this is about Joel. That's practically Ellie's dad, you saw what they did to him." The image haunted him, actually. "They deserve the violence Ellie has for them. He was like an uncle to you—"

Jesse flipped round, "—Don't tell me what Joel was to me. I looked up to him, but I won't go against the council verdict."

The pair of you stared each other down. A blip of regret shone in your eyes for overstepping the personal subject with Jesse. It mattered to you just as much as it mattered to him, even when your closeness with Joel Miller extended as much as brief conversations and checkovers to make sure you were OK after Patrol.

There was a sense of disdain in the air after the town had gathered to debate on sending a handful of subjects to Seattle to claim back Joel Miller's dignity from the hands that defiled that with an obscene torture. Ellie had spoken concisely, her thoughts scattered on wrinkled paper to ensure her love for Joel was clear enough without being clouded with anger.

Once the outcome of the Council vote was a strong no, two yes votes against it, Jesse's eyes went to you when you shook your head with disappointment.

Joel Miller was part of the community they had so desperately built to be safe in.

People from the outside were changing that.

Now, you were following Jesse like a lost dog, an attempt at convincing him to throw caution to the wind and pack up for Seattle anyway. Ellie was doing it, with or without Jackson's permission, that of it you were sure.

"Can you at least just think about it?" You pushed the boat out to him one more time and it returned with a roll of the eyes and a huff. "OK. I won't bring it up again. Beating a dead horse."

Jesse pulled his lips into a thin line, bending to press a kiss to your lips that spoke as a silent apology. An olive branch to say he wasn't mad, but this was the only way. He cared for Joel Miller, but, if the Jackson Commune saw fit to stay put and not create a war between those who tortured him to death; then he had his hands tied.

Accepting the kiss, a little deflated which Jesse picked up on, you smiled meekly. Don't worry, I still love you, the smile said to wash his insecurities away.

"I'm going to the Mess Hall for lunch. Are you coming?" Jesse placed his hand against your neck, thumb under your jawline. You nodded, a soft smile on his face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "C'mon."

You were in line next to Jesse, trays slid across the countertop as you craned your neck to see food offered up as the afternoon menu. The produce was dire, a collective of sodden vegetables and dried out chicken. Though, you shouldn't complain, you were safe and relatively happy. The mildly grim lunch serving would be forgiven.

The Mess Hall was busy after the Council Meeting, a lot of residents sat talking of the very topic over their meals. Your eyes scanned the room whilst you waited for Jesse to spoon some food onto your plate. Ellie was at the opposite side, crestfallen and shoulders hunched as she stabbed the broccoli on her plate.

Whatever relationship Ellie and Joel had toward the end of his life was haunting that kid. You could see it, the way the corners of her mouth were downward, eyes glazed over when she tried to maintain a tough composure. It made you feel sorry for her; not that you would verbalise that.

"Hey—" You looked to Jesse as he grabbed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for your tray. "Go find a seat. I'm going to speak to Ellie." You thumbed in her direction.

Jesse followed your gesture, his face contorting into concern, "Don't bring up Seattle."

"I won't." You lied, "I'm just going to talk."

"OK." You felt bad that Jesse believed such a little white lie that could grow arms and legs if poked enough. Both trays in his hand, he turned on his heel and sought out a bench for you both to sit at whilst you headed toward Ellie.

She lifted her head instinctively to the presence of another body close. Ellie wasn't entirely a welcoming character, but you had been acquainted enough that she trusted you, and liked you enough to let you sit and chat with her when you felt like it. You slid into the bench across from her, hands tucked beneath your backside as you both stared at her half-eaten food on the ceramic plate.

"I won't be kissing the chef for this lunch." Your joke landed flat but Ellie was polite enough to smile weakly. There was no time like the present, you supposed, "I have a feeling you're going to head to Seattle, with or without Jackson backing you."

Ellie scowled, "Jesse sent you to talk me down?"

"No. Actually—He doesn't think you'll do it alone. He has a lot of faith in the voting system and following orders." You shrugged, "Just me. I get it, you want to seek revenge for Joel and I'm sorry that the Council didn't believe in that."

"Yeah—Well, they're just scared."

You contemplated agreement, "Maybe. . . But, I do think you should go." This had Ellie stare at you, "Not on a whim. A thorough plan would help your cause, but that may take time—it's already been three months. I have enough medical aid for three days, a couple of food packs I kept after Patrol."

"Are you going to come with me?" Ellie straightened her posture. She liked what she was hearing from you.

Eyes glanced over your shoulder to see Jesse grimacing at the food pocketed in his cheek, he was people watching whilst he waited for you. Your heart clenched, an iron vice encasing it because you knew that your decision would be an ultimate betrayal for Jesse.

Your decision felt like a breakup.

"I may be a couple of hours behind." You informed, saturated in guilt. "Just leave breadcrumbs in Seattle, if you can."

Standing from the bench, Ellie and you shared a single nod of consensus to the plan, your leg lifting to step over the bench and make headway to Jesse. You falsely beamed at your boyfriend, palms clammy as you wiped them on your jeans — seeking refuge beneath his arm as he pulled you in.

Single kiss pressed to your temple, you stared over to Ellie who was staring right back at you. There was a sudden level of respect radiating from her, knowing the sacrifice you were willing to make to assist in avenging Joel Miller. Everybody was aware that Jesse softened around you, his sternness for routine slipped with time when it came to you.

You were about to leave a devastation in your wake. A relationship built on trust and deep affection withered away once Jesse notices your absence in the Jackson Commune.

—

"What were you speaking to Ellie about?" Jesse's question came quick, as if he had been biting it back when you ate lunch. You had returned to the stables with him to wash the riding equestrian equipment.

You hid your panic, "Oh—About the Council Meeting to be honest with you." You weren't lying, but you would alter the truth. "I just wanted to make sure she was OK after the verdict."

"She's pissed, I know that." Jesse kissed his teeth, "I was a little worried that she'd storm out and just head for Seattle herself."

"Could you blame her if she did?" If you could've bit your tongue off you would've. Albeit, too late, you still stared at Jesse, hoping he'd agree with your stance. "I mean, Joel meant a great deal to her—"

Jesse interjected impatiently, "—We've already spoke about this."

"Yeah, Jesse, I know. But—"

"—But nothing." Jesse snapped, "Do you not trust the Council's guidance on this? It's a bad idea to head to Seattle just so we can score a tally against the people who killed Joel. We can leave it at that."

You were getting irritated.

"Jesse," You spoke firmly, "I'm allowed to have an opinion, just as much as you're allowed one."

"Your opinion is encouraging the destruction that would follow if Ellie left for Seattle." Jesse was picking a route for this argument and sticking to it. "You listened to Maria after you fucked up your spot on Patrol, why can't you listen to me about this?"

Silence was met between the ambient horse sounds. You stared at Jesse, a little stung by his choice of words and a little too stubborn to take it with a pinch of salt considering the heightened tensions. He didn't seem to falter in his facade, eyes not leaving yours as he continued to wipe down a saddle, your own sponge slamming into the pail of lukewarm water before storming out of the stables.

—

Later that night, a mere hours later, you had mulled over the bad taste that Jesse had left in your mouth. He had given a hard truth, but your pride was astounding in its presence that you refused to even attempt the walk of shame back to the stables to apologise for your half of the argument.

Plus, you had turn your full attention to devise a plan on getting to Seattle and reuniting with Ellie on her quest for retribution.

Headstrong on completing a logical route where the survival rate was high, you had mapped out your steps, equated out the rations to days spent away from Jackson, and limited you baggage to a rucksack and the clothes on your back. Similar to how the Jackson Patrolmen found you en route to their safe haven.

You had set aside your stash of food packs for Ellie, divided between you both but you'd snoop around the Mess Hall at dinner, for any leftovers you could salvage for the journey. Ellie had advised she would be leaving through the night for minimal disruption to her plan, and an invitation was handed your way which you politely declined.

You wanted to say goodbye to Jesse.

As you stuffed the remainder of the food packs for Ellie into your bag, your front door opened to reveal Jesse clad in a black button shirt and jeans, and a face of that screamed timid grovelling.

He loved you so deeply that he was known to swallow his own pride, reflect on his words, and be the first to step over the line to apologise whenever you argued. Regardless of his opinion, he knew you were too obstinate to be the first to break the tension. He balanced you out, just as you did with him.

Bag zipped nonchalantly to hide any urgency to hide the food packs, you folded your arms, bag kicked by your heel under the bench as you stared at him in your doorway.

Jesse smiled, "Put your bottom lip away."

You raised your brows.

"It was a joke. Are we not in joke territory right now?" Jesse raised his hands a little to imitate a minor surrender as he stepped toward you, "I can be serious. Let me see—" He peeled your arms away from your chest, taking your softer hands in his and pulled them around his waist before peppering your face with kisses, "—I'm sorry for being a jackass."

"You weren't being a jackass." You mumbled as he squashed your cheeks together, pressing a kiss to your pouted lips, "You were right about me fucking up Patrol."

Jesse nodded, "Yes, I was." He kissed softly you again, "But, I didn't need to bring it up."

It made you feel sad. The pit in your stomach flourishing as he tenderly tended to you, each kiss a reminder that you would be the one to break his heart, and if you made it back to Jackson alive, you would have to live everyday with that regret as you knew your relationship would be dead the moment you left the walls that brought such security.

That's if they ever let you back in.

Selfishly, you chose to indulge in the moment with Jesse. There had been an idea, a small faint scheme that preyed on the argument in the stables, adding fuel to the fire to make it billow above the tree lines. It would've made it an easier hurdle to get over when you turned your back on Jackson, but his attentiveness had seized you from head to toe.

Leant into his touch, you let Jesse kiss down your neck to his favourite spot, your collarbone, where he nipped at it. You scoffed in turn and shoved him gently, not able to keep your own smile of forgiveness at bay.

You hoped he would do the same.

"Is everything OK?" Jesse could work out your head better than you. You hated it sometimes.

As he reached to smooth the furrow of your brows, you replied, "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"Let's go to bed then." Jesse walked past you confidently and headed toward your bedroom, halting when he didn't feel your presence behind him. You wiped at the quick tears that had fallen before he turned, replacing them with a false smile which Jesse noticed but didn't comment. He'd ask in the morning. Holding out the palm of his hand to you, he spoke, "You coming, or do I have to drag you?"

"I think you might have to drag me." You joked, the lump in your throat sizeable but you managed to swallow it.

Two strides, Jesse had made it back to you and threw you over his shoulder with ease, his hand coming to your backside for a teasing smack as you laughed genuinely.

Seattle would be your downfall.

#🔖 koolie writes #the last of us #tlou #tlou spoilers #tlou2 #jesse tlou #jesse x reader #tlou jesse x reader #the last of us fic #joel miller #ellie williams #dina tlou #tommy miller #maria miller

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wintfleur · 3 months ago

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LOVE GROWS (WHERE MY SUNSHINE GOES…)

⊹ a jesse tlou series

☀️🪽 you and jesse have been stuck like glue ever since you met. he became so much more than just your best friend, but also your protector and confidant. from teaching you how to defend yourself to switching your schedule to be with him on patrol. everyone in the town knew it, it was clear for them to see. if they saw you they knew jesse would be by your side or watching ( 𝒶dmiring ) you from afar, never to far though.

you couldn’t see it yourself—not at first at least, but he was head over heels in love with you, putting himself at risk (more than you would like) to keep 𝓎ou safe. All he wanted was you and you were coming to the realization that all you wanted….was 𝒽im.

GENRE. fluff, angst, post-apocalyptic drama, friends to 𝓁overs, a written series, blurbs, headcanons and mid-length writings.

𝓟AIRING. best friend! jesse x sunshine! 𝓯 miller reader, protecter! jesse x protected sunshine! 𝓯 miller reader, friends to 𝓁overs / mutual pining , dina x jesse + male oc x sunshine! 𝓯 miller reader ( brief flings )

WARNING. the regular tlou warnings, angst, fluff, smut, themes of violence, mature violence (I’ll put specific warnings before each chapter)

DISCLAIMER this story is completely fictional ( obviously ) slight changes to the original game/show plot, pretty much everything during the timeskip is completely made up by me, jesse is 2 years older than sunshine, and for the sake of the plot—joel and tommy weren’t separated for that long.

˗ˏˋ SUNSHINE PLAYLIST PINTEREST ´ˎ˗

𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗂𝗇 chronological 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋

OO1. ( THE NIGHT WE MET )

❛ SPONTANEOUS STARGAZING ❜

left in an unfamiliar place you find yourself trying to grasp at any positivity that you can find in this situation. your days are filled with distractions, trying to get used to the new place while your fears plagued your sleep at night. unknowingly leading you to the person that would help with it all.

OO2. ( CHRISTMAS SPIRIT )

coming soon…

˗ˏˋ BLURBS HEADCANONS MOODBOARDS ETC. ´ˎ˗

𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇 chronological 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋

jesse’s love languages

𝓻oro’s note. My first tlou writings for this account and of course I had to have it be for the loml Jesse ᐢᗜᐢ please be patient for I am not the fastest writer!! So updates are random, I have a kinda idea on what I want to happen with this series but I’m so indecisive it might change a little hehe….my asks are always open to talk about this so feel free to send me some thoughts, questions, and requests!!! I hope you all enjoy 🤍

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗢𝗡 @carmysdoll

this is the tag for the series ☀️🪽 sunshine x tlou!

ᆼᆽᆼ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 & 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 ！

𝓶ain 𝓶.list

˖ ་ 𝓽aglist : @winterbarnesblog @43hyughes @toasttt11 @mushy-mushroom04 @mihstar @beelee-cotton @hardbeingcasual

send an ask or comment on this post to be added to the taglist!!

©️WINTFLEUR ; you can't copy, translate, reproduce, repost my fic, use my plot or layout.

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mihstar · 4 months ago

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"🎶A boy who's jacked and kind..."

#this song is his from now on #sabrina carpenter I feel you girl #sabrina carpenter #tlou game #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #tlou hbo #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams #joel miller #jesse tlou #ellie williams x reader #joel miller x reader #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader

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cxce15 · 1 month ago

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~ Fic recs for the year of 2025, pt. 2 ~

- Pt. 1

By @moon-fics

Tan Lines - Bob Floyd x Reader ( Top Gun )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @shockercoco

Peas in a Pod (Pt. 1) - Elias "Stack" Moore x Reader ( Sinners )

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By @soulsforsales

I Love You, I'm Sorry - Jason Todd x Reader ( DC )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @deakyjoe

I Dream of You Even When Awake - Bob Reynolds x Reader ( Marvel )

I Got Chills, They're Multiplying - Bob Floyd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @sunskisser

Let Go - Bob Reynolds x Reader

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By @pagesfromthevoid

So High School - Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @boopsiesdaisies

Being near each other - Bob Reynolds x Reader

Being near each other (Pt. 2)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @s0urw00lf

Meeting Bob for the first time - Bob Floyd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @bradshawsbaby

Like Peas In A Pod - Bob Floyd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @suuuupernovaaa

Liar - Joel Miller x Reader ( The Last Of Us )

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By @nervoushottee

Still Breathless And Falling (Pt. 1) - Jesse x Reader ( The Last Of Us )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @hansoulo

Dissimulato - Cassian Andor x Reader ( Star Wars )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @mylovelies-docx

Social Cues - Cassian Andor x Reader

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By @padmespetal

My Love Mine All Mine - Bruce Wayne x Reader ( DC )

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By @quakeismyhero

Illicit - Manny Alvarez x Reader ( The Last Of Us )

Loyalties (Pt. 2)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @stylesispunk

What Remains Of Us - Joel Miller x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @yourlocalcringydaydreamer

A Little Bit Of Intimacy - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Imaginings (Pt. 2)

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By @agneslovestheinternet-blog

Fuck You, Don't Leave Me (Pt. 1) - Gally x Reader ( The Maze Runner )

Fuck You, Don't Leave Me (Pt. 2)

Fuck You, Don't Leave Me (Pt. 3)

Fuck You, Don't Leave Me (Pt. 4)

Fuck You, Don't Leave Me (Pt. 5)

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By @nickeverdeen

A Sketch Of Connection - Jesse x Autistic!Reader

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By @hardbeingcasual

Capable Of Love - Jesse x Reader

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By @backtothefanfiction

Talk To Me - Joaquin Torres x Reader ( Marvel )

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By @parkersbliss

Regrets And Sorrys - Gally x Reader

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By @cantstoptheimagines

Don't Be Suspicious - Gally x Reader

Rbf - Gally x Reader

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By @sehnsuchts-trunken

Pinch Me - Gally x Reader

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By @gladerscake

Only Yours - Gally x Reader

Close Call - Gally x Reader

Territorial - Gally x Reader

Flustered - Gally x Reader

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By @plus-size-reader

A Hell Of A Threat - Gally x Plus Size!Reader

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By @cyberg4l

Bit By Bit - Gally x Reader

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By @thedraculacat

Sudden Memory - Gally x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @titaniasfairy

Blurb - Remmick x Reader ( Sinners )

I Just Pray That You're Alright (Pt. 2)

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By @houseofaegon

Sweet Treats And Side Effects - Bob Reynolds x Reader

Sweet Treats And Side Effects (Pt. 2)

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By @sinning-23

In The Dead Of Night (Pt. 1) - Remmick x Modern!Black!Reader ( Sinners )

In The Dead Of Night (Pt. 2)

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By @hatethysinner

Let The Wrong One In - Remmick x Black!Herbalist!Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @entitled-fangirl

Apologies - Jason Todd x Deaf!Reader

The Trail - Jason Todd x Reader

Broken Hearing Aids - Jason Todd x Deaf!Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @fromdove

Blurb - Jason Todd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @iydiamartinx

Riddle Me This, Hoods Got A Girl? - Jason Todd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@babyonboard

In Sickness & In Health - Don Hume x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @pink-petal-horns

Dumb & Poetic - Bob Floyd x Reader

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By @hyoer

Project: Get Over Bob (Pt. 1) - Bob Reynolds x Reader

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By @littlelamy

Oneshot - Rafe Cameron x Reader

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By @lovebugism

End Of The World - Joel Miller x Reader

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By @fic-girlie

After The Storm - Joel Miller x Reader

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By @rafeysafterglow

Snooping Through Rafe's Phone While He's Sleeping - Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

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By @rafesangelita

Tunnel Of Love - Rafe Cameron x Reader

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By @jessesluvr

Talk To Me In The Morning - Jesse x Reader

What We Build (Pt. 1) - Jesse x Pregnant!Reader

What We Build (Pt. 2)

Tickle Monster - Jesse x Reader

Too Good For Your Own Good - Jesse x Reader

To The Guy With The Smile (And The Biceps) - Jesse x Reader

Built Like A Goddamn Throne - Jesse x Reader

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By @youwerenevermeanttofeelalone

Red² - Jason Todd x Plus Size! Reader

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By @agoodroughandtumble

Hair Tie - Roronoa Zoro x Reader ( One Piece )

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By @uhhhj13iguess

Even On My Deathbed - Mcu!Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader ( Marvel )

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @cybergoth1

Loathing Unadulterated Loathing - Jason Todd x Deadpool!Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @urfavnewgirl

Blurb - Jason Todd x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

By @tinyfandomknight

Out Of Character - Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader ( How To Train Your Dragon )

Show Of Teeth - Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader

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By @mcrdvcks

Headcannon - Peter Parker x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 3

249 notes · View notes

sombrashe · 3 months ago

Text

how they munch...

includes ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ tommy, jesse, dina

content ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ pussy eating, reader has a vagina, chubby reader, fingering, not edited, lowercase intented

note ִ ࣪𖤐⋆ im nearly done with classes and ive been watching tlou season 2 so you know what that means

Tommy eats pussy with all the precision of a 50 something year old man

he eats for hoooours just going and going and going

he keeps your legs firmly over his shoulders with his mustache tickling your clit the entire time

your whines are his groans mix in the air to make the most beautiful cacophony

despite it being the apocalypse he always has some intoxicating scent clinging to his skin that fills your nose as you pant

he mostly focuses on sucking your clit while leaving your hole empty and greedily squeezing around nothing

loves to hear you beg for it, for anything he can offer really

when your orgasm it shakes your entire body and leaves you shaky and discombobulated

comes up with his facial hair slick and matted down by how wet he got you

immediately gives you wet kisses before pushing your legs open further

Jesse eats pussy with such a fondness for it that it's a miracle he hasn't gotten more people pregnant

that man is not only shoving his tongue in you but also three to four fingers (after he gets you absolutely soaked)

loves to push against your plush walls and feel the way your pussy squeezes around him with every thrust

licks your clit with light pressure instead of sucking on it

watches you the entire time, dark eyes blown wide

presses kisses to your thighs and lower abdomen as he slowly fingers you

will just rest his cheek on your thigh and just watch his fingers slide in and out of you

when you finally orgasm he's all smirks and praises

just saying the sweetest, dirtiest things a human being can come up with

with complete disregard he grabs your hips with wet fingers and yanks you so he can slot himself against your dripping core

Dina eats pussy like someone who has spent years in the driest desert without water

she makes these sounds that have your ears burning the entire time

when she eats she eats she's posted with her ass up and face buried in you

she sticks to shoving her tongue as deep as she can, moving it around so she can hear all the filthy noises your pussy makes

groans low and moans high as you drip down her throat

keeps a hard grip on your hips so you're completely at her mercy (if she ever decides to give you any)

she periodically checks in with you and takes your babbles and soft sounds as a sexy little "go ahead"

just absolutely messy with it, lets you drip down everything and soak everywhere

she comes up with a face covered in your essence and a wide grin

she'll crawl up your body with a sly smile before settling inches away from your waiting mouth

#the last of us tv show #the last of us #the last of us smut #tommy miller #tommy miller smut #tommy x reader #jesse tlou #jesse tlou smut #jesse x reader #dina tlou #dina tlou smut #dina x reader #clicker writes

261 notes · View notes

chappellroansdreamgirl · 1 year ago

Text

you said that SHE killed people?????? .... this bitch? .... HER?!

2K notes · View notes

whywaittofallinlove · 2 months ago

Text

off limits ch3 | jesse x miller!daughter reader

pairing: jesse x miller!daughter reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: canon events, stolen dialogue from the show

ch1 | ch2

The trotting of the horses hooves dragging across the snow and slight howling of the wind fills the comfortable silence between niece and uncle. You and Joel have been travelling for a few hours, making the necessary stops along the way to your final check in at the old copper mine.

“So you and Jesse?” Joel asks so nonchalantly, almost like he was just making a passing comment about the weather.

“What?” You cough, inhaling the crisp air too sharply. Your throat tightens as you choke on nothing. Subtlety has never been your strong suit.

“I know my eyes sight is goin’, but I ain’t blind or stupid, baby girl. I see the way that boy looks at you.” Joel barely glances at you, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. Partly because of the approaching storm but mainly because of that infamous Miller trait you all share: the incapability of outwardly showing your emotions.

“Joel-” You’re already preparing to lie, to bury your feelings, ringing true to your shared Miller genes.

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing, it’s your life. Jesse’s a good kid. Reliable, respectful. I’m just saying to be careful.”

“You won’t tell Dad?” you ask, almost timidly despite your twenty-two years of age. The question confirming what Joel already knows to be true.

“He won’t hear it from me,” he huffs a soft chuckle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “You know he just wants what’s best for you, wants to keep you safe. Ain’t nobody good enough for you, baby girl.”

You look away, blinking away the sudden sting behind your eyes, if Joel asks about it later, you’ll blame it on the wind. “Thanks Joel.” You can’t help the small smile that breaks through.

“But if he hurts you,” Joel adds, his voice steady and eerily calm. “Your dad will be the least of his problems, you hear?” While Joel has aged the last few years in Jackson, you know what exactly he’s capable of. Especially when it comes to the people he loves. Tommy, Ellie and you.

“I’ll let him know.” You nod, your voice full of affection.

The change is the weather is almost immediate. The wind shifts, the cold cutting through your multiple layers, straight through to your bones. The snow around you starts falling thick and heavy, the visibility in front of you low. “Joel!” Your head flicks around, searching, suddenly alone in the snow storm.

The silhouette of your uncle barely becomes visible, almost camouflaging into the white background. The storm has picked up faster than Jesse expected.

“Come on, kiddo! We need to pick it up and get to the mine! Stay with me!” Joel rides into view, coming closer to you, his voice barely heard over the howling wind.

You tighten your freezing hands around the reins, squeeze your thighs, your horse surges forward on your command, galloping after Joel’s into the storm. The biting wind feels like cold knives slashing across your skin, it’s an uncomfortable sensation until suddenly, nothing. Your face feels unpleasantly numb. Not a good sign.

And then, in what feels like an eternity but in reality is only a few minutes, the shape of the metal structure appears like a mirage through the white haze.

Joel swings down from his saddle, his boots hitting the snow heavy. He wrenches the door to the mine open, its rusted hinges groaning in protest, the mine providing you with sanctuary from the blizzard. Joel moves closer to you before pausing, turning to assess your surroundings.

“It’s quiet… too quiet,” Joel pauses, listening, waiting.

Your fingers tremble as you pull the scarf tighter around your mouth and nose, your teeth chattering uncontrollably, the hypothermia settling into your body.

Despite the roaring wind that rages on outside, there’s an eerie feeling that settles uncomfortably in your chest.

You move to dismount from your horse, only stopping when Joel holds his hand up. A faint noise can be heard, not the howling of the wind or the groans of the metal structure. It’s different. For whatever reason, it’s not the cold that sends a shiver through you.

“What the fuck is that noise?” What initially started as a low rumble crescendos into a thunderous roar that echoes off the walls.

“Stay here!” Joel bolts up the rickety stairs, two at a time. “Joel!” You call after your uncle, the panic evident in your voice. He doesn’t spare a glance back, disappearing from your eye line.

“Fuck, what the fuck are we going to do? What would Jesse do?” you whisper while you try to centre yourself, so many thoughts swirling around in your head.

Crack! Crack! The distinct pop of gunfire brings you out of your spiral. A beat of silence. A door above opens, before quickly slamming shut, a latch locking.

“Joel?!” Despite your tremors, you force your fingers to close around the handle of your pistol attached to your thigh. Just hoping when it matters, you’ll be quick to the draw. “Up here! I’m coming!” The sound of your uncle’s voice only brings you relief for a moment. Joel hurries back down the stairs but he’s not alone. A young woman who can’t be older than yourself trails behind him, an indescribable expression on her face.

“Infected. Hundreds of ‘em.” Joel recounts the ominous scene from above.

A sudden slam pounds against the mine’s outer walls. Then another. Then dozens.

“Fuck, what do we do? We’ll never make it back to Jackson. If we stay in here, we die. We go out there, we die.” The words almost tripping out of your mouth, there’s no time to waste.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! I’m thinking!” Joel snaps, his hand anxiously moving through his hair.

“The lodge!” The young woman shouts over you, over the banging on the walls. “My friends and I are held up at the lodge, half way up the mountain! If the infected are down here, maybe there aren’t any more up there.” In theory, it seems logical what this mysterious woman suggests.

“Fuck it, it’s all we got. Are your friends armed?” Joel doesn’t hesitate, but anywhere but here is safer at this point.

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Joel…” You do hesitate, your instinct is telling you not to trust this person. Something feels wrong about her. Why was she out here by herself? Coincidentally near your post? Who is she? Who are they?

Crash. There’s no time to question his decision, the doors to the mine finally give way. Dozens of infected swarm along the walkway above, the first wave of mutated soldiers clawing over each other in their haste to reach the lower floor, to reach the three of you. “Oh my god,” you whisper, your horse stomping its hooves in anticipation for a quick getaway.

“Good, we’re going to need ‘em. Get on!” Joel remounts his horse, yanking the young woman onto his saddle behind him.

“Get goin’ kiddo and don’t look back.” His eyes catch yours for a second, and you can see the concealed panic behind his brown eyes. You share a brief nod, so many words unsaid.

But there’s no more time to hesitate, the three of you burst back into the freezing blizzard once more.

If you weren’t suffering from hypothermia before, you definitely are now. Your body trembles violently with each passing second. Somehow, by the grace of God, you and Joel have successfully managed to outrun the hundreds of infected.

However, you both can only watch on in horror. The infected have redirected, no longer chasing you, but stampeding down the mountain, towards Jackson. Towards your family.

“We have to go back. I have to go back.” You shout to your uncle against the wind, the panic evident in your hoarse voice.

Joel and the young woman ride up beside you, gripping your reins before you can bolt. His eyes meet yours, laced with the same fear that’s crushing against your chest. “We’ll get her friends and we’ll go,” he says, voice steady. “I promise.”

It doesn’t take much longer for the three of you to ride to the top of the mountain, the lodge coming into view, and who you can only assume are the young woman’s group of friends, calling her name out in the howling wind. “Abby!”

Abby deftly removes herself from Joel’s saddle, only to be quickly swaddled in a young man’s embrace, the unknown group leading the way inside the lodge. “Let’s get inside!”

“Come on, baby girl.” Joel removes his jacket and wraps it tightly around your trembling frame, there’s an urgency in his movements as you enter the warm room. Your whole body shakes uncontrollably now, your full lips blue, teeth chattering too hard to speak.

From the frost covered windows, you catch a glimpse of the tall flames licking at Jackson’s gate, the first line of defence against a horde of infected or raiders that dare to try to attack. “D-dad…” you mumble, struggling to form the word.

“I can look after her?” A softly spoken woman offers, before slowly easing you out of Joel’s arms, inching you towards the warm fireplace. “W-who are you?” you stutter, eyes focusing in on the emblem stitched on her backpack. A wolf’s head baring its teeth and three bold letters. W. L. F.

Military?

“I’m Mel, I’m a doctor,” her tone practised, concise, like she’s done this a thousand times before. “We’re going to raise your body temperature up slowly, okay?” You nod weakly at her words.

You barely acknowledge when Abby introduces you to the room, before taking time to personally introduce each of her friends. Owen, Manny, Nora and Mel.

“And him?” She points to your unsuspecting uncle, his gaze firmly focused down on the town below. “His name is Joel.” The atmosphere in the room completely shifts. Guns are drawn, aimed at him, before you can even dare to move a muscle. You move to reach for your gun, but you’re too slow, too cold, too exhausted.

You can only flinch as the woman who’d been tending to you is shoved away from you. You don’t even have time to defend yourself before the icy cold metal of a gun barrel is pressed hard against the side of your head.

“Don’t fucking move.” A manly voice whispers in your ear. The woman introduced as Nora comes closer to you, crouching down for a moment to remove your gun from your thigh holster.

“She has nothin’-“ Joel steps forward on instinct, moving closer to you, but the sound of a safety switch flicked off from the rifle aimed at him, stalls his movement. “You wanna rob us? Fine, take what you want,” Joel says, voice low, cautious, his hands raised in the air.

“Do we look like raiders to you?” Abby asks, a cold edge to her voice. “No.” Joel calmly responds.

“What do we look like?” “Military… Fireflies?” The expression that befalls on your uncle’s face is one full of regret.

“Used to be, haven't you heard?” She pauses, a cold joking edge in her tone of voice. “There are no more Fireflies. They're all gone.” You’re clearly missing an important piece to the story. Something vital. The cause of all this.

Fireflies? You glance around trying to memorise each of their faces. You knew the Fireflies once, vaguely, years ago before you found Jackson. Yet, none of these faces are familiar to you, clearly not a part of the Boston faction of the rebel movement.

“I’m going to give you one chance to tell the truth,” Abby says, walking closer to you, the muzzle of her gun presses hard against your temple. “Otherwise I’m going to blow her fucking brains out.” Joel’s helpless eyes lock on yours, unshed tears pooling in his eyes.

“G-get the f-fuck away from me!” You struggle against male hands. You try to thrash against his grip, but your body tremors causes you to falter, your reflexes dulled from the hypothermia.

“Where was the last place you saw the Fireflies?” Abby asks. “Salt Lake.” Joel replies instantly, there’s no hesitation, the price of your life too high to even risk a lie. “At least you’re honest,” Abby mutters, lowering her gun from your head. She turns her back on both of you, stepping away closer to the tall male named Owen.

“I saved your life,” Joel calls after her, reminding her that she would be dead without him. Joel turns to you, in an attempt to comfort you. “It’s okay, baby girl—”

“What life?” Abby says before the sound of a shotgun blast ricochets off the walls.

“Joel!” You watch on as Joel hits the floor like a dead weight. His leg forcefully giving way, blood and shattered bone exposed underneath the torn denim.

Adrenaline flows through you.

You heavily stomp your boot down on the foot of the man who’s holding you, before quickly throwing your head back, the sickening crunch of someone’s nose breaking behind your skull. You’re finally able to twist free from his grasp just as Nora lunges for you, but you jab an elbow into her stomach, hard. She doubles over in pain, gasping for breath. Your fingers can only lightly brush against the hidden dagger you’ve stashed in your holster.

The fight leaves you as something collides heavy against your temple, your uncle’s face contorted in pain, his hand reaching out to you, the last thing you see before darkness pulls you under.

“Jesse! They’re down here!” Dina? Her voice is urgent. Distant. The sound of heavy steps drawing closer. Familiar calloused hands gently cradle your face, lightly brushing your hair away from your face.

“Baby, hey, you gotta open your eyes. Come on, baby.” You try to focus on the sound of his panicked voice, coaxing you out of the dark haze.

“Ouch, my head…” Your eyelids flutter open, heavy and reluctant to the light. Jesse’s concerned face hovers close to yours, his brows furrowed tightly together in worry. Where are we? For a moment, you don’t understand, you can’t seem to remember the moments before the darkness crept on you.

Then it hits you.

You sit up, fighting against the pounding in your head and the bile that burns in your throat, eyes searching, only to land to the sight just behind Jesse.

“No…” You instantly roll to your side and violently retch the contents of your stomach up, your body convulsing with each heave, sobs of Joel’s name breaking through in between. Jesse kneels beside you, hands carefully holding your hair, murmuring words of comfort into your ear. “I got you, baby, it’s okay, I got you.” It’s not okay, nothing is okay.

Your uncle’s body lies crumpled on the floor. The torture he must of endured evident. His once handsome features are barely recognisable under the purple swelling and deep gashes. A brutal dent crushed into his skull in what must have been the final blow that ended his torment.

You don’t know at what point Ellie came to your attempted rescue.

You only really register her presence in the room when she silently begins to drag her body closer to Joel, you take note of the weakness in her body and dried blood caked on her face. She must’ve been here.

The three of you can only watch on in despair when Ellie reaches his corpse, weaving her small fingers through Joel’s stiff unmoving ones, her body draping protectively around his. The struggles of her breathing, her chest heaving with each silent cry.

You can’t watch anymore. You bury your head into Jesse’s shoulder, your hands gripping tightly to his jacket, his own arms wrapping around you.

The four of you taking a moment in your shared grief.

You carefully cradle Ellie in your arms, mindful of every sob, every wince, every sharp intake of breath. Each one of her breaths are laboured, most likely the result of a collapsed lung. She folds in on herself, and the only thing you can do is wrap your arms around her, securing her to you.

There are no words of comfort. Both of you silently watch on.

Across the room, Jesse and Dina move in tandem, their own faces solemn, while they gently wrap Joel’s body in a tattered blanket. Then comes the plastic tarp, a cocoon of sorts, sealing him away from the world.

You gently shift away from Ellie, careful not to cause any more pain to her injuries. Your limbs feel heavy with each step you take closer, when Dina and Jesse begin to lift your uncle’s corpse. You move in between them, your arms sliding beneath Joel’s torso, the weight of him a devastating reminder of what you’ve lost today.

The three of you carry his body outside, the storm has finally settled, but you pay no attention to the cold that bites at your skin. Together, you slowly lower him onto the makeshift stretcher newly attached to your horse, on the snow covered ground. Jesse turns to go back inside, to bring an injured Ellie out, for you all to go home together. Dina lingers for a moment, then takes a step back, giving you a moment of privacy without a word.

You remain there, frozen in place, you stare perplexed at the still shape in front of you. A foolish part of you expects a sign of life from the body. But he doesn’t move.

“You’ve got her?” You hear Jesse behind you, helping lift Ellie on to Dina’s horse. “I’ve got her, Jess.” Dina’s reply lost in the wind.

You move to kneel in the snow, your gloved hands pulling tight on the ropes that secure the plastic tarp that encases your uncle’s body. You make sure every knot is tight and firm, that the plastic tarp protects his earthly remains on the journey home.

You drop your head to his chest, the silence within causing you to sob. “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“Come on, baby.” Jesse’s tone soft as he crouches down next to you. “We have to get back. We have to take him back.” You don’t even resist as Jesse helps you to your feet. Each movement mechanical, instinctual, your brain switching off to all thought and feeling.

You and Jesse ride together, your body pressed against his, your gaze steadily fixed into the distance, yet you see nothing. Every now and then, you glance behind, silently checking that Joel is still with you. Jesse’s arms are strong around you, holding the pieces that are threatening to break, together.

The gates of Jackson open at the sight of your small group. Hundreds of infected bodies cover the ground surrounding the gate, their bodies left to slowly burn in the snow. The stench of burning flesh seeps into your nose, turning your stomach. The adrenaline that had kept you going finally begins to drain from your body, leaving behind the pounding in your skull and a hollow ache in your chest.

You notice immediately the town in ruin, having taken a big hit to its defence. Bodies of infected and people you once knew lay scattered, dead in the streets.

Jesse slides off the horse first, his hands firm as he reaches up to help you down. You barely register his commands to deliver the stretcher to the morgue. “Who is it?” Jesse’s arms wrap tighter around you at the question. “It’s Joel.”

The words are so final, so real, the pieces inside you are finally breaking. Despite the ache behind your eyes, you swivel your head around, searching for the only person who can keep you from falling apart so spectacularly.

You catch sight of him, his eyes locking in on the tarp, before glancing at you, a moment of relief crosses his face. Jesse doesn’t resist when you push away from his hold, running towards your father. “Daddy…” Tommy catches you in his arms just as your legs give out. He pulls you in tightly, his arms wrapping protectively around you. Tommy’s calloused hands cradle your face, his fingers lightly tracing over the cut above your brow, a matching one on his own temple.

“I’m so sorry, I-I tried, I-I couldn’t-“ Tears freely fall from your eyes.

Tommy tenses, the realisation that while he might not of lost his daughter, he has lost his only brother, hits him hard in the chest. Your father can only pull you in tighter, his chin resting on your head, and both of you just hold on to one another.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart, it’s not your fault.” Tommy whispers over and over. He presses a delicate kiss to your head, his own tears slowly slip into your hair while he rocks you in his arms.

Note: thank you so much for reading if you’re still here, can promise the next one has more Jesse x reader interaction with some smut too

Tag list: @larascorneroftheworld, @jellyfishlord123, @aleemendoza2425-blog, @justcallmesams, @onlyforyuto, @genrockstar, @peachyxlynch

#the last of us #tlou hbo #tlou2 #jesse the last of us #jesse tlou #jesse x miller reader #jesse x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou imagine #jesse tlou x reader #jesse tlou x you #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #abby tlou #owen tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us imagine

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wasitforrevenge · 1 year ago

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the last of us twitter links pt. 2

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

hi thank you everyone for over 800 likes on my last link post!

FIRST PART HERE

this is gonna have more characters so enjoy! please like, reblog, and comment AND PLEASE SEND REQUESTS <3 either more links or ideas to write about, i have 3 chapters of my boxer!ellie fic up now and more coming soon! (sorry for the shameless self promo)

that being said… please enjoy! links under keep reading!

18+ PLEASE NO MINORS

ways to help palestine

joel miller

❧ joel taking you from behind

❧ deepthroating joel

❧ riding joel’s face

❧ joel & both your holes

❧ joel making a mess of you

abby anderson

❧ abby playing with you

❧ abby making you ride her strap

❧ making you feel good

❧ playing with her boobs

❧ tribbing x face sitting w abs

ellie williams

❧ taking her strap in missionary

❧ ellie playing with you under your skirt

❧ ellie tying you up to fuck you

❧ her fingerfucking you

❧ ellie using the wand on you

dina

❧ dina fingering you

❧ scissoring with dina

❧ 69

❧ riding dina’s face

❧ you and dina in the car

jesse

❧ fucking you standing up

❧ reverse cowgirl

❧ jesse behind you

❧ taking care of jesse

❧ dirty talk with him

also should i continue with multiple people in one post or do you guys want a post dedicated to one single character??? pls lmk! and requests are open

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4m0r1m · 2 months ago

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I Didn't Want To Lose You

SUMMARY: You never understood why Ellie started hating you. One day she was teasing you with smirks and dry jokes, the next she couldn’t stand to be near you. But now, with blood soaking through your jacket and her hands trembling against your skin, you finally see the truth in her eyes.

WORD COUNT: 3,237 words

PAIRING: ellie willams x reader

You never understood why Ellie started hating you.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she used to smile when you walked into a room. She’d make sarcastic comments that weren’t exactly mean, just sharp enough to make your cheeks burn. There was warmth in her then—something careful, buried deep, but real.

And then, one day, it disappeared.

No argument. No incident. No words exchanged. She just flipped a switch, and suddenly you were the last person she wanted to see. If she could avoid you, she would. If she couldn’t, she’d be cold, clipped, or outright cruel. The rest of Jackson had no idea what happened. Neither did you.

You asked Jesse once.

“She’s weird,” he said, with a shrug that didn’t hide the hint of worry in his voice. “You didn’t do anything. She just… shuts people out sometimes.”

But that didn’t help the way it gnawed at your chest.

Especially not today.

The air outside is bitter and sharp as you saddle up, snowflakes drifting lazily down as you tie your pack. Jesse’s voice carries across the stable.

“You and Ellie are on patrol. East route.”

You freeze. Of course. Of course it’s you and her.

You glance over your shoulder. Ellie’s already pulling herself onto her horse, barely sparing you a glance. Her jaw is tight. She doesn't say a word.

Great.

You mount up silently, trailing behind her as the two of you head out of the gates. The quiet between you is deafening. Only the soft clop of hooves and the whistle of wind fills the space.

The cold bites through your gloves. You tug your scarf higher and try not to think about how far this patrol is going to stretch. The East route isn’t short. You’ll be stuck with her for hours.

And she still won’t look at you.

The snow crunches under your boots as you dismount at the first checkpoint, a partially collapsed cabin half-buried beneath frost. Ellie hops down without a sound and begins her sweep. You follow behind, keeping your distance.

Your mind drifts—like it always does—back to the day it all changed.

You were laughing at something Dina had said. Ellie was walking past, and you turned to greet her. Just a simple “Hey.”

She looked at you like you were something stuck to her boot.

After that, the walls went up.

You tried once—just once—to ask what you’d done.

“Did I… piss you off or something?”

She scoffed, not even looking at you. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

That was months ago.

Back in the cabin, you both move in silence. You clear the back rooms, she checks the kitchen and front. When you return, she’s crouched over an old drawer, rummaging.

You lean against the doorway. “Nothing upstairs.”

She doesn’t respond. Just closes the drawer with a snap and brushes past you, the touch of her shoulder colder than the air outside.

You sigh.

“Y’know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t pretending I don’t exist.”

Ellie freezes. Just for a second. Then straightens up, not turning around.

“You done?” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“I said, are you done?”

Her voice is low, tight with something you can’t quite name. Anger? Hurt?

Before you can respond, she pushes the door open and walks out into the snow.

You follow. Because what else can you do?

You’re halfway through the forest when it happens.

The snow makes everything feel muffled—like the world is holding its breath. The trees close in tight, branches heavy with white. You and Ellie walk on foot now, horses tied back a ways. It’s quiet. Still.

Too still.

The infected come fast. A screamer first, then two runners. You dispatch one easily, but the other—larger, faster—catches you off-guard. It barrels into you, teeth snapping, and knocks you to the ground.

Your shoulder slams into a rock.

Pain flares white-hot.

“Shit!” you gasp, kicking out wildly. Your knife slips from your hand.

The runner snarls, pressing down on your chest. You scream for Ellie—then hear the blast of her shotgun. The weight on you goes slack.

Ellie’s above you in a flash, face pale, eyes wide. “Fuck, fuck—are you okay?”

You blink up at her, dazed. Her hands are on you, checking your side, your shoulder.

You wince hard. “Think it’s dislocated.”

“Shit,” she breathes, visibly shaken. “Okay, okay. Hold on.”

You’ve never heard her sound like this before—scared.

“Ellie—”

“Shut up. Just breathe.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t talk.”

She kneels beside you, her hands trembling as she takes off her backpack and rummages for supplies. You watch her through the blur of pain—how her brow furrows, how she keeps glancing at you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

You can’t help it. “Why… do you care?”

Her hand stills.

She doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Just wraps your arm in a makeshift sling, movements stiff and silent.

Then she sits back, snow crunching beneath her. Her breath comes out in a shaky cloud.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispers.

Your heartbeat slows. Or maybe it skips.

“What?”

She finally looks at you. Her green eyes are glassy now, the cold turning her cheeks red, but it’s not the wind making her look like this.

“I didn’t tell you sooner because—” Her voice breaks. She swallows. “Because every time I care about someone, they get ripped away from me. Joel. Riley. My fucking parents. Everyone.”

She looks away.

“I thought if I pushed you away first, I could stop it before it happened.”

You stare at her. “That’s why you’ve been—”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “A complete asshole. I know.”

Silence settles between you, thick as the falling snow.

You don’t know what to say.

Not until you see her wiping at her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.

“Ellie.”

“What?”

You shift slightly, ignoring the pain. “You didn’t lose me.”

Her gaze flicks up, hesitant. Scared.

You meet her eyes. “I’m right here.”

And something in her face crumples. She leans forward, resting her forehead against your good shoulder. It’s a fragile touch, scared and desperate all at once.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she mumbles. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Your uninjured arm wraps around her.

“I know,” you whisper. “But… I still care about you. Even if I don’t understand you most of the time.”

That makes her huff a laugh. Wet. Shaky. Real.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

You sit like that for a while—two bodies in the snow, hearts beating fast against the cold, years of fear and loss held between you.

And somehow, something begins to thaw.

Later, when you both get back to Jackson and your shoulder’s properly set, Ellie lingers at the door of the infirmary.

You glance up. “You heading out?”

She shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in her pockets. “Only if you want me to.”

You pause.

“Ellie.”

“What?”

“Stay.”

Her eyes soften, a flicker of hope breaking through the guilt.

She sits beside you.

This time, you’re the one who reaches out.

A/N: sorry for not posting for a while but I'm here now!! finals are destroying and I need a vacation soooo I'll see if I can post anything more!

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uhhhj13iguess · 3 months ago

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do you want to have sex with me, yes or no??

stiles stilinski x reader

summary: it had been a week since stiles kissed you, and you began to question how he was feeling. lucky for you, nothing with stiles ever goes the way you expect it to

wc: 1.6k

okay this is the scene from new girl in s2 ep19 where nick and jess fight and make out, and i just think that stiles stilinski has such nick miller vibes

i want to be clear that i did use a lot of the exact language from in the scene! a large chunk of the dialogue is not my work and is from the show, i just wanted to envision it in a stiles x reader sense! does that make sense lol

obvi all involved are 18+! no explicit smut, but mdni!! fbi!stiles but it's new girl vibes where you live with scott, isaac, and stiles.

masterlist and taglist!

you sat on top of the kitchen island, a soft blanket around your shoulders and ben and jerry pint in hand. you sat in humiliation, shoving the ice cream into your mouth as you recounted earlier at stiles' unit holiday party.

stiles was grabbing drinks for you and scott, talking your ear off about something you couldn't quite remember. you were too busy staring at his lips as he spoke, the two drinks in you flooding your brain with memories of your first kiss with stiles last week. you could still feel his lips on yours, and it gave you butterflies every time you thought about it. you hadn't spoken about it since, but the combination of the alcohol and seeing him somewhat dressed up made you feel bolder.

he handed you a glass, your fingers brushing long enough to ignite something inside of you. and by the look on his face, it seemed as though he felt the same.

"stilinski! good to see you, pretty boy," a voice echoed as you turned to see an utterly gorgeous woman walk up to your group. stiles' face immediately turned pale, panic apparent on his features. she slapped his ass with a wink, earning shocked faces from you and scott.

"who'd you bring tonight?" she sat with her arm resting on his shoulder, eyeing you up and down.

stiles sat wide-eyed, glancing between the two of you as he cleared his throat. "oh uh, well, chief, i-i mean, nora... you know... scott,"

nora gave him a wink, flustering the alpha. his response didn't give you much confidence.

"and this is, um..." your name fell from his lips, trailing off as he stared at you. nora gave him a weird look.

you raised your eyes at him. "yeah stiles, who am i?"

"this is my... um... fr-, uh... room...mate...?"

you scoffed, downing the rest of your wine before handing the empty glass to scott. he flashed you a pained smile.

"it was nice to meet you, nora. scott, i'll see you at home. have a good night, guys."

you left the bar, hearing stiles call after you in the distance. you bounded towards your apartment, ignoring the regret in your heart at your immediate reaction to the entire situation.

you hadn't meant to get so jealous. it was just one kiss. one, hot, hungry kiss. but that was all. you weren't together, and stiles didn't need to justify himself to you. he hadn't brought it up since it happened, and you were beginning to wonder if he wasn't thinking about it the same way you were.

you pouted and sat in your discomfort, hands wet from the condensation of the pint. you heard the turn of the lock in your silence and instinctively pulled your blanket tighter.

stiles walked in slowly, eyes still glazed from the night previous activities. he approached with caution, an unknown tension in the air leaving you both on guard. he took a deep breath.

"well, i've got some explaining to do—"

"shut up," you shovled another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth. he stared back at you, lips pursed.

"i'm really glad her name is nora, you know? really rubs the dirt in it." stiles cringed as you referenced his fling last year with derek's sister.

"mhm."

you let out a strained, short laugh. "what's next? lia? heather? ha!"

"listen, (y/n), okay. look, i need to talk to you about something. last night when we were drunk, you told me you want me."

you froze instantly, but jumped to play it off. you let out a scoff, making mockery at the idea he'd even suggest that. "pfft, shut up, stiles."

"you put your hand in my pocket. you said this little piggy wants to go to the market." he deadpanned at you.

"what."

"if that's something you were just saying, that's fine, that's cool. we'll move on and won't talk about it," you ran you hands up your temples, memories of last night flooding your brain.

"but it is something i've thought a lot about. and you never said anything about it, and we haven't talked about anything over the past week, and so i didn't know if this piggy was, you know, was available to other markets, and... you know, i didn't know. and—"

"WHAT are you talking about?!"

"do you want to have sex with me yes or no?!"

"YES!"

the both of you stood frozen, staring at each other with wide eyes.

"i mean no! yes, i mean, i did! i did, before i knew you were doing all that with your boss!" you quipped, quickly saying anything you could to take it back.

stiles huffed, his hands in the air, but his eyes still gave away his shock. "fine! forget the boss!"

you scoffed back at him and crossed your arms. "yeah well, you know, i just thought it was nice seeing you trying at something at work, you know. applying yourself more."

stiles' face contorted into confusion.

"that's why you're more attached to me??"

"no, well i—"

"you're a fucking golddigger!" he promclaimed. your jaw dropped in awe that he would even suggest such a thing.

"WHAT!"

"that's what you just said!" crossing his arms, stiles stood taller as though he'd won the argument.

"if i were a gold digger, do you think i'd go for you, stiles? you spend $20 a week on groceries, and it's exclusively on microwavable burritos!"

he stood firm in his accusation. "gold digger!"

"what? i'm not a freaking golddigger!"

"i'm so disappointed in you."

"shut up! i am not a gold digger!"

there was a pause between the two of you, heavy tension suddenly filling the room. you felt hot, the quiet exasperating your senses and overwhelming you. stiles was quick to notice the change in the air, taking advantage of it and stepping closer to you. he never lost your eyes, bringing a falter to your knees.

you softly cleared your throat, internaling deciding to match his energy. you took a step closer to him as well, now nearly chest to chest.

stiles looked down at you, his eyes immediately and shamelessly on your lips. "then prove it."

you took the final step that closed the gap between you, attaching your lips to his with force. he kissed back instantly, his hands firm on your waist. everything about it was hungry, an overdue release of tension that had been building for far too long.

it didn't take long for the initial kiss to intensify, stiles' hands rough in your hair as you trailed your hot lips down his cool neck, the sensation alone sure to leave burn marks.

nothing about what was happening was quiet. you groaned against each other's lips, each kiss wet and noisy. stiles took you firmly by the shoulders and backed you towards the dinner table, never once daring to remove his lips from yours. a sharp gasp left your lips.

this is the moment you'd both been waiting for since your first kiss a week ago, and nothing was about to stop you.

stiles took another step, miscalculating how close you were to the table already. his foot landed harshly on yours, immediately pulling you out of the moment.

you bent over to grab your foot, looking up at him to gawk at him. "stiles, what the hell??"

"i'm sorry, get your damn foot out of the way! shut up and keep kissing me, right now!"

you let out a huff of frustration and swung your head upwards, aggressively colliding with his. sharp groans harmonized throughout the loft.

stiles grabbed his nose. "what the actual hell was that!"

"get your damn head out of the way!" you echoed his words back to him, finger pointing at his chest.

"you're fucking impossible. you are such a mess!"

"you are the most insufferable person. ever!"

"why are so you annoying all of the time?"

"shut up and take off your clothes right now. i mean it, take off your clothes."

your response caught in your throat as you heard him, but you don't let it throw you off for long. you couldn't dare let him know he had that effect on you (you think as you began to unbutton your flannel).

"you are the worst, stilinski! i still cannot believe you calling me a gold digger. you actively do not believe in banks. what am i supposed to do with that!"

stiles was shoving everything off the kitchen table as quickly as he could, groaning in frustration as you rambled on. he grabbed the last few tools off the table and turned to you with a fury.

"stop talking! this is not the time to be talking! take off your shirt!" as he yelled at you, his hands flew out in exaggeration to gesture towards your half-unbuttoned shirt.

there was a loud CRACK as his left hand made contact with the 4-foot aquarium in the middle of the kitchen, glass and saltwater flooding the room around them. you both stood in shock as you watched isaac's new lionfish flop for dear life on the ground.

"holy shit, isaac's gonna kill us."

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jessesluvr · 2 months ago

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✧ masterlist ✧

» jesse tlou

✏ shared scarves and stolen looks ; during a quiet winter patrol, jesse and the reader share warmth, and soft moments, turning a routine day into something far more meaningful.

✏ "wherever you are, i'm home" ; in a quiet corner of jackson, jesse devotes himself completely to his pregnant partner—protecting her, cherishing her, and finding home in every soft moment they share.

✏ jesse scenarios about him falling in love with you

✏ holding on ; after a brutal infected attack leaves both you and jesse injured and unconscious, jesse struggles with guilt over failing to protect you, but with support from joel, tommy, and your reassurance, he finds the strength to heal alongside you and move forward together.

✏ what we build ; after losing your partner, grief isolates you—until jesse quietly, consistently shows up, offering comfort without expectation and love without pressure. as your bond deepens through late-night talks, doctor visits, and finally the birth of your child, you realize that what you’ve built together isn’t just healing—it’s home.

✏ what we build pt.2 ; after months of exhaustion and distance following the birth of their son, you and jesse finally spend a night alone—rekindling the quiet, aching intimacy that had been buried under survival and sleepless nights. as old desire stirs into something raw and real, you realize love hasn’t faded—it’s just been waiting for the silence to return.

✏ jesse scenarios about him being the best dad

✏ in the warmth of you ; a slow-burning love grows between you and jesse through shared patrols, quiet evenings, and small acts of care, until one night under the stars, he kisses you like a promise. what starts as comfort in a harsh world becomes something deeper—something safe, warm, and lasting, like home.

✏ warmth like this

✏ new year's dance ; jesse stands across the room, clearly lovesick and pining as he watches you from afar, until dina and ellie — fed up with his quiet longing — tease and push him into finally making a move. with a flushed face and nervous resolve, jesse decides to ask you to dance, heart pounding and hope blooming.

✏ the truth we never said ; after a terrifying encounter with the infected, jesse and you return to jackson shaken and afraid of losing each other in a world that’s constantly breaking. in the quiet safety of your home, years of unspoken feelings finally spill over into a heartfelt confession that changes everything between you.

✏ gentle devotion ; when you come down with a nasty fever in jackson, jesse shows up with soup, tea, and a stuffed giraffe—determined to take care of you no matter how gross or grumpy you feel. through soft touches, quiet jokes, and one sleepless night by your side, he shows you just how deeply he cares.

✏ woodsmoke ; you stop by the lumber yard under the excuse of helping, but mostly to admire jesse — strong, warm, and achingly beautiful as he splits wood in the snow. one flirty lesson, one stolen kiss, and a walk back to his cabin later, you realize the feeling’s very much mutual.

✏ stay a little longer ; each morning, jesse patiently gives his sweet, sleepy girlfriend her much-needed ten minutes of warm cuddles before she can face the day in jackson. what started as a small indulgence has become their favorite ritual—one neither of them would trade for the world.

✏ no one knows ; keeping your relationship with jesse a secret seemed simple, until a new girl started openly flirting with him, and your friends unknowingly encouraged it, leaving you insecure and heartbroken. but when jesse finds you and makes a choice to stop hiding, the two of you face the town together, stronger than ever.

✏ two steps behind ; jesse struggles to ask out joel’s adopted daughter, intimidated by joel’s protective nature, but after finally finding the courage, joel confronts him with a quiet warning and reluctant approval. with joel’s blessing and the reader’s smile, jesse realizes he belongs by her side, not in joel’s shadow.

✏ some things you can't hide ; while secretly dating jesse, you invite him over when joel’s out, and your tender, intimate moment is abruptly interrupted when joel unexpectedly walks in. though shaken, joel ultimately accepts your relationship, realizing he has to let his daughter grow up, even if it’s hard to watch.

✏ through the glass ; while trapped behind reinforced glass, jesse is forced to watch helplessly as you face a deadly bloater alone in a collapsing outpost. against all odds, you defeat the monster—but the ordeal leaves jesse shaken and unable to hide just how much you mean to him.

✏ scared shitless ; jesse and the reader are stuck in a no-strings-attached arrangement, both too scared to admit they want more. with some not-so-subtle pushing from dina and ellie, jesse finally takes the leap — and what was once casual turns into something neither of them can deny anymore.

✏ the only one i see ; in jackson, you're the "it girl" everyone wants — but the only person you want is jesse, who's convinced he doesn’t stand a chance. through quiet moments, gentle persistence, and a love that blooms softly, you show him he’s all you’ve ever wanted.

✏ safe with you ; you’re the girl everyone in jackson wants — but the only person you want is jesse, who’s too convinced he’ll never be enough. through quiet moments, a little bravery, and a rainy night that changes everything, you finally show him he’s all you’ve ever needed.

✏ jesse scenarios where you are in sync with everything

✏ when the snow settles ; after years on the run, you arrive in jackson and quickly become an integral part of the community—and of jesse’s life, despite your fear of becoming a burden. with gentle encouragement from dina and unwavering patience from jesse, you finally confess your love, finding a new sense of home with him and little jj.

✏ when the snow settles pt.2 ; after arriving in jackson guarded and unsure, she slowly builds a life with jesse and jj, learning to let herself be loved and to belong. three years later, with a new baby in their arms and jj proudly stepping into his role as big brother, they’ve become a family in every sense of the word.

✏ in the silence after ; as tommy’s adoptive daughter and a skilled sniper in jackson, the reader has always quietly loved jesse from afar—until a violent ambush at the theater forces her to confront just how much she stands to lose. after dragging jesse home wounded but alive, she stays by his side through every step of his recovery, and amid grief and healing, they finally admit what’s always been in their hearts.

✏ the golden boy's mother has a plan ; when jesse’s mom robin meets you by chance in jackson and instantly adores you, she makes it her personal mission to set you up with her golden boy son — much to his embarrassment. despite robin’s very public matchmaking (and jesse’s flustered protests), the two of you end up falling for each other anyway.

✏ talk to me in the morning ; jesse’s had a huge crush on you for months, but he’s too scared to say anything — until one night he gets very drunk at the tipsy bison and stumbles over to tell you how much he likes you. you gently tell him to come talk to you again when he’s sober if he really means it, and the next morning — heart pounding — he does.

✏ better ; jesse’s been your best friend forever, quietly watching as you pour your heart into a boyfriend who doesn’t deserve you. but when that boy breaks your heart and jesse hears him talking trash behind your back, everything snaps — and jesse finally confesses the truth he’s been holding in all along: he’s loved you for years, and he’ll never let anyone treat you like you’re anything less than everything.

✏ built like a goddamn throne ; after a long patrol, you end up on jesse’s lap in the gear room, discovering just how irresistible and dangerously comfortable his thick thighs really are. tension turns to heat fast, and jesse makes it very clear — once you’re in his lap, you’re not going anywhere.

✏ whatever's left of forever ; jesse takes a short trip outside jackson for patrol planning and stumbles across a hidden jewelry store, where he finds the perfect ring that sparks a plan. with the help of ellie and dina, he creates a quiet, beautiful proposal in the woods to ask you to be his forever in a world where forever is rare.

✏ summer lovin' ; as tommy’s stepdaughter, you’ve always kept your growing feelings for jesse hidden—until a summer night at his house pulls the truth into the open. what starts as slow-burning tension finally ignites into something intense and intimate, only to be cut short by tommy’s unexpected arrival.

✏ after the fall ; jesse was supposed to come home with you after patrol — not bleeding out in your arms. you never expected to fall for him like this, but now you don’t know how to let go.

✏ the quiet kind of love ; you never planned to let jesse in — not when you first arrived in jackson, bruised and guarded, and especially not when he kept showing up with his easy smile and steady presence. but somewhere between quiet patrols, shared silences, and the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours, he became the only place you felt safe — and now, with a secret growing inside you and the weight of telling the people you love, he’s the one holding you together.

✏ to the guy with the smile (and the biceps) ; every valentine’s day, jackson gets a little weird—but nothing tops the anonymous love letter jesse receives praising his dimples, his biceps, and the quiet way he makes the world feel safe. when he sets out on a mission to uncover the mystery admirer (totally convinced it’s not you), he has no idea the person he’s been searching for has been right in front of him—watching, hoping, and maybe just a little in love the whole time.

✏ too good for your own good ; everyone in jackson thinks you and jesse are sweethearts—except the two of you, who insist you hate each other while racing to outdo every good deed in town, trading barbed sarcasm like it’s a sport. but when ellie and dina finally trap you together for one long, tension-thick night, it becomes painfully obvious that all that hatred was just foreplay.

✏ first, not mine ; after falling deeply in love with jesse, the reader’s world quietly unravels when dina reveals she’s pregnant with his child, forcing her to confront a future where she’ll always come second. despite trying to stay, the reader ultimately walks away, unable to bear the weight of a dream that now belongs to someone else.

✏ what comes after (pt.2 ) ; jesse and the reader slowly rebuild their relationship after months apart, navigating the complicated reality of dina’s pregnancy. with time, acceptance, and honesty, they begin to dream of a future together — one where love, healing, and even their own family might still be possible.

✏ what comes after (alternate ending)

✏ ashes in bloom ; jesse and reader experience the heartbreak of a wanted pregnancy ending in miscarriage, navigating the crushing weight of grief, blame, and silence. through shared pain and quiet love, they slowly begin to heal together, even as the loss lingers in everything they do. (involves miscarriages, PLEASE read at own discretion.)

✏ same team again? ; jesse keeps secretly changing patrol assignments just to be paired with you, hoping you’ll notice how much he likes you — but you’re too convinced he’s just being friendly to believe it. with dina and ellie’s not-so-subtle help, the truth finally comes out on a snowy patrol, ending in a soft, long-awaited kiss that changes everything.

✏ all yours ; jesse has always been quietly in love with you, drawn to your shy warmth and gentle nature. through soft moments, slow-burn affection, and tender glances, what begins as friendship gradually blossoms into a love that feels safe, steady, and entirely yours.

✏ tickle monster ; jesse is completely smitten with his super ticklish girlfriend, finding every laugh and squirm irresistibly adorable as he uses any excuse—whether it’s morning wake-ups, rainy naps, or lazy evenings—to make her giggle. despite her protests, she secretly loves the way his touch brings so much light and laughter into their otherwise heavy world.

✏ home eventually ; after being left behind by joel and ellie, you slowly rebuild your life in jackson with the help of tommy, maria, and jesse — who brings warmth, patience, and laughter back into your world. what starts as quiet companionship blossoms into a tender love that helps you finally begin to heal.

✏ whiskey eyes ; at a rowdy jackson party, jesse finds himself babysitting a wildly drunk you — only for you to drunkenly confess your love, unaware that he’s been in love with you for months. what follows is a chaotic, fluffy night full of laughter, honesty, and the start of something real.

✏ somewhere to land ; jesse has a quiet obsession with resting his head on your chest, finding comfort and safety in the softness and warmth of your body. one lazy jackson evening, that affection turns tenderly intimate, and you let him worship you the way he’s always wanted—slow, deep, and full of love.

✏ caught in the act ; when joel hears suspicious noises at 2 am, he catches his daughter sneaking jesse into her room, leading to a tense but heartfelt reckoning between an overprotective father and the boy who loves her. through awkward dinners, quiet conversations, and a carved wooden horse, joel ultimately gives jesse his blessing — in his own gruff, joel miller way.

✏ soft place to land ; a single mom in jackson slowly falls for her best friend jesse, who’s always been there for her and her adopted baby girl. through sleepless nights, soft kisses, and shared morning routines, they become a family without ever needing to say the words.

✏ good enough ; jesse brings you to meet his parents, but while his dad warms up quickly, his mom can’t stand you and makes it known. everything changes when infected invade jackson and you risk your life to save them both, finally earning her respect.

✏ dinner at the parents ; jesse finally brings you over for dinner at his parents’ house after weeks of robin pestering him, and the evening is filled with warm food, playful teasing, and the kind of chaotic love that makes you feel instantly at home. by the end of the night, with jesse walking you home under soft jackson skies, you both realize this — whatever this is — might just be the real thing.

✏ one night, one secret ; after a one-night stand with jesse, you find out you’re pregnant just days after he gets back together with dina, leaving you terrified to tell him and afraid of ruining his life. with ellie and maria’s help, you finally tell jesse, and through fear, heartbreak, and quiet moments, the two of you slowly build a future together with your daughter.

✏ domestic jesse headcannons

✏ warm hands, cold forehead ; jesse gets really sick after patrol and you take care of him through his fever, making tea, cuddling him in blankets, and never leaving his side. as he recovers, he turns adorably dramatic, whispering sleepy confessions and realizing just how much he loves you.

✏ the day you didn't see coming ; jesse, dina, and ellie secretly plan a surprise birthday party in jackson for the reader, filling the day with laughter, warmth, and heartfelt moments. surrounded by friends and quiet promises under the stars, the reader realizes just how deeply they’re loved.

✏ the closest of calls ; after a near-death encounter on a supply run, jesse and the reader return to jackson shaken but more in love than ever, realizing how close they came to losing one another. the experience strips away any hesitation, deepening their bond and affirming their future together in quiet, intimate moments.

✏ smoke break ; you and jesse sneak off after patrol to get high in an old shed, sharing laughs, smoke, and quiet confessions under the stars. what starts as a harmless escape turns into something tender, as jesse admits he feels safest with you—and kisses you like he means it.

✏ the distance between us ; after jesse’s breakup with dina, you finally confess your long-hidden feelings—only for him to gently turn you down, unsure of what he wants. but after time apart, he realizes you’re everything he’s been looking for, and slowly, sweetly, he wins your heart back.

✏ you, me, and a tiny pair of sneakers ; you're the teacher everyone in Jackson adores—patient, soft-spoken, and especially good with the little ones. when toddler JJ starts thriving in your class, you call Jesse in for a quick parent meeting… only to realize neither of you expected to leave it feeling something spark.

✏ yours to hold ; after weeks of quiet tension, you finally give in to your desire and ride jesse’s thigh, unraveling in the safety of his arms. the night spirals into something deeper—full of whispered confessions, soft aftercare, and the realization that you’ve always belonged to each other.

✏ donation mix-up ; after accidentally wearing jesse’s old hoodie from a donation drive, you become the center of a rumor that you’re secretly dating him. despite your awkward denials, the town refuses to believe otherwise—until the rumor slowly turns into something real and sweet between you and jesse.

✏ moments in jackson ; jesse finally confesses his feelings and starts showing up more, helping around the house and making you laugh with his cooking attempts. after a quiet night tangled up on the couch, it’s clear to both of you that this love is something soft, steady, and real

✏ the weight of the quiet things ; after losing their parents, a 21-year-old girl struggles to raise her grieving little sister in jackson, facing judgment and whispers from a town that only watches. but when jesse steps in with quiet patience and unwavering support, he becomes the anchor they both need—bringing healing, safety, and the first glimpses of love back into their lives.

✏ not just ellie's sister ; jesse always saw you as ellie’s little sister—until one night alone changed everything. after teasing turns to tension and feelings come to light, the two of you have to face ellie, the truth, and what it really means to fall for each other.

✏ all’s fair in love and laundry ; jesse, a military man, returns home to his devoted, funny wife, and together they find joy in the little moments of life filled with love and laughter. just when everything feels perfect, a simple pregnancy test with two pink lines changes everything, marking the start of their journey into parenthood.

✏ family like ours ; after twelve years together raising three kids in jackson, jesse and reader enjoy a playful family day out where their sweet, stolen kiss earns groans from their sons but an “awww” from their daughter. amidst laughter and chaos, their love feels as alive and strong as ever, grounding their busy, beautiful life.

✏ pulling gravity ; it’s been months of almosts and unspoken glances. fingers grazing, stolen touches, words that mean more than they should. jesse’s always there, close enough to touch but never quite yours—until the tension finally snaps and neither of you can pretend anymore.

✏ softest future ; while babysitting tommy and maria’s son benji, you and jesse navigate chaos, laughter, and tender moments that slowly reveal how naturally you fall into the rhythm of parenting together. by the end of the night, after a heartfelt conversation and a moment of intimacy, you both realize you're ready to dream about having a family of your own.

✏ you don't have to be okay right now ; after a rough patrol leaves you shaken, jesse gently takes care of you—guiding you home, wrapping you in warmth, and reminding you that it's okay not to be okay. in his arms, with his quiet love surrounding you, the fear finally fades.

✏ all the tomorrow's we lost ; when jesse leaves jackson to help find ellie and dina, he carries the secret that he's going to be a father—one he never gets the chance to come home to. left behind with only a heartbeat growing inside her, the reader must navigate unbearable grief, fractured friendships, and a future jesse will never see.

✏ the beginning of us ; in an unbroken world where the apocalypse never came, joel’s daughter and jesse—his trusted friend—navigate the shy beginnings of a sweet romance, with sarah, dina, and ellie delightfully scheming to bring them closer. through laughter, gentle moments, and quiet support, their bond grows into a hopeful love that brightens their lives and the close-knit jackson community around them.

✏ a knight's vow, a princess's heart medieval!au ; in a kingdom shadowed by duty and political intrigue, a sworn protector and a princess navigate the delicate balance between loyalty and love. as arranged marriages and court pressures mount, their quiet friendship deepens into a slow-burning romance—one that promises hope, trust, and a future forged together against all odds.

✏ brother's best friend modern!college!au ; you quietly love jesse, your brother’s best friend and longtime protector, while they navigate friendship, jealousy, and unspoken feelings. after a tense party incident and emotional confessions, their bond deepens into a tender, passionate romance, with ellie and dina’s playful teasing adding warmth and fun to their journey.

✏ operation: lovebirds ; ellie and dina are determined to uncover your secret relationship with jesse, convinced you're sneaking around behind everyone’s backs. what starts as a ridiculous trap turns into a hilarious game of cat-and-mouse—until you and jesse finally decide to end the charade with a kiss that shuts them both up for good.

✏ helping hands ; jesse gets a small injury during sparring, and you take it upon yourself to care for him with tender attention and homemade meals. as you spend time together, a quiet, sweet romance slowly blossoms, leading to heartfelt confessions and adorably flustered moments.

✏ like cinnamon & safety ; you meet jesse on a sleepy wednesday night in your best friend’s apartment, wrapped in a hoodie that isn’t yours and smelling like popcorn and soft comfort. you don’t expect the quiet, sweet weed dealer with warm eyes and cedarwood skin to become the person who builds you shelves, bakes you cookies, and kisses you like you’re the whole world—but he does, and he’s everything.

✏ soaked in silence ; after a brutal patrol leaves them bloody and dirty, jesse and you find refuge in a secluded river where vulnerability and desire blur the line between survival and something more. wrapped in damp clothes and guarded whispers, a slow-burning connection finally ignites into something undeniable.

» joel miller

✏ forgotten : after joel and the reader are brutally beaten, she’s left behind and presumed dead—until tommy discovers she’s still alive, forcing her to confront the pain of being forgotten by the one she risked everything to save.

#tlou #tlou jesse x reader #tlou jesse oneshot #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #dina tlou #dina x reader #ellie x reader #ellie tlou

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