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narislvr · 3 months

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domestic!ellie who finds herself being completely smitten by you during your weekly movie night. ✧.*

a short and quick one-shot ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Palestine resources !!

DVD's litter the mahogany coffee table in messy arrays of colors and titles as you search for a specific disc for tonight's movie night. It wasn't a movie you and ellie had watched together yet, but you knew it was somewhere in your collection as you hunched over the edge, eyeing each and every disc the two of you owned.

"does it really take this long to pick a movie, babe?" ellie would tease, clicking her tongue as she set down two of your blankets on the couch behind you before crossing her forearms over the crown of your head and resting her chin on them. a huff leaves your lips at her comment as you tilt your head upwards, her playful gaze meeting yours through your lashes and her messy bangs.

"hey, you choose the same movie every week. You have absolutely no room to talk," you quip back, a fond look in your eyes as you watch her chuckle in amusement before glancing back down and finally spotting the DVD you had been searching for. "aha! found it!" you cheer, holding the disc up for ellie to see.

"...mama-mia? babe, I swear if this is one of those musicals you like.-"

"you'll love it. promise." you interrupt, a giddy chime in your voice as you carefully shake her off and get up to insert the beloved disc into the waiting dvd player. seeing your excitement, ellie only shook her head while letting out a playful overdramatic sigh.

"atleast pick up your mess first."

──

so maybe ellie did "love" it, but not because of the plot nor the abundance of ABBA classics. Instead it was because of the way it seemed to bring you so much joy as you smiled from ear to ear and you sang along to each and every song while commenting on little parts of the movie she otherwise wouldn't have picked up on. it was endearing, and although you were generally a rather bright person, she couldn't help but admire the genuine light in your eyes as you watched the film she had learned was your favorite.

her sketchbook was on her lap, her gaze flickering from you down to the page every so often as she scribbled down little doodles of you singing or mimicking certain actions from the characters on screen. you were too busy attempting to harmonize with "donna and the dynamites" to super trooper, that you didn't notice the way her attention was solely on you as she drew a portrait of your side profile. the light from the screen illuminated your features, accentuating the curves and edges of your face with a soft glow that she swore made you look almost ethereal. in the moment you were her muse, regardless of whether your voice cracked or went off key, and all she wanted to do was capture this moment and live in it forever.

"you're not paying attention, els." she hears you whine as your attention finally shifts back to ellie who was still sketching away in her sketchbook.

"Of course I am," she responds, looking up at the screen for a second and realizing she didn't actually know what was going on as she watched sophie help one of the three men crawl out of under a table. you raise a brow at her and she gives you a sheepish smile in return as she puts her sketchbook to the side and signals for you to lean closer to her to which you happily ablige.

"doesn't seem like it," you hum, sneaking a glance at the open book at ellies side before shifting slightly to rest your head against her chest. her arm wraps around your waist, her fingers gently resting on your stomach as she presses a kiss to your forehead.

"but I am, promise." she responds, deciding to finally pay attention to the film despite her fingers itching to finish her drawing. It was a habit she had picked up during her time with Joel, always sketching little pictures of things she found interesting in the films and writing down quotes she would later recite to the older man whenever there was a chance to reference them. she found herself doing that less nowadays but it was still something she enjoyed doing, especially in special situations like these where it was you she was drawing instead.

as the movie neared it's end, she found that maybe she could appreciate the plot even if it was rather odd in her opinion. your singing had quieted down to small hums as you slowly began to drift off against ellie's chest, the rise and fall of her chest lulling you into a sense of comfort despite your attempts to stay awake until the end of the movie. she would definitely tease you about it tomorrow morning, especially after all the times you swore you'd stay up despite your track record of falling asleep. It was cute, a sweet moment she wouldn't replace with anything in the world.

she brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, a fond look in her eyes at her feather light touch before she carefully reaches for her sketchbook with the hand that wasn't holding you to her.

she flips it open to the page she had been drawing on before scribbling something down in messy handwriting under your portrait.

"Mamma mia, here I go again ,, My, my, how can I resist you?"

it was dumb, and the song didn't necessarily fit the situation, but she knew you'd get a kick out of it the day she'd finally show you the sketchbook filled with pictures of you.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #oneshot #the last of us fluff #the last of us #mama mia is one of my favorite musicals #so its a little self indulgent #not proofread </3

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sweetercalypso · 6 months

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can you write something about fighting over blankets in the middle of the night with ellie please :)

When you wake up, you’re freezing. The cool, night air prickles at your skin, and you shiver as the curtains dance with the breeze from the open window.

Must’ve kicked the blanket off in my sleep, you think with a yawn, blindly searching for the warmth of the duvet that you were sure had been there earlier.

Your fingers catch the edge of the blanket behind you, and you tug the material closer, wrapping it around your shoulders and tucking the corner snugly under your chin. A small voice in your mind questions why the blanket had been pushed so far away, but you’re too tired to think much of it now that you’re warm enough to return to sleep.

It feels like you’ve just closed your eyes when you feel a cold chill over your exposed skin once again.

You turn over with a huff, determined to find the blanket before your teeth start to chatter. Through the darkness, you can just barely make out the shape of Ellie on her side of the bed, swallowed by the thick duvet piled on top of her.

“Ellie,” you hiss, pushing at her shoulder.

She hums and burrows further down into the fabric, almost taunting you with the comfort and warmth she’d pilfered from you in your sleep. She must’ve taken it the first time, too.

“Hey,” you try again, tugging at the duvet until she cracks her eyes open to look at you.

“You took the whole blanket.”

She grumbles something under her breath and closes her eyes again, shrugging the fabric back into place. You assume she’d fallen back asleep, but before you can voice your complaints, she opens her arms and pulls you into her chest, enveloping you in the warmth of her embrace.

You murmur a small ‘thanks’ as you settle against her, more than happy to sink into the covers and mold yourself against her sleeping frame. “Little thief.”

It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but you’d take any excuse to be close to her — even if she did steal your blanket.

#lovely anons #the last of us #Ellie Williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams fluff #the last of us x reader #the last of us fluff #ellie x reader #ellie x you #tlou #tlou ellie

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d3arapril · 7 months

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modern!abby headcanons

a sfw ver because i can’t get over the fact that abby isn’t real. Goodnight

⭐️ safe for all audiences. my inbox is open! any feedback, ideas or general chat is welcome <3

abby loves loving and she loves to be loved.

she loves her friends, her family and she loves you the most. she even thinks she loves the old, kind man that ran the small bookstore she’d been visiting since she was young

having lots of people around her is super important to her, she has a big heart and even though she looks like a lion she’s really just a little baby house cat that wants to make people happy <3

she’s a bit of a people pleaser sometimes. like she goes our of her way to do things for people even if she really doesn’t want to but she’s working on it 💪🏽

loves being around you but also loves time to herself to work out, read and drool on her pillow during a particularly deep sleep without being mocked by you every morning

ABBY SLEEPS LIKE A LOG. this bitch does not move during her sleep, like you could literally scream bloody murder and she’d barely flinch. she also sleeps on her front sometimes and has her face in the pillow ??? you often wonder if she’s even alive and breathing (she is) (she has little to no trauma and jerry is alive in my world so she doesn’t get nightmares etc. i want the best for her <;3)

i think she’s very particular about looking after herself/keeping clean etc and it’s a super big thing for her. although she’s fairly masc presenting don’t be fooled, shes a lil girly girl deep deep down

her hair is long and healthy because she never uses heat and uses hair masks, she looks after her skin and uses the ordinary products (they work for her ok!), she exfoliates and shaves her legs frequently bc she feels like they look more muscular when they’re smooth and she enjoys feeling like a dolphin

she’s always got her hair in that damn braid and you try convince her to do other styles but she basically refuses

“you don’t like it?” she’s whining, faking it of course - she knows you like it. “no abs i love it, just wish you’d wear your hair down more. suits you”

“well that’s reserved for only you, babe” the soft kiss she presses to your temple and the brush of her hands against your hips makes you want to braid her hair forever until your fingers seize up

i feel like abby doesn’t have much of a dress sense lmao like girl just wears plain clothes and calls it a day. basically how she dresses in game but just less dirty and more kind of.. modern and put together. not the ugly brown boots tho ❌

she wears doc marten boots and adidas sambas. has 3 different pairs of sambas actually

prefers alcohol over drugs. she likes to get drunk in moderation and she can sink so much tequila (she blames manny and nora and says they are bad influences… abby is the one pouring the shots🙄) and she becomes a lot louder and clingy when she’s drunk and thinks she can dance. she can’t.

i kind of mentioned this in my nsfw hc’s but abby probably has an old like iphone 5c or something cos she doesn’t really care about upgrading it

girl hates video games so she probably isn’t big on tech in general. as long as she can call and text she doesn’t care too much

“you may as well just get a nokia, abby..” “what am i? a drug dealer? 🙄”

sticking to the theme, abby doesn’t really use social media that much. she refused to download tiktok because she didn’t want to fall into the trap of endless scrolling (she fell into said trap approx 20 minutes after downloading the app. now it’s “babe have you seen what i sent you yet?” every 10 minutes)

doesn’t care about/keep up with trends etc, confused when u ask her about the roman empire

“i mean, i’ve read about it? what kind of question is that??”

does have a burner instagram acc that she follows u and a few of her closest friends on (not mel)

also uses snapchat every so often to send u gym pics and u get excited thinking it’ll be a mirror pic of her flexing or something but instead it’s just an extreme close up of her sweaty ass red face with the caption ‘Help 🫠’

has an album in her photos called ‘Progress’ where she tracks her gains 🥰 its ur fav and u ask to look at the pics all the time 🥰 shes ur big muscly baby 🥰

abs can get a lil bit hot headed and irate sometimes so u argue every now and then but it’s never anything major, and she always buys u flowers and grovels until you’ve made up anyways

she usually just goes to the gym if she’s feeling some type of way and works out until she’s on the verge of passing out to make her feel better (you told her that she should deal with her anger better. she told you that she know’s what she’s doing…)

calls you babe but that’s kinda it, also likes to be called babe

likes to give u massages and run you a bath… and then gets in the bath with u and takes up basically all of the space

when u went on ur first holiday together she had to use the sicky bag on the plane bc of her fear of heights :(

she’s getting better now tho, just squeezes her eyes shut and holds your hand until the bones almost break… she then falls asleep for basically the entire flight and drools onto her neck pillow lol

refuses to watch anything but american dad at bedtime bc she really enjoys it for some reason

she looks after you with all she has and would go to the end of the earth for you if she could. there’s no one else like her

#i love her #cheers sons crying #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson #the last of us fluff #the last of us #abby anderson smut #i know its not smut but this is like the onky way to get ur shit seen !!! SORRY YALL #abby baby #my writing

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astrid-sorensen · 1 year

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Did I hurt you? Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 1,115

Genre: Hurt + comfort, angst, some smut

Warnings: sex, injury detail caused by a human, no use of y/n, rushed ending

MASTERLIST

When you and Joel spend the night secluded on patrol, Joel is in for a surprise when he finds out just how rough he can be.

･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ⋆｡°✩･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

Snow littered across the hillside, you and Joel were saddled at the ready as you left the lookout. An vacation cabin now old and forlorn. Brisk dawn had cracked along the clouds, your journey back to the commune just beginning after a short stay there on patrol.

You and Joel had been partnered up for a year or so now, exchanges growing more and more, little by little. Companionship cultivated naturally until you both began to feel something more between the lines. Something tender. Something innocent. It was measured initially, quick 'how are yous?' And 'don't walk too far.'s.

But soon enough it evolved, lengthy nights camping up in the former main lounge. Talking about anything and everything. Secrets you'd never even admit to yourself, coming to the surface and pooling into the cold idle air.

Your body would be wrapped tightly in your sleeping bag as rum you'd shared earlier, the embers still crackling at your insides.

Except, last night was unlike anything you've done before. Lust overpowered your sweet conversation. A quick run in to some desolate clickers, made you see Joel unlike anything else before.

Quick, get behind me now.

The words still echoed through your mind. His muscular limbs shoving you behind him whilst he aimed and fired. Two swift bullets in each.

Joel had a protective nature, not just in his size and strength, but in his biology too. Although he had never been this demanding, never this assertive when it came to keeping you safe. You were conscious something had metamorphosed.

After setting up for the night and shotting a few gulps of the harsh, firey liquor, Joel was on you. His frame trapped you beneath him his fingertips holding your hips still as he grinded passionately against you. He was needy, desperate and completely love-drunk. His cold lips dragging across your own, to your jaw, neck and then breasts. There was no question in what he was after. Frantic, wet thrusts of his hips down into you, the only thing separating you from the icy cold air that filled the room all the way to the high ceilings was Joel's searing body. Your hands locked into the messy ash strands that covered his head, begging for more.

After your long trek back to base, you and Joel rolled in for the night. Choosing to go back to his for some hot food and a quick shower. Ellie now fast asleep in her room across the hall. Your routine was always the same, you washed first then Joel. You now lay spread across Joel's chest, with the body Joel had grew to know the past few weeks. Joel's hand washed over your side, a sharp intake of air shot through the gaps in your teeth as you winced. Joel's face hardened, his lines deepening. Before you could say anything else, he lifted your old cotton shirt to expose the flesh.

Blotches of purple and blue littered the wounded skin of your hips. A few stray ones covered your arms and waist. Handles for Joel last night as he ploughed his hips into yours. Not leaving room to breathe as his wet trusts became sloppier. The clap of your flesh on each other echoing out through the Jackson lookout.

Joel eyes stopped at the scores and impressions he had left.

"Fuck,"

You shook you head with a smile smile, no. His hands still pulled off you, as if he had touched something boiling hot.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He searched you face for something, anything. But you just looked back indifferent, offering a small curl on the corner of your lips.

"No, no, it was amazing. I mean for my first time, I can't imagine it being any better."

"Y-Your?" Joel got up, pulling on his jacket that he'd thrown across the floor after coming in the warm Jackson home. Silence graced the house, nothing except the short huffs of the 50 year old.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk."

"Okay lemme come with you." You interjected but the sentiment was not returned.

"No." Joel shot back. “I wanna go alone."

"Are you mad at me?"

"It's not you." His footsteps didn’t halt, sifting through the garments left on the floor for the ones he had on earlier.

"Joel, c'mon."

"Are you serious right now?" His icy stare froze you to your core, you’d seen him furious before, but never directed towards you. His southern accent laced with malice.

"Joel," you tried, tone soft as if it would somehow calm him down. His deep scowl not wavering.

"Why didn't you tell me?” He quizzed, gingerly.

"I just, "

"You told me we didn't have any secrets." His deep chocolate irises looking at you delicately as they bore into your own, leaden ones.

“I was embarrassed. Joel, I'm sorry. Please don’t go.”

His head tipped back, a deep sigh leaving his nostrils. You knew his was just building the courage to leave. He hated when you would beg him. Almost never able to not comply to your request.

"Settle down, Baby." Joel shifted to face you.

“I'll sleep on the couch. I'll give you space. Anything." The words tumbled off your tongue like a spell.

"I'm not go gonna go anywhere. M'sorry I woulda never let it happen like that if I knew it was your first time." Joel sat beside you on the bed, pulling your bare legs over his lap. The rough pads of his fingers, slid back and forth along your leg.

“I shoulda taken my time, got you really comfortable. Woulda been on a bed for a start, not on some fucking floor in the middle of nowhere." Joel turned his head, shaking it in disbelief.

"Joel, it's okay. It's what I wanted."

"You don't know what you wanted. You ain't never done it before then.” His words sharp and annoyed.

"I know. But I know I wanted you." Your hand moved to hold his bicep, the muscle naturally flexing beneath you light grip.

“No more goddamn secrets. Got it?" He appearance was stern, but his big loving eyes were otherwise. There was alway warmth in those golden orbs.

"Yes Joel."

You grabbed a pillow hopping off the bed.

"Mmm, mmm." The male hummed, grabbing you by your wrist and halting your movements. You turned back eyes wide with surprise. "You think I'm gonna take a girls virginity and then make her sleep on the couch?" He inquired, amazed. “What kinda man do you take me for?" He smiled out softly. He moved you over to the bed, turning off the bedside lamp before getting under the covers, the other side.

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cowgurrrl · 4 months

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“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable.” - Kurt Vonnegut

“They say you don’t get to pick and choose/ who sticks around and who you lose/ but I’m begging God to let me pick this one time.” - Pick and Choose by Daniel Nunnelee

Summary: Being a high school art teacher has its perks. Getting to teach the next generation, making art, flirting with trouble personified by Joel Miller. You can’t date a student’s parent. You can be professional. You can handle this. Right?

01. Something in the Orange: A parent-teacher conference leads to trouble [4.0k]

02. It Ain’t Me Babe: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]

03. You’re My Only Hope for Heaven: An unlikely patron saunters into your bar [3.5k]

04. Lavender Girl: A field trip [4.7k]

05. Keep the Wolves Away: A bad decision [5.2k]

06. I Believe In You: A bet is made [3.0k]

07. Slow It Down Cowboy: The wall [5.8k]

08. Dear Arkansas Daughter: A truce [2.8k]

09. Tall Boy: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

10. Sleeping on the Blacktop: The Land of No Return [4.7k]*

11. Dawns: The Morning After [2.9k]

12. I Wish I Was: Murphy’s Law dictates… [3.1k]

13. Little Wind: COMING SOON

14. Thin Line: COMING SOON

15. Lady May: COMING SOON

16. A Life Where We Work Out: COMING SOON

17. I’d Come Back If You Just Called: COMING SOON

#hippies and cowboys #the last of us au #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #the last of us #tlou au #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller series #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #the last of us fluff #the last of us angst

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itsokbbygrl · 1 month

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Just Stay.

- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story

For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡

Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)

WC: 4.6k

A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)

Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking.

The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway.

He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe.

The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks.

“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed.

His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok.

That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine.

He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok.

Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history.

“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub.

You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”

“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.

You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”

He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return.

After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair.

Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms.

“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten.

You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen.

You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him.

You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his.

You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth.

You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious.

You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth.

“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar.

You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck.

“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand.

“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives.

Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest.

“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter.

“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”

You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt.

“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself.

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered.

“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that.

You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that.

In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled.

“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork.

“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in.

The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry.

“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”

You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”

“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze.

You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him.

Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”

Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”

Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan.

Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you.

“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”

“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it.

“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”

And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else.

thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!

#LJ writes #i've missed this old man #joel miller #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fic #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #the last of us smut #the last of us fluff #jackson!joel

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prentissluvr · 11 months

Text

too cold — joel (and tommy) miller

gn!reader , (future)fatherfigure!joel (and tommy tbh) , takes place a year or two after joel and ellie settle in jackson , reader is in their mid/late teens , hurt/comfort, angst , cw : brief mentions of loss of friends and family, hypothermia , wc : 3.8K , special thanks to @piggyjeans for reading this for me and motivating me to wrap up this part and get it out to you guys !! <333

at this point, you’re beginning to wonder why you even try. you wonder if there’s a point when the scraps of any family you had left, found or biological, are long gone and you’re on the brink of freezing to death yourself. you managed a fire last night, but you’re shivering beyond control even in the daylight with your sore lack of a real coat. wherever you are, it’s cold as hell and winter is setting in far faster than you could ever combat. essentially, you’re screwed. it seems like it might snow more, there’s not a building in sight, and you’re running out of bullets and food. the cold bites at your exposed nose and takes permanent root in your bones.

night falls far too quickly, bringing the thick snow that you feared almost as much as infected or people; those you could fight, but the snow? against that you have no defense but a sputtering fire, measly shelter, and a slowly thinning sleeping bag. curled into yourself as much as you can, it takes a concerningly small amount of time for you to fall asleep.

by the time you finally come back into consciousness, the struggle to open your eyes scares you even in the muddled state of your mind. the sun is far higher than ideal; already you’ve lost precious traveling time now that your only hope is to find abandoned buildings to scavenge for supplies. and yet, the last thing you want to do is get out of your sleeping bag. it’s kept you as warm as you could be, and even now in the leftover warmth sleep, you’re all too aware of the snow that blew into the small overhand of rocks you slept underneath and the way it’s freezing temperatures will soak into your feet until it reaches every nerve of your body when you continue your trek through the forest.

but, despite that heavy question of what’s the point, there’s no way you’re going to let yourself give up and waste away in the cold without trying to save someone, even if that someone is yourself. so with every struggle, you pull your hands out from their haven in the swaths of fabric, fumbling slightly to zip open the bag and pull yourself out. you’re eternally grateful that you have gloves, but within the few minutes of packing up, the cold has already started to settle in your hands, feet, and face. begrudgingly, you swing your pack onto your shoulder and shove your hands into your pockets, looking for the most direct path to higher ground to scope out any buildings.

as you start out, it seems as though travel may not be the worst. but the thick snow from last night’s flurries and the still slowly falling flakes are quick to tire your legs from the effort, and the way that your jacket lets in too much of the numbing wind hinders your pace. you find yourself exhausted, taking moments to rest against trees that stretch into minutes, maybe longer as your mind becomes foggy and consistent shivering sets in throughout your whole body.

you stumble a bit and clumsily grab hold of the nearest tree. what the hell am i doing? you wonder. you let your whole side press against the rough surface of the tree, squeezing your eyes shut, then opening them in attempts to clear your head. but that doesn’t seem to help when you start to wonder if you’re hallucinating. just meters away your eyes land on a tall brown horse, an animal you don’t think you’ve seen outside of pictures. you stare at it in wonder for a moment, but a feeling of panic sets in when you process the fact that there’s a man sitting on the horse, a large rifle strapped across his back.

with your shaky hands you fumble around to pull out your gun, but it does you no good when the rifle is pointed at you in seconds.

despite the threat, the man’s voice isn’t harsh when he calls out to you. “’s alright. ’m not here to hurt you, alright? just drop your weapon.” without much resistance, you do as he says, seeing no other choice and feeling not an ounce of energy to fight back. within moments, he’s off the horse, one hand on its reins and the other put up in the air in a careful truce as he slowly moves closer to you. when he’s near enough that the snow doesn’t obstruct his view of your face, he can see the way that you’re shivering and the unfocused look in your eyes and can immediately notice that something’s not quite right.

“i need you to tell me if you’re infected. don’t lie now, alright? i’ll shoot you if i find out you do.” at this, his voice is more stern, stirring up a bit more fear in you. but you’re able to shake your head clearly.

“no. no, ’m not infected. haven’t run into any for days,” you speak aloud for the first time since you woke up this morning, and you don’t notice the way that your speech is slurred, but he does.

“alright, then. kid, i’m gonna get you somewhere warm, okay?” in the back of your head, you’re terrified to let him closer, to let some stranger lead you somewhere, but the promise of warmth is something you desperately need. even so, you flinch away when he’s finally right next to you and reaches out. “i promise ’m not gonna hurt ya. i’ve got somewhere safe and warm for you, you’re gonna freeze to death if you don't get some help now.” he’s completely right, you realize, so you just nod. “there ya go. do’y have a coat we can get on you?” he frowns when you shake your head, but doesn’t hesitate to unzip his own padded coat. gently, he pulls your pack off your back and sets it down. you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shrugs his own coat over your shoulders and pulls it tight over your front. the leftover warmth from his own body is heavenly, but in the action, you lose your support against the tree and unconsciously lean into his firm frame. you don’t notice, but he stiffens at this, and his frown grows deeper when he feels how cold you are to the touch.

with strong hands, he pulls you away from him slightly. wordlessly, he guides your shivering arms into the sleeves of his coat, silently grateful for the warm jacket he still has on.

“we’ve gotta get on the horse, now.”

you just nod, letting him guide you to the tall animal. but you stop short at its side, completely unsure of how you’ll get up.

“first you put your right foot in the stirrup, right here.” you don’t have to say anything for him to begin telling you what you need to. “put your hand on the saddle here to help you up. i’m gonna hold you steady, okay?” you nod, letting him place his firm hands on your waist as you put the last of your strength into lifting one foot into the stirrup. “now you’ve gotta push up with that foot to swing your other leg over the horse.” it takes all of your concentration to understand what he says, and strength that you don’t have to actually do it. it’s messy, but thanks to his help and some miracle, you find yourself on top of the horse and putting all of your effort into staying upright.

“there ya go. i’m gonna get on in front of you, don’t you fall off now.” he quickly fastens your pack onto the horse, letting out a small grunt as he pulls himself up onto the animal. his body warmth right in front of you is precious and you don’t have it in you to feel awkward in the way he does as he pulls your arms around his torso to keep you steady. “just hold on and stay awake, alright? shouldn’t be too long til we get you warm.” once again, you just nod, knowing he can feel it with the side of your face pressed against his back.

as the horse starts forward at a decent pace, his instructions of holding on prove to be harder than ideal with your weakened grip. you don’t know how much time passes until the horse’s movement stops and the man’s voice, along with another, meets your ears.

you startle when the unfamiliar voice calls out. “joel! what took you so lon– what happened?”

“sorry, tommy.” you can feel the rumble of his voice while pressed against him, and turn your head to face the source of the other voice. “found ‘em leaning against a tree just a bit off the path. think they’ve got hypothermia.”

there’s another man on a horse, probably younger, but you can’t tell much else in the snow and the state of your mind. either way, you can’t help but read him as a danger. the man in front of you, joel, you assume, must have picked up on your fear behind him

“’s alright. that’s my brother, tommy. he’s here to help too, okay?”

another nod from you, and a “damn” from tommy.

“let’s get going, then. we’ll stay in the lookout for tonight then get them back to jackson first thing in the morning. it’ll be dark soon.”

joel agrees, and with that, you set off. every so often, his voice brings you out of your daze long enough for you to nod your head against his back when he checks if you’re still awake. your sense of time is long gone; all you know when you arrive at the mentioned lookout is a vague sense of relief.

“kid?” his voice rings out and you realize the motion of the horse has finally come to a stop. you do your best to sit up, hating the biting air that immediately hits your front now that it’s not kept warm by joel’s back. your hands stay resting absentmindedly on his shoulders in order to keep you from slipping off of the horse. “tommy’s gonna help you off, okay?” you let out a small hum of acknowledgement as tommy dismounts his horse and comes to stand beside you.

“here we go,” he gives you a small, encouraging smile as he lifts his arms up for you. “put your hands on my shoulders, and i’ll get you down safe ’n sound, alright?” it’s a bit of an awkward reach, and you begin to slip down before you have a proper grasp, but his hands are quick to secure themselves under your armpits, preventing you from falling and instead pulling you into his chest. your knees buckle the moment they hit the ground; tommy’s strong grip keeps you upright. “there you are, ’s alright. god, you’re shivering like a leaf in the wind. we’ll get you nice and warm now.”

there’s a bit of a struggle getting inside, your legs practically refusing to hold your weight. an immense wave of relief washes through you when you collapse onto the couch they bring you to and you let your eyes shut in exhaustion.

“now don’t you fall asleep on us quite yet,” joel warns. “we gotta get you warm first. tommy, get some hot water going.” you force your eyes back open to see him crouching in front of you. “listen, uh. some of your clothes are a little wet from the snow, and we can’t have that.” he pauses at that, studying your face to catch any sort of reaction.

“okay,” you whisper, somehow coherent enough to still understand what he’s saying and know that he’s right.

“okay,” he repeats. “can i take these jackets off?” you nod. his grip is gentle when he pulls you up from your slouched position, allowing you to lean into him when he slips off the coat he gave you, then your own slightly damp jacket. you begin to shiver even harder, your thinning cotton shirt doing nothing to keep any cold at bay. “alright, alright,” he mumbles, half to himself as he pulls his thicker, dry coat back around you. then comes a blanket, taken from the couch and wrapped securely around your shoulders. he shifts you to rest against the back of the sofa.

that’s when he pauses, at a bit of a loss of what to do because your jeans, despite your thick boots, are soaked from the snow almost up to your knees. but there’s no way in hell he’d feel comfortable taking off your pants, much less how you’d feel.

“i’m gonna have to cut your pants,” he concludes. “promise we’ll get you new ones in town, but you’ll never get warm like this.”

“’s okay,” you mumble. so he rummages in his pack until he finds a pair of scissors, doing his best to avoid touching your bare skin with his hands or cut you with the cold metal. it’s tricky business; the jeans stick fairly close to your skin, but he manages not to even nick you with the sharp edges. the moment you’re free from any damp clothing, he wraps another blanket securely around your legs so it won’t fall off.

moments later, tommy reappears in your line of sight with exactly what joel asked for. he leans down, holding it out to you. with shaky hands, you grasp the cup, sighing in immediate relief at the warmth that spreads right into your fingers through your gloves.

“careful, now,” tommy advises. “it’s real hot, don’t burn your tongue.” you do your best to follow his instruction, weakly blowing at the hot water when you bring it close to your mouth. resisting the urge to down the whole thing, you grip it tighter and bring it to your chest, hoping to let some of the warmth permeate through other parts of your body other than your hands. it feels like a little piece of heaven when you feel the steam rising up to warm your chin, your lips, and the tip of your nose and the heat from the cup itself travel through your thin shirt and to the skin above your collarbone.

when you finally begin to sip on the warm water, it’s almost glorious; you can feel its warmth spread through your body. so once you discover it’s no longer too hot, you take long gulps and heave heavy sighs of relief. your trembling doesn’t disappear, but with the third cup, it certainly subsides.

this, and the far more relaxed expression on your face finally convinces joel that it’s safe to let you fall asleep—you’re halfway there anyways. tommy takes the empty cup from your hands before it can slip from your hold, and joel unravels your sleeping bag. at that point, you can no longer process the softly spoken words being exchanged by the brothers, but you’re vaguely aware of tommy’s arms tucking themselves under your shoulders and knees and pulling you off of the couch. then you’re being maneuvered into the sleeping bag that now lays across the surface of the couch, tommy setting you down while joel ensures that you stay properly wrapped up in the blankets. sleep claims you so quickly that you don’t hear the agreement between the two men to take turns keeping watch over you to periodically check your temperature and breathing.

joel wakes you in the morning, his gruff voice quickly recounting the events of the previous day when your jumbled state of mind after waking from such a deep sleep launches you into a panicked confusion. his explanation and comforting hands on your shoulders calm you in moments as the memories return, however vague they are due to the haze of your sickness.

“thank you,” you whisper as he helps you to sit up, his hands still gentle and supportive on your shoulders.

“course. like i said, we’ve got somewhere safe for you if you need. and at the very least, we’ve gotta get you some new pants and make sure you don’t get sick. were you travelin’ all alone?”

“not at first,” you explain, knowing he’s probably wondering about finding someone so young alone. “but now… yeah.” he sighs as if that’s the answer he expected.

“’m sorry,” he frowns. you just give a tight-lipped smile in response. “alright. we should get moving so we can get you to the town doctor. tommy’s gettin’ the horses ready.”

your eyebrows raise at his words. “town doctor?” you question. that puts a small smile on his lips that you don’t quite understand.

“yep. it’s a good place to be,” is all he offers in explanation.

“okay.” you begin untangling yourself from the blankets and sleeping bag that did the job of keeping you warm throughout the night. still covered by his coat, your upper half stays comfortable, but the feeling of your exposed calves hitting the cold air is unwelcome, not to mention the slightly embarrassing sight of the jagged edges of your jeans at such an awkward spot.

“sorry ‘bout that,” he comments, “but we’ll keep your legs wrapped up with blankets for now and get you new jeans in town.” once you nod, he grabs a hold of one of the blankets he laid on top of you after you feel asleep, a rather small piece of fabric, but the right size to help you out. he wraps it around your left leg, using ropes from his supplies to gently secure the fabric, then repeating his actions for your other leg.

as he does so, he keeps his gaze focused on his task, but his gravelly voice meets your ears. “realized we never asked your name,” he phrases it like a statement, but the obvious question is there.

to be honest, you hadn’t even realized either, first, mind clouded by the hypothermia, and up until now too caught up in the oddness of your situation. one moment you’re all on your own and on the brink of death, the next you’re saved and seemingly on the way to what sounds like some sort of miraculous safe haven even from the vague glimpses of information you hear.

you state your name, hoping with all you can muster up that this isn’t some kind of cruel trick, and that the kindness the two men have shown you is as genuine as it’s proved to be thus far.

“well then,” he repeats your name back to you as he secures the last knot, still not looking up at you, “let’s get you home.”

those words nearly knock the air from your lungs. he throws them out like they don’t mean much, but in the most confusing way, because you’re sure he did it on purpose. you’re sure he does know that they mean a whole lot more than a casual tone and avoided eye-contact, but you suppose you can’t blame him. it’s often easier to pretend they don’t mean anything, certainly much more with people you don’t really know at all, people like you. and yet, you can’t help but think he said it to reassure you. to tell you that this place he’s talking about is one where you can find that thing everyone in this world has lost. as if it’s somewhere you already belong without having set foot in it yet. and you can’t tell the difference between hope and fear in that moment, so you shove it all away.

“sure.” you stand just after he does, grabbing your sleeping bag and beginning to roll it to the best of your ability while still weak. but he stops you, quickly taking over the task of clearing and packing up the last few things in the lookout after handing you a cup of warm water, not too hot. you finish it quickly, still more than grateful for any warmth that can be provided.

joel motions towards the door once he’s finished, and on still slightly wobbly legs, you walk up to him, stopping before he can lead you out.

“thank you, joel,” your voice is quiet, but sure when you say it.

“of course,” he assures, genuine in the affirmation.

“and tommy. tommy, too, of course,” you stutter, suddenly feeling awkward.

“sure thing.” he clears his throat, one his occupied hands almost moving up to rub the back of his neck. at that he turns, and you follow him out, back into the cold.

the shivery weather is not welcome by you, but in a properly warm coat and definitively out of the worst of your condition, it’s far more bearable. you feel bad for taking over joel’s coat, but he seems just fine in his jacket that’s clearly far warmer than your old, lousy excuse of a winter garment.

tommy and the horses are waiting there, just as joel said, and he smiles upon seeing you.

“good to see you up and alive, kid,” he grins with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

you answer his playfully reassuring attitude with a bashful smile of your own. “yeah, the alive part is definitely a plus,” you say in attempts of matching his tone. the way his grin grows tells you the joke landed, putting you at even more ease than before. unfortunately, it doesn’t make the way you formally introduce yourself to him any less awkward, but he seems glad to know your name. by your side, joel tightens one last strap on the horse before placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

“i think we’re good to go now. it’ll only be a few hours of riding,” he informs.

“sure,” you nod. pausing for a moment, you cast eyes down before speaking, albeit a bit timidly. “could you.. could you help me up again?”

you completely miss the soft look on his face at your request. “course i can, kiddo. i’ll get up first and help you from there, okay?” at your affirmative, he easily mounts the horse before holding a hand out to you. “just put your foot here, grab my hand, and i’ll do all the work, alright?” he moves his leg away from the stirrup so that you can use it yourself, his grip on your hand steady the moment you place it in his palm. gratefully, you follow his instructions, doing your best to use your own strength in tandem with joel to ease the effort he has to put forth to help you up. as you swing your leg over the horse, he guides your hand to hold onto his shoulder for you to grip far easier than his hand and succeeds in getting you into the saddle behind him. with that, you’re off, traveling somewhere that you somehow dare to hope is the sort of paradise joel and tommy have described.

part two here !!

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loverwebs · 1 year

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The Perfect Pair

Pairing: Bella Ramsey x Costar!Reader

Synopsis: After playing Ellie and Riley, you and Bella answer the internet's most asked questions.

Word count: around 1,100

Part Two

Just like any other highly anticipated series, The Last of Us press tour consisted of traveling and interviews. The entire experience being incredibly glamorous and exciting for the cast.

On one of the last few days leading up to the premiere, Bella and Y/n were paired up to answer the internet's most asked questions.

Despite her role for the show being limited, Y/n continued filming in Canada for a movie after wrapping as Riley, which gave her and Bella the opportunity to spend even more time together since Bella didn't finish until a few months later.

The duo would often visit each other's sets and had countless sleepovers, constantly posting the other during their time together.

That being said, they already knew what the internet thought of them. It didn't change anything, though.

They knew they were close.

A little too close.

"Unlike the other boards, this one has questions for both of you." Bella's assistant explained towards the end of the interview, handing the last board to them. "Whenever you two are ready."

Bella cleared their throat before peering at the board in their hands, "Are Bella Ramsey and Y/n L/n..." She looked at the camera through squinted eyes before proceeding.

"...still friends?" Y/n finished off once the sticker was peeled.

"Phew," Bella pretended to wipe sweat from their forehead, meanwhile Y/n dramatically placed a hand over her heart to show relief.

They knew what the question was implying.

"This may come as a surprise to you all, but we actually aren't," Bella deadpanned.

"It's true," Y/n chimed, picking at her nails in an attempt to seem uninterested, "I'm being paid to be here."

"Me too. I despise her so much," Bella grinned.

"Yeah right," Y/n nudged her, preparing to peel off another question from the board. "This one says... How did Y/n and Bella meet?"

"We met a few weeks before filming this little project called The Last of Us," Y/n started. "Maybe you've heard of it. It's not really well known or anything."

"It's remarkably underrated," Bella added with humor.

"Absolutely," Y/n gave an amused smile. "Best day of my life, though. I was so nervous."

"Were you really?" Bella raised a brow, "Because I remember it a bit differently."

"Oh my God," Y/n groaned, turning to face the camera. "You see, I kind of talked Bella's ear off the whole time."

"Kind of? Darling, I couldn't get a word in the entire night." Bella giggled.

"I'm sorry!" Y/n whined. "I just thought you were really cute. I talk way too much when I'm around cute people."

"Then you must still think I'm cute," Bella teased her. "Because you always go on and on when we're together."

"Moving on!" Y/n sighed. "God, you're so annoying."

"You love it," Bella shook with laughter.

"Hold still!" Y/n laughed as well. "Bels, I can't read them if you're moving! Okay... This one says—oh wow. Y/n L/n and Bella Ramsey kiss."

"My goodness," Bella bursted out in giggles once again.

"That's not even a question," Y/n gave the camera a look whilst fanning the brunette, attempting to calm him down. "Someone needs to get fired for that."

"I'm assuming they meant to ask if our characters kissed on the show." Bella glanced at the crew members skeptically.

"This interview will come out after the episode airs," someone assured them.

"Oh! In that case, we did kiss, yes," stated Bella.

"Our characters did." Y/n clarified, smiling at her friend.

"Well, we kissed. But for the show, of course."

"Completely professional."

"Though we had to do it quite a few times." Bella added.

"Because someone kept 'forgetting' their lines. Definitely not on purpose," Y/n teased them.

"Wow! Way to throw me under the bus there," she pretended to be offended. "I see how it is, L/n."

"Just saying," Y/n shrugged smugly, fingers tugging off another strip.

"Did Bella Ramsey and Y/n L/n play The Last of Us?" Bella read. "Not really…I mean, prior to filming we were told not to play it, but Y/n/n and I tried to get through some of it recently."

"We didn't get very far though. Even on the easiest mode, it just never ends well." Y/n grimaced.

"Yeah, it's tough." Bella agreed. "Neither of us are gamers, so we wind up eating snacks and playing a film instead."

"Which is way less stressful!"

"Is Skipper Y/n L/n's or Bella Ramsey's dog?" Y/n said, struggling to flick away the sticker from her fingers.

Bella immediately noticed and tried helping her, but it ended up getting stuck on both of them, which earned him a small giggle from the girl.

"Despite what Y/n says, Skipper is my kid." Bella announced, successfully placing the long sticker on their chair.

"But she likes me more. I birthed her," Y/n joked.

"I won't lie—she does like to cuddle Y/n/n quite a lot. I think she gets that from me."

"She definitely gets that from you. I like when all three of us cuddle, though." Y/n smiled at the fond memories, "Anyway, I'll settle for the title of being her second mom."

"That works," Bella chuckled. "We'll co-parent her."

"Bella Ramsey and Y/n L/n laying on each other," Bella read through a heavy laugh. "Again, not a question."

"There's a thing called needing body heat, people!" Y/n said defensively.

"Right! Because Canada is incredibly cold. If you were filming in our conditions, you'd do the same." Bella spoke, hiding their face behind the board.

"Yeah, we had to stay warm somehow." Y/n added, her face heating up from the embarrassment of this topic coming up.

"Are we done now?" Bella peaked, "I feel like we've revealed a lot in this ten minute video," they joked.

"Right?!"

"I think that's it," one of the assistants said, laughing along with the team behind the camera. "And we're already shooting, so you can just give us an outro and we'll wrap this up."

"That concludes our Wired Autocomplete Interview!" Bella yelled at the same time Y/n chanted, "Thanks for watching!"

They shared a laugh, then looked back at the camera before continuing, "Make sure to check out The Last of Us." Y/n said when Bella rested their head on her shoulder.

"It's streaming right now on HBO Max," they pointed out.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we're gonna go make out!" Y/n joked, running away from the camera-frame with Bella, hand in hand.

Part Two

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pedge-page · 1 day

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Ahhh asking again!!!! I love and laugh about Joel and Preggo. What if she wants Joel to prepare the nursery? They go to pick out paint ….she says needs to see it in the room, he paints sample areas. ……she picks one, he paints it and then she cries because she hates it and accuses him of doing the wrong color. Please change this prompt anyway and every way! Basically about preparing nursery to her whims. Or he does everything and she has changed her mind.!!!!

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife - Oh the Colors You'll Choose

Warnings: girlie is up to her usual tactics, slight Jealous!Joel at the end

- - - -

One thing Joel’s really excited about with the baby on the way is getting to design the nursery. Finally having an excuse to throw away your old high school gear you haven’t touched in over a decade, the clothes that had no style in the modern era, collecting dust in bins, all the Christmas gifts you never were going to use just stocked up in the spare bedroom for storage. Now the room was vacant. Tarps and old sheet cover the carpet, walls primed and prepped for the first round of paint.

Joel picks out a nice pink neutral tone, something perfectly lovely for the little girl he’s about to have.

You barely glance at the swatch in his hand, just nodding and waving him off as you lie sprawled eagle in bed, trying your best to cool underneath the high speeding fan.

He’s spent the entire afternoon of your nap getting the room partially painted. The whole time, giddy with the idea that he’s going to be changing diapers in here, reading stories, cradling his baby’s soft small head and walking around the room to get her to sleep—

He finally notices you patting gently into the room, just awoken from your fresh nap. He’s halfway to an excited smile until he sees the absolute wrought look of disappointment all over your face.

"What, what's wrong?"

There’s no hint of happiness or enthusiasm in you. You survey the walls disappointingly, crossing your arms with a disgusted look before walking out without a word.

Joel’s not going to let this room be the thing that upsets you—no you’re going to love it, he’ll be damned sure.

He shows you 5 more colors—all ranging from pinks to purples and—

“Does it have to be pink? Why are we forcing the gender thing on her?”

“I mean, I don’t know. Doesn’t have to be. Thought maybe could be something sweet…” his voice trails off as you make a disgruntled frown.

“We can pick a neutral color if ya want.”

Joel pulls out a few colors he had stored in his bag—some greens and blues, grayish whites and browns.

You make a firm decision on one—the light green forest color. It’s bold, but it seems to make you happy.

Until he starts painting:

“No! No it’s not right.”

Joel sighs. “What’s not right? This is the one you picked!”

You shake your head again. “The light from the window makes it look so bland. It just doesn’t look good.”

“I can’t control the sun…”

“You’re doing it all wrong, Joel.”

He wipes the paint off of his beard. It’s been 2 days of painting now, much longer than he expected.

He lays 5 different colors on the walls in tiny samples; this time you’ll be able to see the one exactly as it will be when he finishes painting.

You walk back and forth, finger pressed to your lip in hard concentration. “Oh! This one!” You exclaim: an orange tan.

“Are you sure?”

You nod.

He starts doing the color, now halfway through the room, fumes suffocating his brain, but now you’re telling him it's just not as pretty as it looked on the swatch.

“Why are you painting the wrong color!”

“It’s the same one!”

“No it’s not!”

You've now moved on to the next color of the rainbow on your hit-list since he somehow fucked orange up. He lays out 10 swatches of blue. All of which look the same to him but none appeal to you.

“Can we just pick one and settle on it? This much paint on the walls aint good. Gonna take forever to get the smell out.”

“Joel, this is going to be our BABY’s FIRST COLOR she'll associate with. It has to be perfect for her! She’ll be stuck with it forever!”

He raises his eyebrow unconvinced.

“…Until I decide to change it again,” you add plainly. “Or until she’s old enough to decide for herself. Do you really want a tween picking out her own bedroom color to haunt us?”

He huffs but agrees.

You are eating a banana just as Joel's finishing laying on the neutral ocean blue throughout the whole room. You had come in twice already but hadn’t made a peep either time, so maybe this one is the one—

"Oh my god!" You exclaim. Joel nearly falls off the latter with worry that the baby somehow just dropped from between your legs until he sees you point to the banana peel excitedly.

His shoulders slouch in a ‘you gotta be kidding me’ sort of way. His back fucking hurts. Hands cramped up. There’s gotta be a permanent strike of white in his hair right now. He drops the paintbrush, splashing it into the now wasted paint can of blue before taking your peel and walking out the room. Of course, its already nighttime, so the hardware store is closed and he’s gotta wait till morning to get the new paint.

The next day, he's rolling on the new yellow.

You wrinkle your nose disgustedly. "Ugh what the fuck is this?"

"It’s the banana!"

"No it's not! This is so much darker!"

"BANANAS GET DARKER EACH DAY. YOU WANTED ME TO MATCH FROM A HALF EATEN PEEL.”

“It sucks. You've put this god awful yellow in my mind now I don't want anything like it.”

You turn around and survey the room, repulsed by its bright wrongness. Joel opens his jaw wide and silently screams into the air, pounding his fist into his head angrily without letting a sound out.

You turn around just as he drops into a neutral, emotionless demeanor.

The lightbulb in his brain flickers on. “You know what? I got an idea."

Joel takes you to the Home Depot.

"Hey Rick,” he says towards the man behind the paint counter.

Rick just chuckles. “Hey Joel, getting another paint? Your wife gonna make me match to the crazy fire in your eyes when you tell her to—“

Joel clears his throat when you waddle quickly to hold his hand like a child eager to stay close to dad in an unfamiliar land. Your mouth agape as you stare up at the ceiling and around all of the endless aisles of lumber and tools. Luckily, you were too stunned to hear Rick’s passing words.

"Why is it so big here?” You ask innocently. “And woodsy. And ... orange."

Joel grabs your hand and plops you in front or the swatches wall.

You gasp, “THERES SO MANY OPTIONS,” eyes sparkling and wide like a child in a candy shop.

"Pick a couple to take home, and then we're getting the paint for it. Ok?"

"How much are they?"

"They're 40 bucks each—“ Joel starts.

But Rick, the ever so helpful manager to anyone but Joel, buds in. “The swatches? You don't gotta pay for them darlin,” he winks.

Joel gives him a dagger look, but you smile so wide and start slipping swatches like they’re on fire.

Joel shakes his head and grabs some more rolls and brushes since his are all worn out. By the time he returns to the swatch wall, all 23 seconds later, you’ve got a giant of colored papers pile barely held in your hands of every single color. “We should check them all!”

He grits his teeth but bares a smile.

Joel tapes every single swatch on the wall at home. You walk and study each one. Holding one eye closed, tilting your head to the side, putting a different color next to it. You couldn’t see him pretending to bang his head against the wall on the other side of the room as you debate for an hour now.

Finally, you stand back and take in the entire multicolored wall. “Oh thats it! It’s all of them! We make it like rainbow ombre in like little squares.”

"I would have to buy a can of every single paint. No. We're not doing that. We said one color only.”

"They can't give you like little cups of each color?"

"No.”

"That's dumb. What a scam!"

You wonder downstairs for more inspiration. Something homely. Something familial yet not too obviously Joel or your own style. You come across an old picture of young Tommy and Joel standing in front of Joel's truck, that had just been passed down by their dad. Their smug grins and messy hair, wrinkled clothes and slung arms around one another make you feel pleasantly at ease. Your baby needs to have that same sense of security, youth, and warmth. You study the photo a bit longer, and then it hits you.

Joel wakes up, and the first thing he subconsciously does every morning is to reach for you on your side of the bed until he’s in contact with your warm body. It puts him at ease, touching you, knowing you’re there and he’s home. The only times you wouldn't be there would be if you were in the bathroom. But as he looks through heavy eyes, the bathroom door is open, dark, unoccupied. He furls his eyebrows back to your cold, empty side of the bed.

The sound of his truck rumbles distantly through the open window, growing closer and squeaking to a hault in the driveway.

He throws the blankets off and rushes down the stairs 2 at a time just to see you hauling a big heavy paint can slung down low with both your hands desperately holding the handle, all by yourself, bloated tummy and all, through the front door.

Barreling to you, he snatches the can from your sore fingers.

“Are you crazy??? You can’t drive! You can't carry heavy shit! What were you doing—“

"Yes I can!” You challenge back. He sets the can on the table with a loud slam just as you drop his keys in the tray. “I’m not completely helpless, Joel! I can get my own pain and drive my own ... your own truck!"

"Yeah? Go paint the room yourself then, if you're so independent."

You scoff, bemused by his suggestion. “I’m not doing that. That's what I have you for.”

He shakes his head and looks at the new can.

“This better be worth it. "

You smile. “It's the one. Trust me."

Joel finishes lying on the paint. It's a breezy, toned down pinkish salmon. Definitely not something that you would have gotten from a swatch. No, you had this one custom matched, and he can't quite put his finger on why it feels so familiar. And gives him little irksome itch too.

He’s about to call you up when he hears Tommy greeting you at the front door.

The two of you make your way up the stairs, Tommy with a muffin shoved half in his mouth. When you round the corner, your husband stands in the middle of the room, awaiting your response.

"Well?" Joel asks curiously.

To his relief, you've got the brightest, sweetest grin plastered all over your face. "It’s perfect. I told you!"

Its worth it--to see the excitement in your face--this is what he was hoping for the whole time. "Thought we weren't doing the gendered color thing?"

you nuzzle yourself under Joel's broad arm. "Well... this one is special."

Tommy nods in agreement "this looks good!" He walks around the room, more so noting Joel's handiwork rather than the choice of paint. It's kind of funny that Tommy almost disappears like camouflage with how closely his favorite shirt matches—

Joel's satisfied grin immediately drops to a shocked frown.

“You made me match our baby girl’s bedroom to Tommy's old ass shirt??"

You nod happily. “Isn't it so good!"

His arms flex angrily across his chest—it’s not good at all. “What’s next, you two havin’ an affair I don't know about,” he accuses between his brother and his wife.

"Joel!”

"Dude!"

"No! We're not painting our daughter’s room after him! This can't be your favorite color! What about every other color we looked at? What about all my shirts?"

Your eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of your sockets for such a ridiculous suggestion. “Plaid????????????" you ask audaciously.

"I got some denim too!"

Just as you two are screaming at one another over who’s shirt to match the room to, Tommy tiptoes backwards out the room quietly while swallowing the rest of his muffin, hoping to snag one more in the kitchen too before dipping.

"...and I'm just to assume our daughter is MINE when you got me painting HIS shirt—“

"I wouldn't be hanging out with your sensitive ass if it WAS his baby, damnit Joel, its just a color, what is WRONG with you—!”

Suddenly, he dips his hand into the bucket and slaps two saturated handprints onto your breasts.

You gasp, backing away. Two Joel-sized hands in pink are wetly printed onto your large t-shirt, your favorite tee, as you stare down in shock. "You. Did. Not.”

Joel shrugs proudly.

You grab the wet brush on the table next to you and slash it across his face before he could stop you.

you try not to laugh, his face dotted in splotches of pink paint dribbling down his whiskers and neck. He rolls his pursed lips before looking at you, a predator smirking at a silly little bunny who’s just been put herself in a trap.

".... This stuff comes off clothes... right..." you ask hesitantly, backing away as he grasps the roller slowly and strides toward you.

You make a run for it, but the big belly doesn’t let you get far as he closes the distance and snatches you. You squeal out, giggling in his arm arms as he rolls and pats paint all over your clothes and body, the two of you getting soaked by the thick pigment. He pulls you around and smashes his lips for a heated kiss. Pink-colored hands rub paint all over your cheeks and chin affectionately. You rub your nose along his bridge, grinning at one another, covered in the glossy acrylic without a care in the world right now.

You peck his lips once more. “It’s a good color on you too, ya know…”

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ya what. We’ll keep the room like this since ya like it so much. And next time I see Tommy, I’m bleaching that shirt. Win-win.”

“Deal.”

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #last of us fic #Joel dealing with Preggo wife

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narislvr · 4 months

Text

── simp!abby drabbles pt 3 ₊˚ෆ

,, cws? mention of an ankle injury but otherwise domestic fluff ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ──

,, abby anderson x fem!reader ♡

ᝰ.ᐟ requested by @cerise-on-top !! pt i + pt ii

₊˚ෆsimp!abby who brings you on a run with her because you wanted to show interest in her hobbies the way she did yours.

──

"y'know... I didn't really think you actually meant it when you said you'd come with me today.

but I think it's really sweet that you did."

──

The idea had come up during one of your rambles as you sat on the passenger seat of your girlfriends truck. Her hands were on the steering wheel, calloused fingers tapping away quietly to the rhythm of the song playing softly on the radio as she listened to you talk. Despite you not being much of a morning person, she always smiled as she listened to you talk about everything and anything that came to mind. Sure, it was hard to keep up with your constant changing of subjects, but she liked hearing your voice. She liked the way there were still remnants of sleepy haze in your voice as you stiffled a yawn, and the way you would drag out certain words with a gentle lilt on mornings where you would much rather be curled up in bed rather than covering an early opening shift for your hung over coworker. In general, abby found comfort in hearing your voice even if she wasn't always entirely tuned in on what you were saying.

"So.. I was thinking earlier and was wondering if I could possibly join you on your next run?"

There's a second of silence before she glances at you, brow raised slightly as she gives you a weary smile, "Babe, if this is about the thing we were talking about last time then remember that-"

"It's not about that, abbs," you reassured with a shake of your head, "I just wanted to join you, that's all. Besides, I want to partake in some of your hobbies too y'know? You're always trying out new things with me so why not I do the same for you?"

If she wasn't focused on ensuring you arrived to work safely, she would have pulled you in for a gentle kiss right then and there, her heart fluttering at your words as she instead settled for placing her right hand on your thigh and giving it a light squeeze. "You're so cute, you know that?" Is all she mumbles as she chuckles and pulls in to one of the parking spaces infront of your job. "I'd like that though. It could be fun, but you sure you're really up for that? You're not exactly much of a morning person."

You scoff, feign offense in your voice as you put your hand over hers. "You think I can't handle it or something?"

"Perhaps a bit," She quips, a sly grin on her face as she moves her hand to interwine it with yours to which you give her a playful shove with your free hand, earning playful laughter from the dirty blond haired girl.

"Jerk!"

"Loser."

Your laughter dies down after a few moments, a comforting silence enveloping you both as you sit there in the parking lot, debating whether you really wanted to go in or if you you should stay in the comfortable seat of abbys truck that had slowly began to have traces of you littered inside it.

"I should go," you finally sigh, leaning over the center console and pressing a kiss to her lips. "Think about it, alright? I'll text you when I get home. Love you," you say against her lips, smiling softly as she hums and presses yet another kiss to your lips before letting go.

──

Come saturday morning, three days after the initial conversation, abby found herself looking behind her reflection in the mirror and finding you sitting on the edge of her bed tying your shoelaces. Her hands worked away at braiding her hair, the pattern being muscle memory as she continued to watch you try and hide a yawn while you stretched your arms out.

" 's not a long run. we can walk the way to the trail and then actually start the run, how's that sound?" she asks, tying the end of the braid before turning back to face you and drapping one of her sweaters over your shoulders.

"Sounds good. Don't let me stop you from your usual stuff though, okay? I promise I'm not as unathletic as I seem," You respond, hands instantly coming up to pull the sweater over your head before making their way into abbys hands. Abby nods, taking a second to admire the sight of you in her clothes before leading the two of you out hand in hand.

Knowing your girlfriend, you kept your chatiness to a minimum as you knew that she enjoyed the quiet morning ambience that came with her morning runs.

The morning was still rather gloomy, a light fog giving an almost mystical charm to the empty campus as you walked side by side. As you neared the beginning of the trail, abby gives you a light warning, "The terrain gets a little uneven after a bit so be careful, okay? And try not to slip. Still can't believe you chose converse to run with out of anything."

You offer her a thumbs up, earning a hint of a smile as she slowly begins to set the pace. You catch up to her rather quickly as the two of you settle into a good rhythm, slower than her usual, but fast enough for the two of you to still feel a slight burn from it.

It was nice actually, not something you could see yourself doing daily like abby, but it was nice.

The cool air hit your skin, and something about the earthy smell and the sounds of quiet pants from your girlfriend was comforting. You could understand why abby enjoyed it so much, and you were glad you were able to join her for it as well.

As you neared the end of your first round, your pace gradually slowed to a halt and you found yourself leaning against your girlfriends taller frame as you caught your breath. "It wasn't so bad," you mumbled between breaths as you felt abbys body rumble with a teasing chuckle.

"Baby, if you don't think you can go another round then we can just call it a day," she suggests, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders as you catch your breath.

"I'll be fine. Besides, I think the runners high is kicking in so we could probably go a little faster," You argue, looking up at your girlfriend and admiring the baby hairs that stuck to the sides of her face as she looked down at you. She was so effortlessly pretty no matter what she did, and you were sure you didn't look as well put together in your own out of breath and sweaty state.

"You sure?"

"Positive."

It was you who started the run this time, and you could hear a quiet laugh leave your girlfriend as she ran behind you calling out for you to 'wait up' for her. She caught up to you, tapping your shoulder with a playful grin before passing you and earning a 'hey!' from you in response as you ran faster to catch up. It was playful, strings of laughter filling the silence as you chased after eachother, and really nothing could ruin the little moment the two of you were having.

Or so you thought until your foot caught in one of the holes in the gravel trail.

Abby was still running ahead of you when it happened, so the silent hiss as you heard the small sound of a crack from your ankle went unnoticed by her until she heard the thud of you falling to your knees.

"Fuck- Babe, are you alright?" Worry etched onto her features as she quickly came to your side and inspected the ankle you were currently adding pressure too. "I should've payed more attention.. does it hurt? Curse these damn hightops your wearing.." she mumbles, tenderly untying your laces before you could respond.

"I'm okay, Abbs. I probably just rolled it or something.." you wince, causing for her to stop trying to take the shoe off. "I can walk it off, promise. We can still continue, we're so close to finishing this round!"

She knew you were just being stubborn, not wanting to seem weak or bring down abbys mood despite the visible pain in your eyes causing for her to shake her head and slowly stand up, offering her hand to you. "I'm taking you to the doctor. What? Don't look at me like that, babe. I'm just making sure it's not a fracture or anything of that sort."

against your protests, you find yourself on her back, arms wrapped around her neck as your legs wrapped loosely around her torso. "Abby, I'm heavy, I can walk the rest of the wa-"

"nope. You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you walk. You have a jacked girlfriend for a reason, just let me do this okay? Besides, you're anything but heavy so quit saying that," She interrupts, giving you an earnest look from the corner of her eyes as she continues making her way back.

You sigh at her response and nod, feeling your heart flutter for a second before guilt begins eating at you. Of course you had to ruin such a nice moment. Sure, it wasn't entirely your fault but you couldn't help but feel bad regardless.

"What are you thinking about, pretty girl?"

Abby could sense you worrying about something so she gave your calf a gentle pat, her voice as soft as her touch as she awaited your response.

"I just feel bad. I didn't mean to ruin this. I knew you were already slowing stuff down for me, and now you have to carry me back and waste time taking me to the doctor and.. I'm just sorry," you respond, a frown on your face as you lay it on your arm.

a second of silence.

"y'know... I didn't really think you actually meant it when you said you'd come with me today."

You sink into yourself further, "I-" She hushed you again before continuing.

"but I think it's really sweet that you did. Really. I mean, you didn't have to do it but you did, and you did it because you wanted me to feel appreciated by you. No one's done that for me before. And God, you don't understand the way you showing up and even just suggesting that in the first place made me feel," She smiles to herself, a loving tone in her voice as she continued to speak. "You kept your word and tried your best. So what if we cut it off early? Sure, I hate that it was because you got hurt, but I'm genuinely just happy to be here with you. Is that making sense or is this just a sappy ramble?"

Your heart swells with adoration for your girlfriend, the pain in your ankle going unnoticed for a second as you instead relish in the warmth abbys words provide for you. You kiss the crown of her head, a lighter sigh leaving your lips as you respond. "You sappy giant..." she giggles, "I love you abby. Really.. You're too good to me, seriously."

"I could say the same about you. I love you more though."

"nu-uh."

"Does everything have to be a competition with you?" She quips looking up at you with a warm smile.

"Yep." You chirp in reaponse..

She chuckles, fishing her keys out from her jacket as they reached the parking lot with her familiar gray vehicle.

"Just wait till your ankles better, I'll show you just how much more I do."

──

#─ nananari writes ‧₊˚#abby anderson #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson headcanons #abby tlou #abby the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fluff #wlw fanfic #wlw #lesbian #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fluff #simp!abby anderson

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sweetercalypso · 4 months

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tlou masterlist ᰋ main masterlist ᰋ wc: 0.4k

Just thinking about how Ellie likes to draw on your hand when she’s bored.

Like, everything she owns is probably covered in little doodles and messy drawings that she does to pass the time. Her sketchbook cover, the margins in her books, the knees of her jeans – she leaves her mark on everything she touches, so it only makes sense that she would draw on you, too.

And she has such an active mind, I imagine she gets bored really quickly and she’s always looking for something to keep herself entertained.

So when you’re sitting together on the couch one day and her sketchbook is out of reach but your arm is sprawled across her lap with your fingers intertwined with hers, and she feels compelled to grab a pen and start drawing on the back of your hand.

The smooth glide of ink over your skin catches you off guard, and you look over to see what she’s doing, but there’s no real purpose to the shapes and figures she’s drawing. Really, she just likes holding your hand.

And you sit there until she’s done, attention shifting back and forth between her sketches and whatever you’d been doing before she started. Your hand dips occasionally from the pressure of the pen, but Ellie doesn’t mind. She just grips your hand a little tighter and continues tracing crude shapes onto her makeshift canvas.

When she’s done, she tosses her pen somewhere to the side and lets you hold your arm up to admire her work. It’s nothing special – some leaves and overlapped flowers, a constellation of stars dancing across your knuckles. You gush over it all the same, because Ellie’s art is always perfect to you, no matter the subject.

“Looks so pretty, Els.”

She shrugs off your praise but the corners of her mouth tug into an awkward, bashful grin. She’d never been able to hide the affect you have on her.

“S’nothin. I’ll help you wash it off if you want.”

You shake your head and flex your fingers in the air to watch the shapes on your hand twist and change with your movements. “No way, m’gonna keep it forever.”

“Yeah? You’d look good with a tattoo.”

You smile at the thought and lay your arm back in Ellie’s lap. “Maybe,” you say as her fingers run over the back of your hand. “But only if you draw it.”

#the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams blurb #the last of us x reader #tlou #tlou ellie #tlou x reader #tlou fluff #the last of us fluff

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d3arapril · 5 months

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we're all very gay and needy and lustful but do you ever just think about what its like TO HUG ABBY???? I WANT HER SO BAD

ugh i just know she gives the best hugs but i don’t think she would be much of a hugger at first. would prefer to just have an arm around your shoulder until she felt comfortable to actually try and give u a hug.

BUT when she does she’ll wrap her arms around u (she likes her arms to go under and wrap around ur waist) and always offers to squeeze u so she can crack ur back… “want me to crack you?”

she always smells faintly of pine (or, reluctantly, lavender if they don’t have the pine soap stocked up…) and if she’s hugging you after a long day she’s a bit sweaty and musky but it’s comforting because it’s her.

likes it when u rub ur hands up and down her back when u hug her. it calms her down. she rocks u back and forth as she holds u and if she’s feeling a lil silly she may even try and spin u around. i imagine she feels dizzy pretty easily and almost lost her balance doing that one time😵‍💫

to summarise, yes. i think about this a lot.

#*wolf ripping tshirt off meme*#🐺#anon #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #Ugh embarrassing tags #my writing #tlou fluff #tlou x reader #the last of us fluff #the last of us

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brighttears · 9 months

Text

Safe

Joel Miller x reader

no physical description, no use of y/n

Summary: After a startle at breakfast in Jackson, Joel calms you down from a panic attack.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: graphic depictions of panic attack, negative self talk, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart, darling)

A/n: just a lil somethin :3 also the panic attack is based off of personal experience just in case anyone is sus im not makin this shit up lol

—

Culture shock is the perfect term to use in relation to what it's like coming into Jackson after months on the road. It’s bright, vividly colored, large, loud, and always so fucking busy. You haven’t been around this many people since Boston, but so much has changed since then. It's been a few weeks now, but you still haven’t even figured out how to let your guard down.

The dining hall is the worst part of the day. You will yourself to come and eat because you believe it is good for you, you need to get used to it, and you don’t want to other yourself by taking your plate outside. You feel separated enough already, like a wild animal being introduced into a zoo enclosure. But god, the scrapping utensils on plates, chewing, so much conversation, boisterous laughing, people getting up and down from their seats; so much open space with so much activity, you can barely keep your eyes down enough to be able to look at the food you’re trying to get into your mouth. But Joel is always right there with you, with a comforting hand on your thigh, grounding both you and him, eyes flicking around just as much as yours, and a matching sigh of relief once you make it back outside, with a ‘We did it’ or ‘Good job sweetheart’ to pick your spirits up.

You don’t know what it is about today; nothing you can put your finger on, just some uneasy feeling that you woke up with. Some days are just like this, though, like a scratch you can’t itch somewhere in your brain, irritating your nervous system until whatever it is decides to let you out of its clutches.

“Come on honey, time to go,” Joel says from the door as he pulls his jacket on. You let out a deep breath, staring out of the kitchen window with your arms crossed over your chest, an absentminded hand smoothing over your throat. Squeezing your arm with your other hand, you will yourself to move, leave the house, go down to the dining hall. Its just breakfast, just breakfast, just fucking breakfast. Come on. You can do this. You’ve been through much, much worse than this. Come on.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice sounds suddenly from right behind you and you jump, sucking in a breath with a defensive hand jutting out towards him.

“Fuck.” You breath back out, leaning down and pulling your hand back to you electrified chest, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, guilty and embarrassed for reacting like that to Joel, who you know wouldn’t even dream of hurting you.

“It’s alright darlin’, it’s alright. You’re ok.” He coos.

Blinking hard, you nod, “Yeah, sorry, you just startled me. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryna sneak up on ya,”

“No, I know, it’s just… I don’t know, I just feel… off today.” You say as you straighten up.

Joel meets you slowly, placing his hands on your arms. “You wanna just stay in this mornin’? I can go grab the food or have Tommy or Maria—”

“No, no, I can do it.” You interrupt him and swallow hard.

“You sure? There’s no shame in—”

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m fine. It’s fine. I’ve been through worse.” You smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Joel returns a light smile. His eyes fall to your lips, and he leans in for a quick kiss before turning back to the door. His touch relaxes your shoulders and you take one more deep breath before following him outside. As you start down the road, his arm slides around your waist. Even just a small gesture like this from your man makes you feel safer. When you feel his breaths, deliberately deep and even, you follow suit, and the two of you prepare for the upcoming onslaught of breakfast. Despite your efforts, though, you can feel your heartbeat quicken as you near the doors.

As you enter, Joel’s arm slips from around you but you grasp each other's hands as you walk to the table that Tommy and Maria are already sat waiting at, both giving you a smile as you come to your seats.

“A bit late this morning.” Maria says.

“Slept in?” Tommy winks.

“No, uh, just, late morning, I guess.” Joel replies, not meeting their eyes, instead instinctively sweeping them over the room. You keep your own eyes locked on the table.

“You ok?” Maria asks. When you look up, there’s concern in her eyes.

“Yeah, fine.” You throw a smile and look back down at the table, still linked to Joel by your hands.

“Well food’s out and ready, we were just about to grab our own plates.” You hear Tommy.

“Alright,” Joel says, letting go of your hand and moving to get up from his seat. Just as you finally let your gaze up from the table, a crash and a scream sounds from nearby, and without even thinking, you’re suddenly on your feet, stanced ready, a hand on your empty hip and an arm swung back towards Joel. A yelp escapes from your throat and your entire body is rigid and burning with panic, chest twisted so tight it won’t let you breathe, teeth clamped so hard it hurts.

Then, silence. All there is is your breath, jumping like snapped rubber bands, and the blood rushing in your ears. Eyes still pinned open, you force your neck to move and look around you. Hundreds of eyes look back at you. Everyone is staring. However, your head is empty of embarrassment, still full of threat, threat, threat, threat, threat.

“It’s alright, honey,” sounds from behind you, then a hand on your arm, and you switch your stance to face the touch, grabbing the hand while your other fumbles for the weapon that is not on your hip.

“It’s me, it’s jus’ me, baby, it’s alright, it’s me.”

Your eyes blink rapidly as Joel’s face comes into focus, the blurry haze of panic slowly starting to clear.

When you try to speak, your breaths stab out from your lungs. “What happened?” You finally get out.

“Nothin’, sweetheart, someone just dropped somethin’. It’s ok. You’re safe. It’s alright.�� He tells you, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “It’s alright.” He whispers, focusing your eyes on his. “It’s alright.”

“Are you ok?” You hear yourself say.

His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he replies, “I’m fine. Nothin’ happened. We’re safe, baby. We’re safe.”

Though your brain is beginning to process and trust his words, you can’t move, only tremble.

“Alright, let’s get you outta here.” Joel’s eyes come away from yours to flick around you, and that’s when you remember where you are. Muscles moving in snapping spurts, your neck jerks left and right, and still, hundreds of eyes look back at you. Now with room enough for it, embarrassment burns your entire face and neck.

“It’s alright, honey,” you hear Joel, thumbs stroking your cheeks, bringing your attention back to him in front of you, “let’s jus’ get you outta here.” He nods, then shifts to beside you, one arm around your waist with his other hand rubbing your shoulder. You keep your head bowed, steps jagged with full body tremors.

As soon as the outside air hits you, you begin to gasp, barely realizing that you’re sobbing. Joel catches you before you collapse. There's the panic, still shooting through you’ve been eletrocuted, but the humiliation is a whole other kind of overwhelming. “Fuck.” You cry into Joel. You bury your face deep into his shirt and jacket to muffle the screams that you can’t hold in. He squeezes his arms around you, rubbing your back, his chin resting on top of your head, whispering, “It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” You let out into him in between bawls. “I fucking hate this. I hate this.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Come on, let’s get you back up to the house.”

Your trembling legs continue to betray you and you can’t get yourself to move.

“I can’t–I can’t move.” You admit.

“Alright, t’s alright, come on, baby,” He reassures, then hoists you up into his arms. Like a child, you wrap your legs around him, keeping your face buried in his collar, squeezing your eyes shut and attempting—with little success—to calm your breaths. The sobs fall out of you unrelenting as a waterfall.

By the time you get to the house, your breathing has calmed some, but the shaking won’t stop. When Joel sets you on the ground you hobble up the short steps to the porch and through the door, and he keeps a comforting arm around you as he guides you to sit on the couch. He kneels down before you, stroking your cheek with his hand, trailing his eyes over your panicked frame before focusing them on yours.

“Deep breaths, baby, t’s alright. Deep breaths.” He starts them and you follow, breathing deeply in through your nose, holding, and blowing out through your mouth.

“Where are we?” He asks.

“At the–the house.”

“Where’s the house, baby?”

“Jackson. In Jackson.”

“Thas’ right,” Joel cups your face, “we’re at the compound. We’re safe here, sweetheart. I promise. We’re safe. Nothin’s gonna hurt you.” He nods, you swallow hard and then let out another shaky breath and nod with him.

Your trembling shoe taps the floor. When you still it, your shoulders start to shake. “Fuck.” You close your eyes, cursing yourself. “I’m so fucking stupid, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re not stupid. How many times you been here with me like this? This stuff happens. You’re not stupid. T’s alright. Look at me baby,” you do, and he repeats, “T’s arlight. You’re not stupid.” Joel shakes his head, eyes still keeping yours. One hand shifts down to your fist, which you hadn’t even noticed bring clenched closed. “Let me get you some water.”

When he moves to get up, your hand shoots out to grip the lapel of his jacket. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leavin’, sweetheart. I’m jus’ goin’ to the kitchen. I’ll be right over there. Won’t take two seconds.” Joel gently takes your hand off of his coat, raising his eyebrows with a reassuring look, then gets to his feet. You turn on the couch, watching him go to the sink to fill up a glass for you. “I’m right here, see?” He says on his way back to you. You nod, eyes staying trained on him as he kneels back down in front of you. When the cup shakes in your hand, he keeps his on it, delicately helping it to your lips. The water cools your throat, helping you to ground yourself. You empty it into your throat and then take a couple more deep breaths. “That feel better?” You nod. “Alright.” Joel sighs, setting the glass down on the floor next to him to take your face in his hands again, then bringing his face up to kiss your forehead. “Alright, baby.” He says again. “This stuff happens. I get the same way, I bet plenty a people in there have done the same thing. T’s a lot in there. You’re not used to all that. Neither am I. Todays just a bad day, huh?” You sniffle and nod. “Now, you’re not stupid. Ok?”

“Ok.” you finally speak.

“Alright. You wanna go lay down?” You nod, voicebox still not too confident. “Come on, darlin’.” Joel lets go of your face, reaching one hand around your back and the other to your legs for you to shift into his arms bridal style. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his collar, inhaling his scent of love and safety as the stairs creak under Joel’s feet taking you upstairs.

When you look up at him as he lets you down on the bed, his brow is furrowed with concern and there's sadness in his deep eyes.

Ashamed, you instantly look away. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you worry.”

“Baby I’m gonna worry no matter what you do.” He sits down on the bed next to you and strokes his hand over your cheek again, “You did nothin’ wrong. Don’t go hatin’ yourself for it. It’s not like you did this on purpose. Right?”

You shake your head and lean into his touch. Joel’s eyes land on your lips and remain there until he leans in to kiss you, slipping your bottom lip between his, and you reach your hands up to hang onto him. Knitting your hands into his locks with his stubbly cheek under your hand, you indulge in him.

Pulling away, he says, “Lay down with me, darlin’,” already with his hand on your back to slowly guide your back down on the bed. He keeps his head above you to meet your lips again, gentle yet firm, honeyed and warm. Closing your eyes, the pressure of his body next to yours, hand on your waist, and his lips on yours begins to relieve the pressure in your bones. Slowly, you feel yourself relaxing, though your foot still twitches in your boot, the residual aftermath of a panic attack.

Joel’s hand smooths over your cheek as he deepens the kiss, the sigh from his nose breathed over your face. When he pulls away, he shifts his arms to rest his hands on your face and stroke his thumbs over your cheeks. His eyes wander over you with lazy lids, his brow still lightly furrowed and bottom lip slightly pouted and wet from your mouth. He sighs again, then whispers “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” You whisper back, looking over his face.

Joel leans down to rub his nose back and forth over yours, then sprinkles light kisses over your cheeks, forehead, by your ear, the corner of your mouth, and over your jaw. Then he shifts his body to lie down, tilting your hips towards him with a soft “C’mere,” and you lay your head on his chest, bending your knee to rest your leg over his. Closing your eyes and inhaling again, you let your body weigh into his and grip his lapel. Tears ball up in the corner of your eyes.

You used to lay like this frequently on the road, keeping each other close, hanging on to the only sanity you knew. The lack thereof surrounding you protected you enough from falling asleep despite the relaxation it granted you, and you’d do it to watch the sun rise or set whenever you could catch it. When you did sleep though, you’d stay united, someone’s head on each other’s chest or leg.

On the same train of thought as you, Joel speaks, the bass in your ear on his chest, “Maybe sometime we could actually fall asleep like this.”

“Not now, I can’t sleep now.” You mumble.

“I know, darlin’. Too worked up for it now.” His hand brushes up and down your back, “T’s alright. Jus’ layin’.” Joel smacks a kiss on the top of your head, then sighs again, your head rising and falling with it, and wraps both arms around you. “We got time. N’ we’ll get used to it here. Get used to bein’ safe.”

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 7 months

Note

hi, can i get a whiskey for joel miller and a cuddle day when it's cold outside? thank you!!

Baby, It's Cold Outside.

warnings - cursing. allusions to sexual content.

goddamn I love this man. thank you for this request!! <3

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

You're startled awake by the sound of heavy footsteps on the wood floors.

Lifting your head from the pillow, you watch as Joel tries to sneak into the bedroom, kicking off his boots.

"What are you doing back?" you whisper through the darkness.

He finds your silhouette and smiles, unbuttoning his flannel and shrugging off his jeans.

"Weather's too bad. All non essential jobs have been cancelled."

"Really?"

"Really. Which means you're stuck with me today. All day."

Joel slips into bed, chuckling when you gasp at how cold he is.

"C'mere," he murmurs, pulling you into his chest.

You tangle your legs with his, resting your head above his heart. His strong arms wrap around you, protective and sure. You feel invincible, intertwined with Joel like this.

"We've never done this," you whisper.

"Done what?"

"Stayed in bed all day. No responsibilities or jobs."

He hums for a moment, thinking.

"You're right. Well, better late than never, huh?"

Joel reaches over to open the curtains, letting the lightning storm illuminate the room. He starts up the fireplace, soundtracking your day with crackling wood and glowing embers.

You take turns reading to each other, an old fashioned romance novel that you're both enjoying more than you'd like to admit. Joel doesn't take his eyes off you once, entirely enraptured by your concentration.

At lunch time, Joel makes you both something to eat, practically sprinting up the stairs to jump back into bed with you. You stay tangled all day, as promised, both warm and cosy in each others company.

And later on, when you ask if he's hungry, Joel slips down the bed and between your legs, murmuring about something else he'd rather eat.

#joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #the last of us smut #the last of us #The last of us fluff #the last of us x reader #tlou smut #tlou fanfic #tlou x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x you #murphy's 3k celebration #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader fluff

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cowgurrrl · 3 months

Text

You're My Only Hope for Heaven

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: oh bitch I'm having a fucking blast with this dynamic the slow burn is slow burning

Summary: An unlikely patron saunters into your bar [3.5k]

Warnings: one (1) creepy guy, one (1) fake marriage, lots of flirting that’s not flirting but it’s not not flirting, one (1) kiss

You try not to make it a habit of picking up bar shifts during the week. Not only is it almost always slow, and you barely make any money, but it's hard to go from teaching for eight hours directly to another job. You'd much rather be at home, grading or doing something for yourself for the first time in weeks. But you couldn't say no when Katie called you, almost in tears, begging you to take her shift so she could deal with a burst pipe in her house. You don't regret doing her a favor, but you do regret other things as you stand behind the mostly empty bar as whatever game is happening plays on the screen above your head. You think it's a UT game. Or maybe A&M. Or any of the other SEC Texas schools with an absurd football budget.

You're basically yawning your way through your shift and working through your newest painting in your head, trying and failing to not think about school until absolutely necessary. Principal Martinez is cracking down on the stupid minutiae the school board demands of its teachers, and you spent most of your afternoon writing student objectives on the board. On top of that, your art club kids have been begging you to plan a field trip to the local art museum for weeks. You finally relented, but the paperwork is mind-numbing and requires much more work than you thought. Between working, making art, and trying to live your life, you barely have time.

Another reason you hate working weekdays is the creepy regulars. Normally, you can ignore them on a busy Saturday night, but it's harder when it's as dead as it is. You have no idea how Katie deals with them on a regular basis. It started with a guy at the bar, you think his name is Steve, asking you progressively invasive questions. "How old are you?" "You gotta boyfriend?" "What time do you get off?" One right after each other, even after you made it clear you're not interested. Fake laughing and making excuses to run to the back or change a keg don't throw him off.

"Keep it up, and I'll cut you off." You finally threaten after he asks you why you're being a bitch. You roll your eyes when the bell above the door rings, probably admitting yet another asshole who's gonna make your night hell. When you turn toward the door, the words leave you before you can stop them. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Now, is that any way to greet your customers?" Joel chuckles, and you sigh as he sits down in front of you. Thankfully, his brother is not in tow, and you can save yourself a little embarrassment. "I didn't know you worked here."

"I don't," you say. "Whatcha drinkin'?"

"Looks like you're workin' to me." He smirks and you shoot him a look.

"You wanna free drink or not?"

"Shiner," he answers quickly. You hum in acknowledgment, not even bothering with the POS system and going right to the fridge to pull a bottle out for him. You pop the cap off and place a napkin under the beer before sliding it to him. "Are you bribin' me?"

"You've gotta be faster with your questions, Miller. You've already accepted it. Might as well enjoy." You say, and he laughs.

"Well, alright, then," he says, raising his beer to you before taking a quick sip. "So, what's this, then? You moonlightin' as a bartender?" He asks, and you fight yourself on how to answer. What if word gets back to parents? Administration? They couldn't reprimand you for that, right? You know plenty of other teachers with second jobs, so it can't be that taboo. Still, you're hesitant to open up to Joel. Out of all the people who could've walked into your bar tonight, it had to be him.

"Something like that." You settle on, wiping a sticky spot on the bar to avoid his gaze. If he feels anything negative about you having a second job, his face doesn't show it. He has a soft smile on his lips and a slight sunburn across his nose, highlighting the freckles living there that previously went unnoticed. You want to tease him about not wearing sunscreen, but the joke dies in your throat when he rests his elbows on your bar, showing off those stupid biceps you can't not look at. He catches your eyes lingering near the short sleeve of his shirt and opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but a grating voice from the other side of the bar cuts him off.

"Excuse me, sweetheart! You've got other patrons over here!" Steve yells, and you feel your eye twitch at his attitude. Joel notices.

"What's wrong with him?" He asks quietly, leaning forward over the bar to get closer to you. Looking into his brown eyes and confused expression, an idea forms.

"Pretend you know me." You say, and his eyebrows knit together, every emotion visible on his face.

"I do know you."

"No, I mean," you sigh. "That guy over there is a regular on Wednesdays, and the girl who usually works is married, so he doesn't try anything with her, but I won't give him my number, and he's making me fucking miserable. So, just... pretend to know me." Joel is bigger than Steve. Much bigger. Probably a whole head taller and much broader than the man on the other side of the bar. One word from Joel, and he might actually shut up or, better yet, leave altogether so you can finish your day without any more hiccups.

"Okay," Joel agrees, and you reflexively reach out to touch his thick forearm and squeeze. You don't even realize you did it until he smiles like he won a staring contest or something.

"Thank you," you say before turning and bracing yourself to deal with Steve. "What can I do for you, sir?" You ask, but before you can even finish your sentence, he holds up his empty beer bottle and waves it in front of your face like you're stupid.

"Another beer." He says, and you bite your tongue.

"You got it."

"Finally," he groans. "You'd think for such an easy fuckin' job, you'd be better at it."

"What the fuck is your problem?" You ask, refusing to move from your spot to get him his beer, and he scoffs.

"My problem is that you're bein' a fuckin' bitch and ignorin' me when I didn't do nothin' wrong." He's slurring his words together at this point, and you wordlessly go to the POS system to close his tab and send him on his way. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" He yells after you.

"Hey, man, why don't you leave her alone? She's just tryna do her job." Joel speaks up from the other side of the bar, and Steve straightens up in his seat as he assesses Joel.

"This isn't any of your fuckin' business. Stay out of it."

"It's my business now. That's no way to speak to a lady. I think you owe her a mighty big apology."

"I don't owe her shit," he spits, and you look over to see Joel setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. "Why's this even matter to you, big shot?"

"That's my fuckin' wife you're mouthin' off to," Joel says without hesitation, and you quickly school your expression. Wife? You asked him to play along, but you didn't think he'd say that. "So, if you wanna keep the rest of your teeth, I suggest you apologize to her, leave her a nice, big tip for dealin' with your sorry ass, and get yourself a ride home."

Steve is silent as you take the empty bottle away from him— just in case things get really ugly— and slide him his card and bill. He eyes Joel carefully for a few tense seconds before picking up a pen, signing his check, and leaving without another word. The second he's out the door, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders and sigh at the relief. You scrub a hand down your face and look over at Joel.

"You okay?" He asks gently like you're a spooked horse, and you nod. You take a few minutes to get yourself together, putting in Steve's 30% tip and cleaning off the empty bar before returning to Joel. "What?" He asks when he catches you smirking.

"At least buy a girl dinner before you call me your wife." You say, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"You said the other girl is married. I just took it and ran," he says. "And I already tried to take you to dinner, but somebody said no."

"School regulation says it's unethical."

"Well, we're not at school now, and you're certainly not a teacher right now." He says smoothly, vaguely gesturing to your all-black outfit, and you give him a look. "What time d'you get off?"

"You're gonna get me in trouble." You whisper, and he leans forward across the bar.

"All I did was ask you a question." He whispers back, playfully mocking you. It could be the smile on his face, the relaxed humor behind his eyes, or the fact that he stood up for you because you asked him to, but you glance between him and the clock and take a deep breath.

"I get off at 12. Unless it stays dead like this, then I'm closing early," you say, and his smile grows. "But this is not a date."

"'Course not." He chuckles, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"I'm serious. I need you to say it's not a date, so I know you won't come after me if your kid fails my class."

"Is my kid failing your class?"

"No, she's amazing. But for my own mental well-being, I need you to say that this is not a date." You say, and he grabs your wrist to stop your anxious wringing.

"Let me buy you a drink. That's it. Nothin' more," he says, squeezing you. "This ain't a date."

"Thank you." You sigh, and he nods.

You spend an hour or two idling between conversations with Joel and trying to look busy for any manager who might care enough to check the cameras. You're pretty much done with all your closing duties by 10:00, and you wait until it's been a full hour since anyone else came in to flip the closed sign and do a few last-minute things. When the bar is completely clean, empty, and ready for the next shift, you slink back behind it to make yourself and Joel a drink before sitting beside him.

"You feelin' proud of yourself for getting us here?" You ask as you clink your glass against his and take a sip.

"Yeah, I've got the prettiest girl in the whole place sittin' by me," he says, and before you can even scold him, he throws his hands up. "Not a date."

"Not a date." You repeat.

"Still true, though."

"Don't make me regret saying yes to you, Mr. Miller." You say, and he gives you a look. You like teasing him, especially since you can always see exactly how he's feeling. He's not particularly subtle, contrary to what you're sure others think about him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Joel?"

"As many times as it takes, I guess," you shrug. "You also clearly have an aversion to being called Mr. Miller."

"My dad was Mr. Miller." He says, and you roll your eyes, groaning and half-folding in on yourself dramatically.

"Oh, my God, do you know how many men have said that to me since I've become a teacher?"

"Well, it's true!" He says. "Are you sayin' other people are tryna tell my wife to call ‘em by their first names?" He asks, and you laugh.

"Believe it or not, you're not the first single parent to ask me out."

"Am I the first one you said yes to?"

"So far."

"So far?" He asks, raising his eyebrows, and you hum. "I'll take it."

Unsurprisingly, Joel is really easy to talk to. He asks questions about your life outside of work, where you went to school, and what made you want to be a teacher. You ask him about his job and family and, somehow, end up talking about the latest cheesy action film he's seen. When both your drinks are empty, the glasses sit there, the ice slowly melting as you talk into the night. Every time a hint of anxiety creeps up your spine, he makes you laugh or tells you an interesting story from his past and distracts you from it. You lose hours sitting there, and you don't even realize it until your phone pings you with a reminder, and you suddenly see it's past midnight.

"Oh, shit," you mumble, showing Joel the time. "I gotta lock up."

"And you have school tomorrow." He says, and you groan as you stand and grab your glasses.

"Don't remind me. I've got like five million things waiting to get done there." You say. He watches you step behind the bar, leave them in the sink for the opener to find, and no doubt send a catty message in the group chat asking who closed the night before. His eyes don't leave you even when you reach up and grab your bag, your sleeve falling down just enough to reveal a nasty bruise.

"Woah, that looks like it hurt," he says, gesturing to your arm. "How'd you get that?"

"Promise you won't laugh." Your response does nothing to clear up his confusion, but he raises his right hand and makes a cross over his heart.

"I promise." His tone is gentle and even, but you're still hesitant to actually admit it.

"I fell off a table."

"I told you!"

"Hey!" You scold. "You promised you'd be cool about it!"

"I promised not to laugh." He says, and you roll your eyes. "They still haven't come to fix it for ya?"

"Would I be climbing on tables if they did?"

"Fair enough," he shrugs. You find the bar keys at the bottom of your purse and walk over to where he's still sitting, your hand resting on the back of your chair. He shifts forward until he can catch the edge of your sleeve and roll it up to see the bruise in all her glory. His fingers are warm, and his touch light as he traces the edge of it, not firm enough to make it ache but enough that you feel the pads of his fingers. You freeze like your stillness will be enough for the feather-light touches to continue, your eyes meeting for a split second. He clears his throat and rolls your sleeve back down for you, drawing his hand back. "Tell you what," he says. "I gotta buddy who gets me a good deal on some spare parts. Let me see if I can track down the part you need, and I'll come fix it myself. Free of charge."

"You don't have to do that."

"And let my wife fall off tables?" He asks, a smirk pulling on his lips, and you shake your head. "It's the least I can do for the free drinks and, ya know, teachin' my kid."

"Fine, but don't make it a thing. The maintenance people already don't like me. I can't imagine seeking outside help will make them like me."

"I won't make it a thing," he promises, leaning back in his chair as his eyes travel up and down your body. He sighs heavily and sucks his teeth like you're suddenly too much, and you smile. "It's a damn shame this wasn't a date."

"What'd you do if it was?" The question borders on dangerous, but you can't take it back now that you've said it. It seems to have piqued Joel's interest, too, because he raises his eyebrows at you.

"You really wanna know?" He asks, and you nod.

"I really wanna know," you say. "How does Joel Miller end a successful date?" He gets a little bashful at the question, a blush creeping up his neck, and you knock his knee with yours to get his attention. "C'mon, don't get shy on me now."

"Alright, alright," he grumbles. "If this were a date, and we were gettin' ready to go out separate ways, I'd walk you out to your car, open the door for ya 'cause a lady should never open her own doors," his voice is slow and low, and he watches your face as he speaks. "And I'd kiss you. Nice and slow so I don't scare ya off or anythin'. I might put a hand on your waist or bite that pretty lip or somethin'. And right when I can feel you wantin' a little more, gettin' a little desperate, I'd stop, say goodnight, and walk back to my truck." His words have a devastating effect on you, and you can't look away from him. The heat rolling off him in waves makes you too warm and flustered. His gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, his own tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip, and you have half a mind to think he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. You have half a mind to let him.

"You're right," you finally breathe. "It's a shame this isn't a date." He nods and stands, his broad chest grazing yours as you look up at him. You're not a science teacher by any means. If you were, you might be able to explain the magnetism you feel toward Joel or what stupid chemical in your brain makes you wonder what tricks he keeps up his sleeve. But you're not. You're an art teacher. So, the only thing you can focus on is the deep brown of his irises and the heavy lashes and crow's feet that frame his eyes. And the swoop of his salt and pepper curls, the tint of his slightly pink forehead and strong nose. You want to capture his image in the dim lighting of the bar, but you settle for committing it to memory to scribble in the margins of your notebook for the rest of the week. Why couldn't you have been a science teacher?

Neither of you says anything as he finally steps away, giving you the space to turn off the last of the bar lights and push through the haze he created in your mind. He lingers by the door and opens it for you when you go to the front and step into the humid Austin night. You lock the doors and give him a small smile when you turn around to see him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Then, just as he said, he walks you to your car and opens the driver's side door for you. His truck, the only other car in the parking lot, is parked a few spaces away from yours. It would've been so much easier to just ignore you, get in his car, and drive away, but here he is, being the gentleman he's always been toward you. You step into the space created by the open door and throw your bag in the passenger seat, but don't get in the car. Not yet. He sighs heavily, like he's in physical pain, when you meet his eyes again, and his hand flexes around the edge of your car door.

"Thanks for my not date." You mumble, and he nods. You're close (and weak) enough that brushing his lips would just take a strong breeze. It freaks you out how okay you are with the idea of "accidentally" kissing Joel Miller. You should be panicking. Alarm bells should be sounding in your head, but the only thing filling the cavernous space is the echo of his voice explaining what he'd do if this were a date. Idiot.

He leans on your door a little more, and your heart quickens, thinking he might actually be the one to make the move. His head ducks just a little, and you get a strong whiff of his cologne, your eyes fluttering shut at the scent. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you're all but pushing up on your toes when he swerves past your lips and presses a chaste, firm kiss to your cheek. His beard scratches your soft skin pleasantly, and you keep your eyes closed until he pulls away, looking like he just won a prize.

"Get home safe." He says as he steps back, still holding your door open. You sigh and fight a smile as you look at him— cocky, vindicated, and knowing exactly what he just did.

"Goodnight, Joel." You manage to get out before sitting down and letting him gently shut the door for you. You wait until he gets in his truck to roll your window down and shout his name until he does the same. "I'm gonna get you back for that."

"Oh, I'm countin' on it, darlin'."

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