#tlou Drabble

[ffiolette]

ELLIE WILLIAMS + THIGH RIDING

WARNINGS— pictured santa barbara ellie while writing this 🙂‍↕️love my wife's short hair, wlw/afab reader, not really any dom/sub it's just sex, thigh riding duh, cursing, clit play, fingering, nipple/breast play, NSFW MDNI.

you're straddling ellie's bare thigh, hips rutting back and fourth as you pant and whimper into the crook of her neck. your right hand is shoved between her warm thighs, rubbing mercilessly at her clit which you can feel pulsing beneath your pruned fingers.

you let out a whine as she clenches her thigh for you, tightening the muscles for you to hump against.

"fuck, els. feels s'good..." you mutter breathily, your fingers playing with her wetness, circling her twitching clit before shoving two fingers back into her sloppy pussy. she sucks in a breath and the grip she has on your hip tightens.

"yeahhh just like that, sweet girl."

she tilts her head back, letting it rest on the back of your ratty, worn down couch you'd had for years. the slick sounds of your juicy cunts fill the space, as well as your moans of pleasure and the heady scent of sex.

It's intoxicating. she's intoxicating, truly, seeing as you'd been fooling around for over an hour now.

ellie's lips brush your cheek and you immediately twist your head to swallow her desperate cry when the heel of your palm grinds against her swollen clit. you can feel her quivering around your fingers, and it only makes you all the more eager in humping her deliciously firm thigh.

your pussy leaks incessantly onto her sticky skin, slick spilling over her thigh until it pools under her and seeps into the cushions. "ellie...oh shit, 'm close." you mewl against her lips, the earlier kiss slowly morphing into something more desperate and pathetic as you pant into one another's mouth.

"me too, just a little faster, baby." she instructs you softly. and you obey almost instantly, fingers pistoning in and out of her hole at a quicker pace as your palm slaps wetly against her bundle of nerves. "fuck yeah, holy shit that's good."

the way she groaned and arched her hips ever so slightly when your fingertips grazed her g-spot has your eyes rolling back as you give up on the kiss fully, burying your flushed face in her shoulder.

"els, please..." you beg, not fully knowing what you're even pleading for in the first place. but when her hands come up to toy with your nipples through your loose tank top, letting the skin spill through her fingers as she gropes you, you knew you didn't need anything more.

"come on. come on my thigh, pretty. I'm so fuckin' close." she says in a strained tone, still working her hands over your tits as white hot pleasure courses through you everytime your clit drags over her soaked thigh.

"oh fuck, 'm coming—!" you choke out, your hips stuttering as your body contracts in pleasure. ellie's not far behind you, her thighs clenching and her pussy gushing liquid onto your hand as she listens to your whiny moans.

after drawing out her orgasm by prodding at her g-spot softly, and ellie doing the same with you by dragging you up and down her thigh by your hips, you slump against her, your cum slick hand pressed against her tummy as the both of you attempted to catch your breath.

"mmm, shit. that was good..." you mumble, tangling your fingers in her auburn hair to pull her into a slow, unhurried kiss. you can feel her lips curling up against yours, smiling as she pulls back. "agreed."

ffiolette

[seraphicsentences]

y’a know

help bc this is literally so hot. need ellie to fuck me that good. please i’m begging.

- just thinking about the way ellie would be so lost in the moment to the point where her hips would be thrusting deep into you on their own- just selfishly chasing after her own orgasm, absolutely LIVING off of the small sparks of friction her overstimulated clits getting on every push.

- she’d be rambling and shit, all “fuck baby you’re takin’ me so good,” and “god you’re so fuckin’ wet for me,” just blabbering anything and everything that’s coming to mind.

- and you KNOW ellie’s so delusional to the point where she swears she can actually feel you wrapped tightly around her strap. girl treats her precious green 6 incher as a fr LIMB.

- and so ofc that’s making her mutter cocky shit like, “gonna fill you full with my cum, baby. yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you? fuckin’ slut.” and ofc things like: “shit, babe, you’re gripping me so tight ya gotta let me move, c’mon.”

- since ellie’s such a strap lesbo you absolutely BET she’d fucking lose it seeing you squirt all over it. our girl knows she’s a total god with her silicone but like fuck, dude, this good?

- and yes, she is this good. because it’s nearly impossible for you to shut up at all when she’s fucking you dizzy ‘n dumb, g-spot hit deliciously with every stroke, clit prodded perfectly every time her hips meet yours.

- and imagine her cute lil puffy clit already rubbed raw from fucking you so hard w the strap just throbbing to the point it hurts from how hot you look under her, completely drenching her dick with your squirt.

- and she wouldn’t even be all that smug about it at first— no that comes later—she’d just fucking keen at the very sight of you.

- her cute eyebrows just scrunching up tightly together as she lets out the most unexpected, adorably needy whine, cumming immediately all over the base ‘n watching pervertedly as your dirty juices mix.

- and she’s just moaning complete nonsense, “god, please- fuck, fuck! ‘m cumming!” —literally more out of it than you are because she’s that turned on from watching you make a mess of the sheets.

- and THEN’s when she makes her annoying yet endearing ass quips, all “aw, you’re such a cute little mess for me,” and “big one, huh? who got you squirting like this, hmm?” as if she didn’t just whimper like a submissive bitch two seconds earlier.

my girl 4ever though i fr live for ellie and her strap. best duo in tlou. perhaps the only (surviving) duo? like damn not even her fingers- nvm.

[grayandthyme]

ok but you write for tommy so well??? 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ i’m literally obsessed with the way you capture the dynamic 😭😭 pls i need more of this energy in my life like yesterday

ask and you shall receive 🙌

masterlist tommy miller x f!reader warnings: petnames (darling, sweetgirl, doll), fluff, adult language, weapon usage, slight angst

December

You inhale, slow and uncertain, a shaky finger curled around the trigger. You press—just enough to feel the internal click of the mechanism, but not enough to fire.

“C’mon, sweetgirl,” his voice anchors you, low and steady beside your ear. His hands come to rest over yours, calloused palms warm against the cold metal, against your knuckles stiff-white with nerves. His touch is a lull against the rifle’s bite.

You hold your breath.

The shot cracks, loud and sharp, echoing into the treeline.

The deer’s head snaps up, eyes wide—and then it bolts.

A flash of movement, gone in seconds.

“Shit,” you groan, slumping forward as your knuckles rap against the old tree stump. The rifle settles in your lap, its weight heavier now with the puff of a miss.

Tommy laughs, light and teasing. “Alright, maybe huntin’ ain’t your calling.”

You look over your shoulder, face scrunching in mock indignation. “Bolt-actions are hard to use, in my defense.”

“Oh, no doubt. It’s a very complicated gun. Takes a genius to pull a trigger.”

You smack his arm with the back of your hand. “I hate you.”

“Mmhmm. Say it louder. You’re wearin' my flannel.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth of him seeps in again—his smile, the way his fingers are still loosely tangled with yours.

“I didn’t want to kill it anyway,” you mutter.

“I know,” he says softly, dropping the sarcasm. “That’s why I didn’t pull the trigger for you.”

You glance at him, eyes capturing his morning-painted freckles.

He shrugs, standing to stretch. “And if you are gonna kill something someday, you deserve to know you could. On your own.”

The forest is quiet now, just birdsong and wind weaving through branches.

You sigh, brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “You always gotta turn everything into a life lesson?”

Tommy grins, reaching down to haul you up with ease. “Only when I’m right.”

You scoff, but let him take the rifle from your hands anyway, his fingers brushing yours again—reassuring, steady.

Shifting in the snow, your boot nudging up a mound of powder before smoothing it back down with your heel.

The cold bites gently at your cheeks, but it’s the kind of quiet cold that settles, not stings.

“It’s just hard, that’s all,” you say, your breath curling into the air, a cloud of warmth swallowed by the wind.

“I was born and raised in the city,” you add, even though Tommy already knows. He knows all of it. Knows all about you.

You crouch down, fingers brushing the frost as you gather your things—loose ammo, gloves, the half-folded target map—and shove them back into your pack with a slow, thoughtful rhythm.

“Could kill one of those monsters, easy,” you mutter, trying for a joke but not quite sticking the landing. “But an animal?” Your nose scrunches softly. “They’re just… too cute.”

Tommy crouches beside you with a grunt, tugging his gloves tighter. “City kid ethics, huh, doll?” he says with a grin. “Murder’s fine if it’s ugly.”

You huff a laugh, looking at him sideways. “You’re not helping.”

“I am a treasure,” he counters. “And you love me.”

You don’t deny it.

He looks out toward where the deer disappeared, jaw ticking slightly with thought. Then his voice lowers, not serious, but softer.

“It’s not about just killing for food out here,” he says. “It’s about knowing when not to. About not taking more than you need. That guilt you feel? That means you’ll do it right, if you ever have to.”

You nod slowly, eyes flicking back toward the trees. The snow is quiet again, the world waiting.

“Still too cute,” you say, a bit more playfully now.

“… y’know what else is cute?” you murmur, voice low, syrup-thick with mischief as you crouch down toward the snow. Your movements are slow, methodical, careful not to draw attention—like a hunter, but grinning.

Tommy doesn’t even turn around. “If you say me—”

“You,” you say anyway, drawing the word out in a teasing lilt. Your hand snakes behind your back, palm cradling the quickly packed snowball, cold seeping into your glove.

He starts to turn, suspicious now. “You’ve got that tone. The dangerous one.”

“Oh, do I?” You blink innocently, stepping closer.

“Yeah. That’s the voice you use right before you—"

Smack.

The snowball hits him square on the shoulder, shattering in a puff of white powder. He stumbles back half a step, staring at the impact zone like he’s been personally betrayed.

You’re already laughing, stumbling away through the snow with another handful forming in your glove.

“Oh, hell,” His voice cracks through the air, part exasperation, part glee. “That’s how it’s gonna be?”

You squeal, dodging behind a tree stump. “Consider it revenge. For the mystery peaches.”

“That was one time!”

You toss another snowball, missing deliberately this time—just grazing his coat. He fakes a dramatic fall, throwing himself into the snow with a groan.

“Unarmed man taken down during patrol,” he mumbles, lying there flat like a starfish. “I hope you’re proud.”

You peek over the stump, grinning. “So proud—Should I tell the town? Alert your wife?"

He props himself up on his elbows, snow clinging to his curls. “Can't have my doll seein' me like this."

You chuck a final snowball his way. “You’re so dramatic.”

He laughs, sitting up fully, cheeks red from cold and joy. “You started it, sweet'girl.”

You shrug, brushing snow off your jacket. “I’ll end it, too.”

He stands again, brushing himself off, that grin still tugging at his lips as he walks toward you—not with vengeance, but with the kind of affection that feels like a warm quilt pulled up on a cold morning.

When he reaches you, he plucks a bit of snow from your hair, his hand lingering in your tangles.

“Cute,” he echoes, voice low. “You’re way cuter when you’re smug.”

You mimic his voice in a goofy drawl, dragging your vowels and puffing out your chest in exaggerated mockery. “You're way cuter when you’re smug,” you parrot, lifting your hands to mirror his, cupping your cold cheeks like he had.

Tommy lets out a deep breath, head tipping back with laughter. “That’s not what I sound like.”

“Oh, it absolutely is.” You poke his chest for emphasis. “All wise and weathered. Like a very charming cowboy who’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Charming, huh?”

“Painfully,” you tease.

The laughter lingers between you, steam from your breath mingling in the winter air. Your hands drop slowly, then come to rest against his chest, his coat crinkling beneath your fingers.

You've been out too long—your nose is a bright red against the pale snow, and your cheeks are flushed with cold, tender from wind and joy. Tommy’s eyes linger on your face like he's trying to memorize the exact shape and shade of it beneath the winter glow.

You reach out, fingertip brushing along the seam of his glove, slow and absent. “Wanna go home?” you ask, the question small, honest.

His smile softens into something gentler than words, the kind that starts in the crinkles of his mouth and ends in his eyes.

“With you?” he says, pulling your hand into his. “Always.”

“Who else would you go home with, huh?” you prod, grinning as you poke at his side with a gloved finger, just enough to make him flinch.

Tommy scoffs, feigning deep offense as he stumbles back a step like you’d wounded him.

Drama Queen. “You wound me, darlin’. Like I got options.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, taking a step closer. “You’re Jackson’s sweetheart. I’ve seen the way those girls at the greenhouse look at you.”

He raises both brows, amused. “The ones who talk to me ‘cause I helped build the planters?”

“Uh-huh. Flannel… Sexy white shirt… Sweaty…”

Tommy laughs, loud and shameless. “It was hot! I was working!”

You chuckle, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder as another flurry floats gently down around you. A few flakes settle into the dark curls of his hair, tiny white speckles dotting his head like paint. You reach up to ruffle it gently, and the snow scatters into the wind.

He watches you with that same look he always gives when you're not trying to be particularly beautiful—when you're just you, flushed pink from the cold, standing there like the center of his small, rebuilt world.

“Well, for the record,” he says, lowering his voice just enough for it to wrap around you, “I don’t care how many people in Jackson look at me…"

"I only walk home with one.”

You glance up at him, chest tightening in that soft way it always does—so effortlessly, like he doesn’t realize he’s pulling the floor out from under you.

He's a charmer.

Snow clings to his lashes now. His cheeks are flushed too, but you don’t think it’s just the cold. Tan freckled skin. It's a miracle how good he can look even in the cold of winter.

“Good,” you murmur, leaning your shoulder into his side. “I’d fight for the privilege.”

“Oh, I know you would,” he smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You’re scrappy, huh, Darlin'?”

You nudge him again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch—just pulls you closer as you begin the slow walk back through the trees.

"Funny, Cowboy."

March

The snow had thinned, but the cold never left—just shifted.

Turned sharply. Turned violent.

The air in Jackson rang with screams and gunfire now, not laughter. Smoke rolled over rooftops, black against the morning sky.

The town was burning, and so were your lungs.

You could barely hear your own voice above the chaos.

“Please,” you gasped, chest heaving, “Please, let’s go home—”

It came out strangled. Broken. Like your own throat was closing in around the words.

You clung to Tommy’s jacket, fists clenched so tightly the muscles in your hands screamed. Your nails dug into the fabric, into his skin beneath.

Maybe hard enough to bruise. Maybe hard enough to make him stay.

He looked at you—his eyes wild with decision and duty, but his jaw trembled.

“Tommy—please—” You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t let go.

You were begging now, truly begging, and it was the most selfish thing you’d ever done.

“Stay—Stay with me,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his chest. “Let’s go. Please. Let’s just leave. You don’t owe this town your life—I need you.”

Selfishness was a monster that had consumed you long ago.

The decision between the town you had come to love, versus the man who holds you entirely.

It's as if someone asked you which to save: the world, or the person you love the most.

Sounds like a familiar decision, huh?

His arms were around you, holding you together because you were starting to fall apart. You could hear the shouting closer now.

The sounds of infected—no, people—people screaming.

He was shaking his head. You could feel it, even before he spoke.

“I have to,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “They’re just kids out there. People who can’t shoot. People like you were.”

You looked up at him, and something cracked in your ribs. “I’m not anymore—I’m not helpless anymore." A deep inhale, barely withstanding air, "Fuck—Tommy, please."

You can help him. You can go with him.

He brushed his fingers through your hair, slow and gentle like you weren’t both standing in hell.

“I know,” he said. “And that’s why you’re gonna make it. Even if I don’t.”

“Don’t you dare—” Your voice broke completely. “Don’t say that. Don’t even—”

He kissed your forehead, hard and lingering, like he was sealing something shut. Eyes clamped tightly, breath ragged against your skin.

“I’ll find you,” he whispered. “No matter what. I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone.

You stood there in the street with your hands empty, covered in ash and blood and melting snow.

Somewhere in the distance, someone was screaming Tommy’s name—but it wasn’t you.

You just want to go home. Yet, home had just thrown himself into the middle of danger.

authors note

tommy def makes it... i just like being dramatic af

[sweetercalypso]

༘⋆ abby masterlist 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ tlou masterlist ˎˊ˗

Thinking about coming home from a fancy event with Abby and she’s practically doing a strip tease as she takes her suit off.

Sliding her tie loose with two fingers tucked under the knot, hair loose from its usual braid and falling over her shoulders in sleek waves.

She’s so casual about it when she pops open the first two buttons of her shirt and exposes the column of her throat to you. “You okay baby? Lookin’ a little flustered over there.”

And then she’s moving her attention to her cuff links and her expensive black shoes, anything to drag out her state of undress. You’ve stopped halfway through taking off your own clothes just to watch her performance.

Her tie hangs undone around her neck, drawing your eyes to the trail of open buttons leading down her chest. “See something you like?”

The sly grin on her face tells you she’s doing this on purpose. You try to think of something witty to say in return but she shrugs her suit jacket off and the way her shirt clings to her muscles makes your jaw fall slack.

She deposits her jacket somewhere off to the side and perches on the edge of your shared bed, leaning forward so that the open v of her shirt reveals the freckled swell of her tits.

“Why don’t you come over here and get a better look?”

[megalomaniacz]

up late thinking about chaotic roommates they mean so much to me

i’m thinking about them too! thinking about how abby and ellie arm wrestle and of course abby wins every time without breaking a sweat while ellie’s gritting her teeth with a tomato red face. how they both love to help you relax after a stressful day at work, abby massaging your legs and feet while ellie massages your shoulders and back. the way abby NEVER leaves the house without sunscreen and ellie is always getting burnt because she’s stubborn as hell. how abby’s kisses are soft and purposeful and ellie’s are sloppy and soo fucking desperate. ellie’s got a lanyard for her weed pen that abby steals because she likes making her freak out. abby acts like a hater but she really finds ellie’s drawings impressive and she’ll hang them up on the fridge but say you did it. they’re my angels <3

[kmatrixx1130]

TYPE § drabble

PLOT ; Ellie and Abby, rival hockey captains from wealthy families, clash fiercely on ice, their legacies and attraction fueling intense competition.

The rink smelled like frost and fury, a sharp tang of shaved ice mingling with the sweat-soaked leather of hockey gear. Ellie Williams leaned against the boards, her stick balanced across her shoulders like a yoke, her breath fogging in the cold air of the Seattle Storm’s home arena.

Her green eyes, narrowed beneath the shadow of her visor, tracked the opposing team’s captain across the ice. Abby Anderson, all long limbs and golden braid, glided through warm-ups with a grace that belied the brute force she unleashed in games. Ellie’s jaw tightened. Tonight’s match wasn’t just another game in the Women’s Pacific Hockey League—it was personal.

Ellie’s family name carried weight in Seattle. The Williams legacy was etched into the city’s skyline: real estate empires, tech startups, and a foundation that funded half the youth hockey programs in the state. Her father, Joel, was the anomaly—a self-made man who’d clawed his way from a Texas trailer park to boardrooms, building his fortune with nothing but grit and a knack for reading people.

He’d raised Ellie to be tough, to carve her own path, even if it meant skating through a world that expected her to trade her stick for a suit. She’d chosen the ice instead, her cropped auburn hair slicked back, her jersey hanging loose over broad shoulders honed by years of training. Ellie was all edges—sharp elbows, sharper tongue ( one she used well ), and a playing style that was equal parts precision and chaos.

Across the rink, Abby Anderson was a different kind of force. The Andersons were old money, their name synonymous with philanthropy and power. Her father, Dr. Jerry Anderson, was a renowned surgeon whose foundation bankrolled medical clinics across the Northwest. Abby grew up in a world of galas and expectations, her childhood split between private tutors and figure skating lessons. But she’d traded sequins for skates, choosing hockey over her mother’s dreams of a debutante daughter. Now, in her feminine era, Abby leaned into her softness off the ice—flowing blonde hair, delicate gold jewelry, and a wardrobe of tailored athleisure that screamed understated wealth. On the ice, though, she was a titan, her six-foot frame a wall of muscle and menace, her stick an extension of her will.

The rivalry between Ellie and Abby wasn’t just about hockey. It was about legacy, about two women from gilded cages proving they were more than their last names. They’d clashed since their junior league days, their games a brutal ballet of checks and goals. Ellie’s agility and trash-talking swagger grated on Abby’s disciplined intensity; Abby’s relentless physicality and cool-headed taunts drove Ellie to the brink. Their last meeting had ended with Ellie in the penalty box, blood trickling from a split lip, and Abby smirking from the bench. Tonight, with the Storm facing Abby’s Portland Sirens for a playoff spot, the stakes were higher than ever.

Ellie adjusted her gloves, the leather creaking as she flexed her fingers. Joel was in the stands, his weathered face a quiet anchor amid the roaring crowd. He’d never pushed her into hockey, but he’d been there for every 5 a.m. practice, every bruised ego, every triumph. “You don’t owe nobody nothin’,” he’d told her once, his drawl thick after a long day. “But if you’re gonna fight, fight like hell.” Ellie intended to.

On the other side, Abby’s gaze flicked to the luxury box where her parents sat. Her father’s approval was a rare currency, doled out in measured nods. Her mother, elegant in a cashmere coat, had softened toward Abby’s career but still flinched at every hit her daughter took. Abby had learned early to compartmentalize—to be the poised daughter at fundraisers and the unrelenting captain on the ice. But Ellie Williams had a way of cracking her composure, those green eyes sparking with a challenge Abby couldn’t ignore.

The whistle blew, and the teams lined up for the face-off. Ellie crouched at center, her stick tapping the ice, her smirk a silent dare. Abby mirrored her, her blue eyes locked on Ellie’s, her braid swinging as she leaned in. The puck dropped, and the world narrowed to the scrape of blades and the crack of sticks. Ellie won the face-off, snapping the puck to her winger, but Abby was already on her, shoulder slamming into Ellie’s chest with a force that rattled her teeth. Ellie stumbled, recovered, and chased the play, her legs pumping, her mind a blur of strategy and spite.

The first period was a war. Ellie danced through defenders, her wrist shot pinging off the crossbar. Abby answered with a bone-crushing check that sent a Storm player sprawling, her team capitalizing with a goal. The crowd roared, a sea of green and blue clashing with Portland’s red. Ellie’s trash talk flowed—“That all you got, Anderson?”—and Abby’s retorts were icy: “Keep barking, Williams. I’ll shut you up soon enough.” Their teammates exchanged glances, knowing better than to get between the two captains when they were like this.

Off the ice, their lives intersected in ways neither acknowledged. They’d crossed paths at charity events, their families’ foundations often collaborating. Ellie, in a rare suit, had once caught Abby’s eye across a ballroom, her blonde hair loose, her laugh unguarded. Abby, in turn, had seen Ellie at a youth clinic, patiently teaching kids to skate, her usual scowl replaced by a rare softness. Those moments lingered, unspoken, buried under the weight of their rivalry.

By the second period, the score was tied, and the tension was a living thing. Ellie scored on a breakaway, her shot a laser past the Sirens’ goalie, and she celebrated with a spin, pointing at Abby with her stick. Abby’s jaw clenched, and minutes later, she answered with a slapshot that left the net vibrating. The third period loomed, and both knew it would come down to the wire.

In the locker room, Ellie’s coach barked strategy, but her mind was on Abby.

“I’ll shut you up soon enough.” Constantly repeating.

She hated how the blonde filled her thoughts, how every hit felt like a conversation, every goal a confession. Abby, meanwhile, sat in the Sirens’ locker room, re-taping her stick, her calm exterior hiding a flicker of unease. Ellie’s defiance sparked something in her—a hunger to win, to dominate, but also a pull she didn’t understand.

As the final period began, the ice was theirs. Ellie and Abby traded blows, their families’ legacies, their unspoken truths etched into every move. With seconds left and the score tied, Ellie stole the puck, and barreled toward the net. Abby was there, her last stand a desperate lunge. Their sticks clashed, their bodies collided, and the puck skittered free. The buzzer sounded, and the game ended in a draw—but for Ellie and Abby, it was far from over.

Their rivalry was a fire, a spark that burned brighter in the cold, and as they skated off, their gazes locked, both knew this was only the beginning.

Should I continue this?

Love Tana

[dnvrsmedia]

love at first suture

abigail anderson x medic!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries (no gore)

canon universe setting, no pronouns or r physical attributes used!

°°°

Soft light enters the hallway as the rising sun shines its beams onto Earth, enveloping its warm rays like a blanket on your skin. Puffs of air leave your sleeping lover's mouth as her chest steadily rises at a rhythmic rate. Calm is the state you find yourself in on the rare occasion you wake up before the blonde. Her long hair cascades along her broad shoulders like a warm toned waterfall. On days like these you feel a little bit more filled with gratitude. Never have you believed in soulmates until you met yours. Abigail Anderson was the textbook definition of your other half. She fulfilled every need, want, hope, and dream you could ever have asked for—ever so effortlessly. Love was never easy, but loving Abby was the easiest thing you have ever done.

Your hand moved to tuck a stray piece of hair from tickling her nose. A giggle erupts from your mouth as the blonde scrunches her nose and furrows her brows, trying to get away from the tickling strand of hair. Her body relaxes with a content hum as you free her from the itching. Abby moves into your hand, subconsciously yearning for your touch. No matter how big and scary she looks to others, you’ll always know the true Abby. Your loving and caring partner. Abby who goes to the ends of the earth for what she believes in. Your sweet girl and most powerful protector.

Reminiscing on when you first met always brings a smile to your face. The once tough girl falling into a puddle of mush—flushed beyond belief as you patch her up in the infirmary. You were newer to the area and quickly became one of the most crucial surgeons for the WLF. Abby luckily was not hurt badly, just a few lacerations to various parts of her body. Leaving only a slightly deeper cut on her upper thigh. The blonde stubborn as always, grumbled her way in the infirmary. Nora being the only one to get through her thick skull.

“Abigail I swear to god if you don’t sit your ass in that fucking chair-“ Nora’s voice heard through the groans and chaos of the infirmary.

Your eyebrows shoot up in amusement. In the few months you’ve been with WLF, you’ve known that Abby was not one to be fucked with. The top scar killer, Isaac’s number one asset, was one to be listened to. You had only a few run-ins with the tall blonde. Abby did well in either playing down her injuries or patching herself up. Yet, here she was, being yelled at like a toddler by her best friend. Tail tucked between her legs with an adorable pout to her plush lips. Her thick thighs spread wide after unceremoniously plopping into your open chair. Her pout could be seen from miles away as scoffs left her lips.

“Hi, how can I help you?” You don your nitrile gloves with a ‘snap’.

Abby’s stubborn nature made her snarl before she looked up at you. All of her previous stipulations melt away as her eyes meet yours. The stubborn blond rendered speechless as her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“Uh-I…um-” Abby struggles to speak as she dumbly points to her thigh.

Nora catches onto her best friend’s actions with a smirk as she nudges Abby’s watermelon sized bicep.

“This dumbass needs stitches on her thigh and bicep. The other lacerations aren’t deep enough for stitches, but a good cleaning should fix it. I’d help her myself but I'm busy and you need more friends, bye!” Nora rushes the last sentence before going into the middle of the storm of hurt soldiers.

Crimson red is the color that peaks under Abby’s freckles. Your own belly betrays you as it flutters w butterflies. Her teeth sitting atop her tucked in bottom lip makes your knees weak. You snap out of your trance, turning to attend to the matter at hand. Your fingers fumble with the suture package before placing your materials on your tray. You sit down on your stool before her.

“How are you feeling? I’m sure there’s no major injuries since your reluctance to be checked out, but this is a pretty gnarly cut here.” Your gloved hand caresses her clothed thigh that currently has a gash in the fabric.

Abby’s thighs tense at the feeling of your gentle finger caressing her. You take that as a symptom of tenseness and pull away immediately in worry. Abby silently curses herself.

“Is that painful there? I could check you out some more to see-” You ramble before being cut off by the blonde.

“N-no i'm okay just wasn’t ready for your touch. I didn't mind it.” She smirks, loving the shy smile that adorned your lips.

“Oh! Okay then, that’s perfect. So I’m just gonna need you to uh take off your pants- or what’s left of them, to stitch you up and send you on your way.” Your eyes veer from her eyes, oozing with nerves. Abby has this effect on you that you couldn’t explain.

Meanwhile, Abby is trying not to lose her shit at the thought of taking her pants off for you. She wished she was taking them off for a different circumstance-

“Uh, *cough*, yeah, th- that’s fine.” Abby tried-and failed- at keeping a cool and mysterious tone. In actuality, her brain was going a mile a minute all because of the beauty in front of her.

She stands and unbuckles her belt in front of you. Due to your height difference as you were still on your stool, her hips stood at face level. Your mouth salivates at the filthy thoughts flooding through your brain. You clear your throat and turn your head in a hurry, pretending to preoccupy yourself with something useless. Once the clang of her heavy belt buckle sounds, signaling it hitting the ground, you turn back to your patient. Your eyes bulge out of your eyes at the sight. You thought her thighs looked good before but holy shit. Her sculpted thighs were something to worship. Yet, this certainly was not the time.

You get through your mini short circuit and immediately get to work cleaning her wounds. The whole time you talk the blonde through what you’re doing. Abby wasn’t stupid, she was actually decently knowledgeable on things of the sort due to her late father, yet she didn’t once stop you to mention she knew what you were doing. She fell in love with your passion to heal others, your passion for your craft. Any frustrations from her patrol melted away as she listened and watched you work. Soft giggles leave your lips as Abby filters in jokes every now and then. If your voice is honey then your laugh is heaven to her. The way your nose scrunched when she said something you found particularly funny or dorky made her heart soar. Your laugh gave Abby a high that no drugs could ever give her.

“You are good to go!” You finish wrapping her bandage securely.

“If you have any questions feel free to stop by, okay? Make sure you’re not doing any rigorous training or activities for at least a few days.” You pointedly look at her with your eyebrows raised. You may be new but you know that all of your warnings will go in one ear and out the other.

Abby laughs at your knowing look, wondering how you could read her so well so soon. Unbeknownst to the two of you, that would only be the beginning.

[queenofhalloween94]

*Master list: Drabble List*

💜Pure Fluff❤️

Drabble #3

Chaperoned Hearts

Jackson, a few years after the events of Part I.

The trouble started with a clipboard and two girls who thought they were gonna play cupid.

Joel had barely taken two steps into the community center before Ellie shoved it into his hands with all the charm of a con artist. “Great, you’re here! Can you just sign at the bottom? You’re officially our Valentine’s Dance chaperone. Thanks, Joel.”

He blinked at her, suspicious. “The hell do you mean our?”

“Mine and Dina’s. We’re in charge of the dance committee, remember?”

He did not remember.

From the other side of the room, Dina waved cheerfully at the you who’d just been pulled in by a similar scheme involving a tray of cupcakes, a fake emergency, and a strategically vague, “We just really need another adult around tonight.”

By the time you and Joel locked eyes across the streamer-strewn room, realization was dawning.

“Wait,” you said slowly, catching Ellie’s smirk as she adjusted the decorations. “This isn’t about the dance, is it?”

Joel was already pinching the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn teenagers.”

Dina sidled up between you both, grinning wide. “Look, we just knew you two wouldn’t sign up willingly. But hey — free punch, romantic lighting, slow songs… I mean, supervision. Definitely just supervision.”

Ellie gave you a wink. “Try not to make out under the bleachers, alright?”

The dance, of course, was mostly uneventful for the kids. They danced, they laughed, they occasionally needed someone to tell them not to climb on the sound system. But for Joel and you?

It was chaos. Internal, emotional chaos.

Joel, standing stiff near the snack table in his flannel, looked like he’d rather be on patrol with clickers than under the soft glow of fairy lights and a blaring mix of love songs.

You were no better. Hovering awkwardly by the punch bowl, trying not to overthink the way Dina kept glancing over and whispering to Ellie.

“This is a setup,” you murmured under your breath when Joel passed by.

He grunted. “They’re not even trying to hide it.”

Then, as the music shifted — something soft, something slow, some old pre-outbreak song crooning about second chances — the kids began to pair off. And suddenly, there were no teens left to chaperone.

Just the two of you.

Joel scratched his beard and avoided eye contact. “Well. This is awkward.”

“Unbearably.”

Silence. A beat. Then:

“…You dance?” he asked, sounding like he already regretted it.

You shrugged, your voice lighter than you felt. “Not well.”

Joel offered you his hand, calloused and warm. “Guess we’ll both embarrass ourselves.”

You took it.

The dance was clumsy at first — Joel was stiff, you were overthinking every step — but something about the absurdity of it all loosened the tension. He smelled like cedar and soap. You felt safe, and warm, and more than a little giddy.

He leaned in after a moment. “They might’ve been onto somethin’, y’know.”

“Yeah,” you murmured back, smiling. “Might’ve.”

And when the song ended, neither of you let go right away.

From behind a stack of folding chairs, Ellie whispered to Dina, “Told you this would work.”

Dina fist-bumped her. “We’re like, love-geniuses.”

Joel’s voice, dry as ever, called out from the dance floor. “We can see and hear you both, y’know.”

“Worth it!” Ellie shouted back.

And when you laughed, head tilted against Joel’s shoulder, he decided maybe being tricked wasn’t so bad after all.

*Thank you for reading!*

[mxlktxa]

shamepless plug — tlou mlist. & quick reads/rambles

straddling dinas lap, you sighed as quietly as you could, your way of quietly apologizing before actually facing her and coming to terms with what upset you and why it upset you. dinas arms wrapped around you, continuing to read her book while peeking over your shoulder.

“you okay?” dina whispered, placing kisses on your shoulder between the sentences. you only nodded, pressing your body closer to hers, “i can tell youve been crying.”

“cause ive been so mean to you as of late,” you muttered, “im sorry. i just didnt like when you promised me youd come to see my presentation. but you stood me up and didnt even apologize when i came home.”

“mmm,” dina placed her book down on the coffee table, hugging you tightly and kissing your neck and shoulders, “well im sorry. i got caught up in some work myself and didnt have time to call you. i was also trying to get you a little present.”

“present?” you looked to her, “what for? i havent been doing much lately.”

“just because i can,” dina kept pushing to kiss all on you, neat, soft kisses turning into sloppy, rough ones, “because youre my girl and you deserve it all, deserve the world, even.”

you hummed as she nipped at your skin, moving your hands to knead her breats while she dug her nails into your hips, “dina, please.”

“please, what?” she chuckled against your soft skin, “you wanna go upstairs? hm? let me show you how sorry i am?” you could only nod as she managed to stand while also holding you up still, “yeah?”

“can i still have the other gift you got me?”

“you can have whatever you want, whenever you want it. ill spoil you til the day i die.”

[banigarubug]

warning ;; david’s attempt

consider:

sarah, a college student home for the summer, is hospitalized after falling ill

& ellie who was seriously injured while running away from a foster placement and is placed in the bed next door

they click instantly. sarah is a sweetheart who gets along with anyone and ellie is eager to please a cool college student like any 14 year old would want to

joel and ellie … not so much

ellie gets a kick out of pissing joel off almost as much as sarah gets a kick out of witnessing it .. so ellie amps it up a notch over the course of a few days to really drive joel crazy and make sarah’s time in the hospital better

one of the nurses tells ellie laughter is the best medicine and that’s what sarah deserves. sarah is probably the first person to be nice to ellie like this. to just… accept her with a fond smile. (except maybe riley. but she’s gone now. sometimes ellie thinks sarah looks like her, just a little bit.)

but then ellie is discharged and has to go right back to the place she ran from. her social worker says no one else will take her. of course they wouldn’t.

ellie doesn’t have a phone, but sarah gives her her and joel’s numbers anyways. makes her promise to call if she wants to run again. that way sarah can keep her safe

ellie uses the elusive payphones and stranger’s cells to call sarah sporadically so she knows ellie’s alive, but other than that, it’s inconsistent contact at best. but her birthday is coming up and sarah doesn’t want a gift this year. instead she asks joel to get ellie a phone.. and he says yes. next time ellie calls sarah, it’s 3 days before her birthday, and sarah gets ellie’s address. gets joel to sign her out of the hospital to drive her there and deliver the gift in person. its the most expensive thing ellie’s ever seen and she cries and hugs sarah and then hugs joel

and joel realizes, really, that ellie’s just a kid

she’s a spitfire with a sharp tongue and a huge ego to make up for how small she really is but she’s also just some kid who has never been shown love before

so joel decides to take ellie in, a little bit

not as a foster parent - he and sarah have their hands full, she’s dropping out and the hospital bills are piling up, and ellie’s foster parents are fine anyways, just old and weird - but takes her to visit sarah once a week for a meal together - sarah calls it family dinner, behind ellie’s back but straight to joel’s face - and whenever else sarah wants the company

and maybe he brings sarah to ellie’s school once or twice to pick her up and take her to lunch … or cuz ellie was in an art gallery and the featured piece of the whole exhibit was something she made … or sometimes without sarah when she cuts class and wont tell him why so he just gets her a milkshake and listens to facts about dinosaurs until she agrees to catch the last periodd

christmas is coming up soon and ellie’s excited because she’s gotten them both gifts . for sarah its a couple things - handmade friendship bracelets and a pair of earrings she skipped a week and a half of school lunches for and she painted sarah’s pennyboard with butterflies and crashing waves and a little white moth beside a purple emperor

for joel a huge framed painting of sarah and joel with sarahs grandmother/joels mom who died when sarah was little. joel cooks all her recipes and talks about how much he misses her and says stuff like “she woulda loved you, ellie” so she’s confident he’ll love it and she knows sarah will too

but ellie gets into a fight at school. it’s not really a bad one by any means but it’s the worst her newest placement has seen and they decide she’s too complicated for them. she cant leave the state but she can leave the city, and she’s out of boston with little to no warning, moved all the way out to a “home for troubled kids” in a shitty town called silver lake all the way in berkshire county and only has enough time to frantically tell joel where to find the gifts — in a garbage bag that her art teacher agreed to hold onto

this new placement is way worse than the old people. at most they’d been neglectful. this home is … freaky . a weird religious cult, some branch of christianity that ellie’s never heard of, and all the kids living there treat the director guy, david, like he’s — well. like hes god.

ellie wants to run away again, but this time, she can call sarah! right? except she’s not supposed to have the phone and david finds that thing immediately, sniffs it out like a bloodhound and takes it from her. he makes a deal with her. if she’s good, she use it once a day to call sarah. if she’s really good she can get it back - but she cant tell any of the other girls. david says ellie is special.

ellie’s… never been special before. its gross, a little, the way david says it, but she cant complain much. he feeds her and none of her foster siblings are violent even though shes the smallest by far. she figures david will want her to do chores or handy work, some free labor and she’ll get to call sarah & joel every day. it’s no big deal

within just 5 days of living there, ellie realizes that is not what david meant when he said to be good.

at first its just the lingering touches. a hand a little too high or too low . staring in that weird too-long way .. he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and she feels the dirt on his fingers for hours.

and then. it’s christmas eve and she’s planning her escape (she knows where the phone is, and she’ll make a break for it. her bag is packed and she’s quick) when david brings her into his prayer-room for something.

u can infer what happens, right?

and when she’s on the ground and his hands are on her jeans she sees some metal shining as she thrashes around and something shining catches her eye and she reaches out and grabs it and its some bowl with a heavy weight at the bottom so ellie bashes it into davids skull

over

and over

and over again

until he falls on the ground and she hits him a few more times for good measure

it’s the middle of the night and snowing like a bitch but ellie wanders outside anyway and just sits on the front porch step under the falling snow

she doesnt know how much time has passed before the time the sun starts rising. but when it does she sees a very familiar big grey truck barreling towards her and ellie thinks she must be dead or dying

but sarah is out of the car before it’s even stopped and joel’s yelling at her for it and ellie’s covered in blood thats not her own so she just stands and walks to the car in a trance and figures its either the gates of heaven or actually fucking joel and sarah

(“you didnt call me all day,” sarah says later, when ellie asks about it, “i knew something was wrong.” and her phone had gps and joel had a gut feeling and her social worker had a few too many missed calls so they took it into their own damn hands and showed up for her)

ellie trips and falls and lands in joel’s open arms and sarah hugs her from the side, crowding her until the phantom touches david left behind on her skin are completely invisible

joel applies for guardianship and it is shockingly easy

sarah’s been getting better, too. transfers to the community college so she can stay in the house and ellie’s being homeschooled for a while so they spend even more time together

running out of steam i might come back to this but i was only thinking abt it all bc sarah and ellie being siblings is SOOO important to me … big sister sarah ykwim ….

[daryltwdixon]

So could you write a pretty angst-y fic where Joel and reader are in an established relationship and they've been settled in Jackson for a while, taking part in patrols and all. And one day, reader and Tommy go out on patrol and they're taking longer than they should to come back and Joel is anxiously waiting by the gate. Then he sees Tommy approaching on his horse with reader's limp body in his arms and a scared look on his face. Reader's been badly hurt while saving Tommy's life. Joel thinks he's gonna lose her but thankfully she recovers (so happy ending!!!)

Thanks! I hope you can understand the general idea, English is not my first language so bear with me lol

first ever Joel request :') thank you anon!!!! had this in the draft for the past few days

The air bit at Joel’s face as he paced near the gate, his boots grinding against the frost-touched dirt. The sun had started to dip, its light staining the snow a faint amber, and still, there was no sign of them. He glanced at Maria, who stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression tight.

“They’re late,” Joel muttered, more to himself than her.

“Give them time,” she replied evenly, though her voice carried no conviction.

Every nerve in Joel’s body felt like it was stretched thin, pulled taut by the silence. He wasn’t the type to panic—he’d seen too much, lost too much that he'd grown a thick skin—but this was different. You were different. And Tommy... Hell, he couldn’t let himself think about it.

When the sound of hooves finally broke the stillness, Joel’s head snapped toward the horizon. Relief flickered in his chest, but it was fleeting. The sight of Tommy riding toward the gates, his horse kicking up fresh snow, sent his stomach lurching.

You were slumped against Tommy’s chest, your body limp as a rag doll.

Tommy’s face was pale, his jaw tight. “Open the gate!” he shouted, urgency sharpening his voice.

Joel’s feet moved before his brain could catch up, his heart thundering like a war drum. His hands felt clumsy as he helped Maria shove the gate open, the cold metal biting into his palms.

“What the hell happened?” Joel demanded, his voice rising as Tommy reined the horse in.

“She—she saved me,” Tommy stammered, his breath fogging in the cold. “Raiders. She pushed me outta the way, Joel. Got hit bad—”

Joel didn’t hear the rest. His eyes were locked on you, on the blood soaking through your jacket and the way your head lolled against Tommy’s shoulder. He reached up, his hands trembling, and carefully took you from Tommy’s arms.

“Jesus, no—no, no, no,” Joel muttered under his breath, his voice cracking as he cradled you against him. You were too still, your face too pale, and the warmth of your blood seeped through his clothes.

Maria was shouting something about getting a stretcher, about calling for a doctor, but Joel barely registered it. He carried you toward the infirmary, his steps uneven and frantic.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his face to your hair. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare.”

The hours that followed were a blur of blood-stained bandages, hushed voices, and Joel’s chest so tight he could barely breathe. He sat by your bedside, his hands gripping yours like they were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

You didn’t stir.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Joel rasped, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice was low, hoarse. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine. I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”

Joel hadn’t moved from the chair in hours. His back ached, his legs felt stiff, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing grounding him was the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

The infirmary was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater. The blood had been cleaned off your skin, the deep wound on your side stitched and wrapped. But the pale cast to your face still gnawed at him, clawing at the frayed edges of his composure.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve fought through worse, haven’t you? Don’t make me sit here and talk to myself like a damn fool.”

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until he felt your fingers twitch in his. It was subtle—barely there—but it sent a jolt through him. His head shot up, his heart hammering as your lashes fluttered.

“Hey,” he breathed, standing so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. He leaned over you, his hand cupping your cheek as your eyes cracked open. “Hey, there you are. You’re awake.”

You blinked sluggishly, your gaze trying to focus on his face. “Joel?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” His voice cracked, his forehead lowering to press against yours for a long moment. His breath was shaky, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.

Then—in a move that to anyone but you that knew Joel would be uncharacteristic—he kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—his lips lingering as if trying to will you back to life.

But the reprieve didn’t last. When he pulled back, the familiar furrow of his brow returned, and his jaw tightened.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled, stepping back just enough to meet your eyes. The raw edge of his voice sliced through the haze of your exhaustion. “Throwin’ yourself in front of Tommy like that? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

The gruffness in his tone didn’t surprise you—it was Joel’s way of dealing with fear. But the storm in his eyes made your throat tighten.

“Tommy—he… needed help,” you rasped, your voice weak.

“I don’t give a damn what the excuse is,” Joel snapped, his hand raking through his hair. He paced to the foot of the bed, then back to your side, his frustration barely contained. “You think I can just sit here and watch you—watch you almost…” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

Your heart twisted at the sight. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but here he was, raw and undone.

“Joel,” you whispered.

He turned back to you, his jaw tight. “You don’t get to do that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t get to make that choice for me. For us.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and you reached out, your fingers brushing his hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking your hand in his, holding it tightly like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you murmured.

“Well, you did. You scared the hell outta me,” he shot back, though his grip on your hand softened. “Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?”

You managed the faintest of smiles, your lips quirking despite the ache in your body. “Bossy.”

Joel let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I’m bossy. And you’d better start listenin’.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the hum of the heater and the quiet, shaky breaths Joel took to calm himself. He sank back into the chair, his head bowing as he rested his forehead against your joined hands.

“You’re stuck with me,” you whispered, echoing the words he’d once said to you.

Joel huffed, "Got that right.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were softer, though the tension in his jaw hadn’t fully eased. He kissed your knuckles again, lingering for a moment.

“I mean it,” he muttered, his voice gruff but tender. “Don’t scare me like that again. I can’t…” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ll try,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his.

“That’s all I’m askin’,” Joel replied, his lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile.

He stayed there, his chair pulled close to your bedside, his hand never leaving yours. And for the first time in hours, the storm inside him began to quiet.

[unrefinedmusings]

joel and his fixation with your ass, grabbing it, spanking it, grinding on it, everything

he's obsessed! imagine if that's how you met lol. he's been living in Jackson a couple months now and starting to go out more. he's having dinner at the mess hall. Tommy is talking across from him, but Joel's eye catches the curve of your ass across the room and can't look away. Tommy catches on quick to his brother's distraction and laughs.

"forgot how stupid a pair of tight jeans makes you."

after you get together, his hands are always slipping into your back pocket. he loves to come up behind you while you're cooking breakfast, and often ends up with you bent over the counter.

one night he's out with Tommy. Ellie's been asleep for hours. it's a warm night, so all you've got on is one of joel's flannels and a pair of panties. joel come stumbling in, a little tipsy and very horny. especially when he sees you lying on your stomach in bed. he climbs atop you and brings his face level with your ass, placing kisses all over your cheeks.

"didn't know it was peach season already."

[gracieheartspedro]

I Will Leave Your Words

description: what does grief look like? truly? how would it feel to watch the man you love get completely taken from you, just completely out of the blue?

word count: 1.1k

warnings: ANGST. that’s it. mentions of death, blood, and murder. talking in detail about grief. this is literally a drabble as to what joel’s lover would feel like if she had been there after he was murdered. that’s it.

authors note: hi lovers. I posted about this already but I watched this tik tok: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8224mye/

and I instantly felt the need to write what I would feel if I was joel’s lover and witnessing his death. I enjoy writing angst for some reason. I think this is some of my best writing. please let me know if you want more stuff like this. thanks!

and because you two asked for it. dedicated to @jenispunk and @ilovepedro <3

You don’t remember what you saw that afternoon, you only remember the taste of the air. Metallic.

You were cornered, your body weak and full of grief. You couldn’t find the words. You leave once they wrap up the body and begin planning how to take it home.

The body.

That same body that was wrapped around you in the early morning hours. It was just a body now.

You knew your presence was needed, but you didn’t have answers for anyone. You didn’t have any input on what should happen next. What happened fucking happened before you had a say in the matter. When Jesse is asking who you’re riding back with, you just tell him you’ll walk.

“It’s a 5 mile hike,” He mutters, trying to reason with you. But there was no reasoning. You had just lost your other half and you were trying to figure out how that was even possible.

Sure, you had lost everyone in your life, but he wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to outlive everyone, his luck never running out. But on some random winter day, the tragedy of him came to a close. And you didn’t understand how that could happen. How could he just be gone?

You needed to be alone. You didn’t want to watch them haul his limp body back to Jackson. You didn’t want to face Tommy or Ellie. You didn’t want to face the truth.

As soon as you start your way down to the entrance of the lodge, you hear Dina trying to get Ellie to come with her. But she’s a lot like you. There’s no reasoning with someone who experienced what she experienced. They made her watch.

Your hands were already numb from the cold. You start treading up a steep hill, away from the ski lodge. You prayed you’d run into the crew who brutally took him from you. It’s rageful and complete rejection of the truth, this feeling you have in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s going to fester, blossoming all over your skin.

The crunch of the snow is repetitive. You’re walking in a steady rhythm.

You start to picture his face, it’s hazy and contorted in that grimace he used to make at you sometimes. He was perfect in your mind. His speckled and slowly wrinkling face. His gray hair, peppered through out the darker chocolate brown locks. His large and warm hands, that would cup your chin when you kissed him as he walked through the threshold of your home. His booming laugh you only heard once and awhile. He was all encompassing, his radiance filled your entire being with love and security.

It would be your 4 year anniversary next month.

And he was not going to be there for it.

You’d have to sit at his grave, planting yourself there like a tree. Maybe if you grew roots, you could be closer to him.

You hear movement behind you, spotting a lonely Tommy on horseback. He was beaten pretty bad, but it seems that now that he’s conscious, he’s able to ride by himself. He calls after you, but your ears are practically ringing. You freeze anyway, waiting for him to approach. He hops down from the large creature, reaching out to touch your wet and frozen body.

“We can’t have you dyin’ out here, darlin’,” He mutters, his voice cracking, “Listen, I kn-”

“Just… let’s go home.”

You two mount the horse, you wrapping your cold arms around his frigid middle. You place your head on his back, letting your tears trickle down your face. They practically turn to crystals when they reach your chin.

The ride is painfully long and quiet. You and Tommy don’t see anyone else on your trek, finally spotting Jackson’s gate in the distance. People are waiting, the doors wide open and letting in a crew of people.

When the horse halts in the middle of the crowd, you hop down. You stumble a bit, trying to remember what the ground feels like. Everyone was watching you, too wary to say anything or do anything. You knew you probably looked a mess, your cheeks frosted and red.

“Hey,” You hear her small voice behind you. It’s Ellie, she’s has this glazed over look. She can’t say anything else and you can’t return with any words either. Instead, you just grab her shaking hands and start to walk home. Past everyone’s glances and gasps. She squeezes your hand sporadically, expecting nothing but a returning squeeze.

You get to the front of the house, staring up the concrete stairs. You wanted to scream. What the hell were you supposed to do? How were you supposed to go in there and resume your life?

“Want to come to my place?”

You look at her, waiting for her to dissipate from your sight, too. Not that you wanted her to, you wanted to keep her around forever. But you were waiting for another rug to be pulled out from under you.

Her nose is still crusted with blood, her lip split open. She was completely wasting away right before your eyes.

“Yeah,” You finally say, your throat dry from not speaking for so long, “Need to clean you up.”

You two spend the rest of the night together. She was in shock, the full realization not hitting her until you crack again and start sobbing. You hold each other, rocking back and forth. Ellie was the only person who got it. She knew what you meant to him. She knew what he meant to you. And God, even between the differences they had going on between them, Ellie felt the loss in her bones. They ached with sorrow.

She finally falls asleep in your arms, but you can’t shut your eyes. You will just see his limp body, contorted and broken. The blood trickling all over the floor, it splattered across the walls.

He was fucking gone.

You’d never feel those arms wrap around you again. You’d never get to see that smile again. You’d never feel him between your hips, appreciating every piece you were willing to give to him. You’d never smell his woodsy scent, especially after he was twiddling wood all day. You’d never hear him strum his guitar on the front porch again, replaying the same tune you heard a million times over.

All of your senses would live in agony, never able to recover from losing him.

You would spend eternity missing him. His memories were now just a book on the shelf that was forbidden to be open. You wouldn’t get to pick his brain anymore. The only thing left of him earth side is you and everyone else’s memories. He would hold a spot on the mantle, in all the pictures you took.

And of course, in the imaginary file cabinet in your head. You’d organize every possible moment you could remember spending with him. How he made you feel. How you hoped you made him feel. It would be labeled, The Only Reason I Decided To Stick Around.

[sweetercalypso]

formally requesting some Joel fluff please, just something sweet about spending time with him <3

Joel is pretty all the time, but you’ve decided that he’s prettiest by the light of the fire.

Camped out in the middle of nowhere, hours away from the nearest crumbling city, the rhythmic flicker of idle flames allows you to memorize his every feature – the salt and pepper scruff on his cheeks; the strong bridge of his nose; the scars mottling his skin in odd, aimless places, forever labeling him a survivor.

“What’re you looking at?” His brow furrows quizzically, twisting the deep shadows painting his face.

“You.”

The corners of his mouth tick upwards in a lazy, crooked smile. Joel wasn’t used to the familiarity of your company, but he’d be damned if he let his callow heart keep you at a distance.

“Why don’t you come over here, then? Get a better look.”

You push yourself up from the ground, brushing the dirt from your pants and rounding the glowing fire with a grin. When you’re close enough to touch, Joel reaches out to guide you onto his lap with nothing on his mind beyond the thought of having you closer.  

Calloused, broad hands, rough from a lifetime of hard work, plant themselves on your waist, warming your skin through thick layers of clothing. You might not feel the heat of Joel’s palms directly, but you’ve been in his embrace enough to know his touch by memory.

His chest rises and falls with contented breath, dark eyes shining with the light of the dwindling fire behind you. He strokes over your hip with one hand, the other flattened against the base of your spine, nudging you forward until there’s nowhere else to go.

“How’s that?”

It’s perfect. It’s warm. It’s exactly where you want to be. You relax against him with a sigh. “Much better.”

[megalomaniacz]

messages with gf dina please? my baby doesn’t get enough appreciation

she literally does not! and there’s rarely ever just dina stuff :( she deserves sm more she’s my pretty girl. (hilarious how contrasted these are to my toxic!dina ones)

[moonlightbae7775]

Thinking about Abby with a reader that is very heavy handed Yn packs a powerful punch the first time she punched buggie Abby and left her arm stinging for days Abby tried to flex her arm to deflect the punch but that somehow made it hurt worse

Scenario

“Abby you’re so funny” yn playfully slaps Abby’s arm and Abby has to hold back tears at the red burning feeling on her arm

Has Abby ever been afraid of riding in the car with her girlfriend? No. But now she’s terrified of playing slug bug with Yn her arm is bruised and people think she’s in an abusive relationship

Abby never in a million years as ever seen herself “playfully” begging yn for forgiveness because she playfully shoved her and she saw yn’s fist ball

Abby doesn’t care if people make fun of let yn bruise your shoulder! Then let’s see who’s laughing!!

That’s all I got.