tinytownn

[tinytownn]

finally posted the fic from these poll results!! sorry it took so long, dental exams kicked my ass :((

next one piece post —

hellooo !! with all of my drafts and requests, i couldn’t decide what i wanted to actually finish and post. soooo you guys are gonna decide for me :P

have a request?

i dont rly feel like writing out summaries so it’s just gonna be a surprise sryyy

[tinytownn]

stuck in the trees – one-shot[?]

[neighbor!firefighter!]portgas d. ace x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: based off of this request...

content: lotta flirting from ace, possible mini series??, cute lil blurb, no use of y/n

leave all requests here…

a/n: [UNEDITED] helloooo!! finally got back into writing after finals kicked my ass so sorry for the delay :(( i hope you guys enjoy and i have a couple ideas for two more parts of this so i may poll it soon??

—

“Tofu!” you shouted, running down the sidewalk. “C’mon, boy! Where’d you go?”

It had been almost ten embarrassing minutes of you parading up and down the street looking for your lost cat. A package had gotten delivered to your house, one you had been anticipating for weeks. It was a large box, one wide enough to create an awkward hold, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Or at least you thought.

With the rickety screen door being held open by your ankle, your balance was already off as you swayed back and forth. The rest of your body was leaned forward, fingers grasping the edges of cardboard. You couldn’t even get the box off the ground.

Before you could admit defeat however, your mischievous cat, Tofu, decided to make a break for it.

It all happened so fast: he skittered through your legs, a white ball of fluff, as he scurried down the street.

The door slammed shut behind you and the corner of the box you had lifted thudded to the ground. Your bare feet burned against the pavement, but you didn’t let that stop your pursuit. 

Only a few seconds had passed, but Tofu was already out of sight.

“You’ve got to me kidding me…” you muttered, studying each yard as you passed.

Tofu had a habit of listening to his hunting instinct despite the fact he’s lived off canned meals his whole life. So, when you heard the familiar hiss and rustling of leaves, you knew you only had moments before he was up in a tree.

Darting off into the surrounding woods, pinecones and loose sticks jabbed your feet, but you barely noticed. All you could hear was Tofu’s distressed mewling.

There he was—clumsily perched on a tree branch, just out of reach.

“No treats for a month you stupid furball,” you huffed, stomping to the base of the tree.

Latching onto the nearest branch, you yelped as your feet scraped against the jagged bark. The cuts in your feet from chasing Tofu around, plus the searing hot pavement practically melting your skin, sent you flying backwards, your grip on the branch not enough to support you.

“Shit!”

Eyes shut tight, you braced for impact, picturing your clueless cat staring at you from above. But the collision never came. Instead, two warm arms–almost warmer than the sun beating down on you–wrapped around your waist, pulling you into their unclothed chest. 

You gasped, your eyes fluttering open in shock.

“Looked like you needed a little help.” 

The muscular arms of the shirtless stranger propped you back up on your feet, his touch lingering slightly on your waist. Your gaze met his–the lopsided grin, dotted freckles, intense eyes–an immediate heat rising to your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment of how you probably looked flailing off the tree, or simply from just how hot this man was–in temperature and in looks. 

Running your hands across your shirt, brushing off any dirt, you smiled up at him. “I- uh yeah…thank you for catching me,” you said sheepishly. “Looks like climbing trees isn't my thing.”

“Might help if you had shoes,” he chuckled, nudging off his boots and kicking them toward you. “How are you not melting out here?”

“I kinda am,” you admitted, pushing the boots back. “But no way- I can’t take your shoes! What about your feet?”

He clicked his tongue, crouching down on one knee in front of you–the motion made you blush.

“Not taking, just borrowing.” He met your gaze, taking a quick, hesitant glance, before taking your ankle in a gentle hold. “Besides, I like the heat.”

You scoffed, unable to hold the stranger’s gaze while he tightly tied the oversized boots around your ankles. “You’ve got to be crazy, it’s like a hundred degrees.”

“Not hot enough,” he teased.

You stole a glance. He looked built for summer–dark shorts tightened to his waist with an orange cloth belt, his toes wiggling through his bright, matching socks, and a chunky, red beaded necklace sat strung across his collarbone. And although the sun beat down on his tattooed skin, not a drop of sweat clung to him.

He patted your knee, signaling he was done fastening the shoes, and finally you met his unwavering stare. It wasn’t threatening or scary, just intense–enticing even. Something too personal for just a stranger.

You opened your mouth to say something, words getting caught in your throat at his lingering touch. Through a tense silence, you both stared, unable to speak, until a whining cry from Tofu rang out from above.

With a gasp, you turned back towards the tree, completely having forgotten your original point of being there.

“Shit, Tofu! I completely forgot!” You turned towards the man frantically, eyes wide. “My cat got out, I was gonna try and climb up to get him but…”

“But you’re not the best at climbing trees?” he chuckled, glancing up to the cloud of fluff in the tree.

You shook your head, scratching the back of your neck. “Yeah…and I don’t even own a ladder. Should I call the fire department? They do that kind of stuff, right?”

“We get calls like that all the time,” he said, already jumping to grab the first branch. “Doesn’t look too high. I’ve got this.”

You raised a brow. “We?”

The stranger was already hurling himself around the first branch, his toes curling around the bark as he maneuvered his way upwards–much more gracefully than you had before. His chest heaved and the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed and flexed underneath the pressure. Still, he hoisted himself up the tree with ease, not a drop of sweat even on his brow.

“I work at the station downtown,” he said proudly, despite him being so high up, you could still see the toothy grin on his face. “I’ve been working there for a few years now. I do a lot more than rescue cats though. That’s just a bonus.”

You smiled up at the man as he neared Tofu–digging his claws warily into the branch he was perched on, his tail battered against the wind, and a low, eerie grow rumbled in his chest. As the rescuer approached though, his cry softened as he used all his courage to shuffle towards him. Scooping him securely underneath his arm, he made a quick descent down the tree, opting to jump halfway.

He landed swiftly on his feet, Tofu held steadily in his grasp, right in the leaves in front of you. Shocked, you stumbled back a couple steps before thanking him.

“Thank you so much, you did that so fast!” You clapped your hands together excitedly, taking your cat back into your arms. “I can’t believe a firefighter just happened to be here at the right time.”

Tofu struggled in your grip, trying to urge his way back towards the kind stranger. He outstretched his paws to the man, a soft cry leaving his lips.

“I think Tofu says thank you too,” you laughed, handing back over the cat to his welcoming arms.

He joined in on your laughter, smothering his face into Tofu’s plush, white coat, with a wide smile. “Well thank you Tofu, for letting me pet you.”

Suddenly, through the thick cloud of fluff, that intense stare from before met your eyes again. Cheeks tinted pink, you felt your whole body get enveloped in a swarm of heat.

“I was working out in my garage when I saw you running around,” he continued. “Looked important so I figured I’d see if you needed help. I’m glad I did.”

He lifted his head from the ball of fur, his back straightened and shoulders rolled back, eyes locked on you the entire time. A lazy grin was plastered on his face and his head tilted to the side, his dark, messy hair falling with it.

Then, he outstretched a hand, the one of his tattooed arm, the bold ink catching the light when you took his grip. His unusually warm touch encased your soft skin, fingers wrapped around yours for a moment until his fingertips grazed your palm in retreat.

“I’m Ace.”

Breathlessly, you whispered your name. His presence, not only his looks, but the easy confidence he radited capitaved you in a way you couldn’t trace.

Those couple of seconds couldn’t have felt any longer, the silence growing thick in the space between you. It wasn’t awkward, but the underlying sense of something new began to brew in the air.

Silently, Ace placed the cat back into your arms, breaking the gap–and tension.

“Thank you again,” you said, hugging Tofu close. “For everything. And...apparently he likes you, which is rare. He’s not a fan of guys.”

Ace’s lips curled. “Looks like he has good taste.”

You felt small under his gaze. It wasn’t until then that you realized how tall he was, and the way he was staring at you wasn’t helping. His eyes were burning holes through your skin–his touch doing the same–each action oozing with anticipation.

“Listen,” Ace took a step back, hands fumbling into his pockets. “If this little guy ever gets out again, I’m in that house- open garage, punching bag, can’t miss it.” He motioned his head back towards the street. 

You smiled warmly up at him, nodding at his offer. “I’ll take you up on that. Beats trying to climb a tree again.”

Ace scratched the back of his neck, a sudden hint of shyness peeking through. 

“And like I said, firefighters are good for more than getting cats out of trees. Don’t hesitate to stop by if you need anything.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a grin.

“You good at moving boxes?” 

He laughed–a real, warm, sunlit laugh.

“The best.”

—

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

Reader x neighbor!Ace who's also firefighter. Can be like, reader having her cat on the tree and Ace helps her out

okokok i know this took me forever to get to,,,,but it's finally here!!! (with two more possible parts??) i absolutely love this concept and wanna write a whole chapter on ace in his firefighter uniform, driving the truck, all sweaty and focused on helping you and omgomgomg i cant

[tinytownn]

thought i failed my dental exam for the past week,,,results just came out,,,,

CELEBRATORY CHAPTER COMING SOON !!! (and firefighter ace fic finally hehehehe)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

i. what would you do for a granola bar?

ii. time heals all wounds

iii. gossip girl (no…like please go piss girl)

iv. wife number five

v. home sweet home

vi. i know a spot.../weeping under the willow

vii. a bad case of man flu

viii. reader…there’s a girl behind you

ix. rejection therapy

x. reason #2,673 not to yell in the apocalypse 

xi. the weight on his shoulders

i have no words...don’t be fooled by the chapter names, they’re so unserious to deceive you lmaooo (and counteract how fucking sad this made me)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. ii - time heals all wounds

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 4.9k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and brief mentions of death??, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), angry joel (ur lowkey a bitch in this chapter too ngl), age gap (27 and 49), no use of y/n

a/n: i literally have two exams and a project due tomorrow and here i am spending my whole weekend writing this chapter...i regret nothing tbh. also the support on the first chapter is insane??? thank you guys so much??! <33

June 27th, 2025 -

The moment the sun dipped below the trees, darkness encapsulating the forest, the two of you got ready to leave the dilapidated shed. 

“It’s time,” Joel whispered as he gently shook you awake.

Pushing back the tattered sheet against the entrance, he held a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. You didn’t know how long it had been, but the only noise between you two were the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and chirping of crickets.

You followed in his shadow, dragging your injured ankle as you lacked behind. Each movement was slow. Pained. Every time a branch would poke against your arm or your ankle would roll slightly a sharp inhale and stuttered breath left your lips.

The exhaustion you were pushing through was evident–knitted brow, pale and clammy skin. You wanted so desperately to cry out, beg Joel for a break, but you knew it was useless. No matter the wimpers or bone chilling cracks that left your body, he didn’t even flinch. His head stayed forward, eyes locked on his destination–wherever that may be.

All the kindness he had the day before–if any–had drained from his face. That thoughtful, pitied look he had given you when tightly wrapping your leg was now replaced with a cold and stern tight lipped frown. The few glances you got of his face when he would swat a fly from his nose, the moonlight casting slivers of warm light on his skin, gave way to the apathy in his stare. 

His face, unmoving for hours, was the only constant in the dark, grueling hours you walked. You found yourself looking to him more, a silent observer of the mysterious stranger, a desperate attempt to numb your pain. 

You hadn’t realized it then, but the night you had met him, Joel had been scanning your face with a certain thoughtfulness–like you had reminded him of a distant memory. Once he had patched you up and taken his position on the floor for the night, that restrained glimmer had faded. Even when he held you tight to his chest, hearts pounding in sync, any reminisce was gone. When he backed himself deep into the corner, his eyes finally meeting yours the first time that day, it looked like it almost pained him to do so. That he only looked so deeply into your eyes for his own safety, to prove that he really could trust you. The moment he felt your honesty he ripped his gaze to the ground, as if each moment looking at you burned. 

He hadn’t looked at you since.

Only small glances to grab your attention followed by a silent, motioning finger that you always followed. Despite his coldness, Joel radiated a feeling of safety that you couldn’t deny. With such few words, he had taken you into his care, his protection, without a complaint. Almost as if he felt he owed it to you somehow.

July 14th, 2025 -

As weeks passed, an overwhelming guilt panged in your chest. Your injuries weighed you down, slowing the distance you were able to make. You had made the mistake of trying to tough it out the first few days, biting back bitter tears as your ankle pulsed and swelled. Eventually all the mobility and pressure added up and one morning you woke up almost unable to stand. Breaks became more frequent, Joel only responding with a huffed sigh as he would take a seat wherever he was standing.

It felt like with each minute that passed on break, the distance between you grew. The days grew deafeningly silent, something that would have brought you peace weeks ago. There had been no people, no infected, only dense forests and the occasional farm in the distance. 

Joel had been in charge of splitting rations. Despite his overall unwillingness to be around you, he was kind in his portions, usually giving you the larger half. And when it came time, he rewrapped your bandages the same as he did the first night–firm grip and swift, thoughtful motions. It wasn’t much, and although you had provided the supplies, it still felt like you owed him more. 

So, after a few weeks had passed, the cut on your arm no longer bled at the slightest movement and your ankle no longer gave you as much trouble, so you dropped a solution.

“My ankle’s been feeling a lot better,” you said, feigning cheerfulness.

It was an early morning and Joel had shaken you awake a few minutes ago. You both sat around the snuffed out campfire from the night before, sorting items into the shared backpack. The air had a crisp coolness to it, the morning dew sitting still on the blades of grass, awaiting the unforgiving sun.

Joel only hummed in response.

You sunk your teeth into your plump bottom lip, growing frustrated at his unrelenting silence. Ever since that first day, after he had come across those two men, it seemed like the very thought of interacting with you disgusted him. You originally thought he had believed you–that you hadn’t stolen anything–but his every movement, every word–or lack of them–hinted otherwise.

“I was thinking,” you glanced up at him, hopeful he would at least be looking your way. Give you some sort of acknowledgement. He didn’t. “Since I’m feeling better now, we could split up at the next town. Figured I’d slowed you down enough.”

Immediately, his eyes flicked to yours.

“What makes you say that?” His voice, deep and gravelly, sent unexpected shivers down your spine.

You hadn’t expected him to answer you, just leave you hanging like he had done for weeks now…

“Why do you want to go to Wyoming?”

Silence.

“So…you got a last name? Hometown? Anything to know about you other than you’re a dickhead?”

Silence.

“Nice watch,” you grabbed ahold of his wrist. “You get this before the outbreak?”

This time, he forcefully pushed you back before snatching his arm away. “What are you, a fucking detective? Hands off and shut up. I’m sick of hearin’ ya talk my ear off all damn day.”

That stung worse than the silence.

You felt small under his intimidating stare. Fumbling with the straps of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You said I could only stay with you until I got better.” You rose to your feet, the ache was still there, but dull. “Well, I’m better now…”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and looked to the ground. “And what’re you gonna do then, huh?”

He put his hands to his knees, standing up with a grunt and crackling of joints. Waltzing dangerously close to you, he took the bag from your hands, his roughened fingertips grazing yours. He stood merely inches from you, his broad shoulders and intense stare burning holes through you.

“Listen, sweetheart,” the words on his tongue were bitter, spitting them into your face. “You go out there with the supplies you have left and you’re dead. And what kind of man would I be leavin’ you out there like that?”

You simply shrugged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He shoved a granola bar to your chest, your hands slowly reaching up to grab it. Without a word, he turned and swung the backpack over his shoulder, leading the way like he had done every day. 

It had shocked you, the way he shot you down so quickly. The way he was so fast to look at you the second the proposition left your lips. The way he spoke as if the very idea of what you were saying was so stupid and unbelievable that he couldn’t help but protest.

A heat rose from the back of your neck–from frustration or embarrassment, you didn’t know–spreading to the tips of your ears and burning your whole face, cheeks dusted pink. You kept a distance when you strayed behind him, as if standing close to him would grant him access to your thoughts.

You remembered the words so vividly in your mind: “But just until you’re back on your feet. I don’t have time for distractions…”

His words weren’t as cold back then, not as devoid of emotion as they were now. But you figured the growing distance and lingering silence was a further declaration of his original words. Now, you were unsure. 

Maybe he had grown used to your company–if you could even call it that. If anything, you were more like his shadow–a silent, following observer. He tended to you like a wounded animal, holding you with such intensity as if he knew that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t convey to him how you felt–how much pain you were in. Deep down, in trying to piece together the puzzle of who Joel Miller truly is, you felt almost like your adherence to him gave him some sort of motivation. A purpose. And if you two were to split up, all that would fall apart.

July 19th, 2025 -

In the following days, you hadn’t brought back the idea of splitting up. When you reached a small town though, you noticed Joel’s shoulder stiffen, walking slower as if he were trying to delay something.

“Don’t go wanderin’ off now,” he muttered, voice low as he ducked into the shadows of an alleyway. “Stay close. Don’t know what could be out here.”

With a finger pressed tightly to his lips–as if that wasn’t the first word spoken in days–he signaled for you to stay quiet. Keeping a short distance, you stayed close to his back, watching the rise and fall of his steady breaths. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it.

Joel carefully surveyed the town. Windows shattered, doors torn down, each building partially cumbled through the years of decay. There wasn’t a step you could take without crushing some sort of debris, the trash harsh through the worn soles of your shoes. You made sure to take long strides, lifting your feet properly so you didn’t trip over any of the garbage.

Finally, he slowed in front of an old, run-down corner store. The gate had been pulled shut, locked and rusted–no one seemingly able to get inside since the outbreak. It was a rare sight–for a building to still be so intact. The windows, a thick layer of dust obscuring your view, were still untouched behind the cage and although it was scratched up, the lock remained clamped shut.

“Might be able to find somethin’ in here.” Joel squatted, hand on his crackling knees, while he looked down at the lock. “Need to find a way to get this open first…”

Still breathing down his neck, you looked over his shoulder, the gate rattling against his force.

“I don’t think anything in the bag will help us,” you sighed, kicking pebbles beneath your feet. “I can go look for something? Maybe there’s another way in?”

Joel turned to you, lips drawn tight in his usual unwavering stare. There was a contemplative glint in his eye as he looked you over, his stare lingering a moment too long at your injured leg. With a soft sigh, he nodded, unclipping the knife from his belt loops and pressing it into your palm.

“Meet me back here in ten,” he said sternly. “Keep this with you. Whatever you do, don’t take this out of your hand. You understand?”

His hand laid flat atop yours, the thick leather straps the sheath being the only thing separating his radiating warmth from grazing your fingertips. Curling your fingers around the handle, his hand quickly retreated, your nails digging into your skin with a newfound rage.

“I can protect myself, y’know,” you spat, shoving the knife into your pocket. “I can do more than follow you like a damn pet.”

Since your conversation a few days ago, it was apparent Joel viewed you as a liability–a frail, helpless girl. Supplies were running low, and at his objection to you going your own paths, you figured there would be some sort of division of labor. But each time he brought up the prospect of gathering materials, it was always him doing the work…

“I’ll have to find a gun soon so I can do some huntin’.” he grumbled one night over the flickering campfire. “Not really the season, but not much else to do with the food runnin’ out.”

“When we get to the next town I’ll see if I can find some more bandages,” he had said, rewrapping your ankle after a rainy night had left the cloth muddy.

“Keep quiet. I think I hear someone.” This time he had broken the silence after three excruciating days. Startling you in your sleep with a tight hand clasped over your mouth. “If you see someone, run. I’ll take care of it.”

Each proposition left you as speechless as the last. The words left so carelessly off his lips as if the thought of you helping out hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Did he really think you were that useless?

Sure, the first week of your trip had been a struggle. You whimpered and groaned as you lacked behind him, distance growing by the second. This unrelenting silence made you assume he minded, that he thought you were dragging him down, so you pushed yourself. 

Nothing seemed to work though.

It was almost as if your relationship with Joel was developing backwards–first encounter filled with curiosity and care only for each passing day to be met with silence and an unspoken distrust. 

“I said you could go, didn’t I?” Joel snapped, rising to his feet. “You’d be an idiot to go anywhere without a weapon.”

It was so easy to talk back to Joel in the position he was in–crouched down, back turned–but now, things were different. He had turned to you, tall frame looming over you, and the scowl on his face ripped back the layers of your skin until you were all flesh and blood beneath him. You didn’t know why he had this effect on you–to reduce you to nothing but putty in his hands. Joel had never hurt you, nor had you seen him hurt anyone else. His body just seemed so capable–balled fists, tight jaw, and gritted teeth–like he was made to kill.

Keeping your gaze at your shoes, unwilling to let him affect you, you spoke. “What does that make you then? Last time I checked this was my knife.”

“That’s different. I didn’t have a choice but to go out with no weapon.” He scoffed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m giving you a choice–and I advise you take it.”

Stubbornly, you growled. You knew he was right, even he wouldn’t have survived without the safety of a weapon. So why were you so upset?

“I can fend for myself!” Throwing the knife to his feet, you stomped away. “I don’t need you bossing me around all the time!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Joel fought back his bubbling anger. “Stop being so childish. I’m not sending you to your death.”

A gasp left your lips when a hand forcefully pulled you backwards, stumbling on your own feet on the way back. You fell against Joel’s chest, feeling his commanding stare burning holes through the top of your skull. Again, the pressed the knife into your palm, taking the time to clamp your fingers shut around the handle with a stinging pressure.

“Take the damn knife, girl.”

His words were harsh and bitter, almost a threat. Although he had never once spoken to you with a warmness in his heart, these words seemed exceptionally cold–almost frozen. Letting them thaw in the air, you stood back against his chest with a breath caught in your throat.

“Fuck you,” you pushed yourself off of him without a second glance. 

The dirt clouded up around your feet with the slow, dragged steps you made around your exploration of the area.

Girl. 

Could he be any more disrespectful?

You circled to the back of the building in hopes of some secret back window or possible fire exit, but all that awaited you was a plain wall, paint chipping off the sides.

Frustrated, a groan left your lips. “This is stupid! There’s nothing in this shitty town!”

Your fists collided with the crumbling wall, a display of all the rage you had been carrying the past few weeks. His silence and nonchalance left it incredibly hard to get angry at Joel, him usually brushing off your attitude or snide comments with a deafening silence that lasted days. He was exhausted more than not and didn’t have time to waste energy on useless fighting. He knew you would stay by his side either way. You had nowhere else to go.

A dull ache settled in your knuckles which you took as an invite to strike again. And again. Until the pain left you in a blinding fury against the wall. Blood dripped down your hands, trailing to your wrists and down your arms. It trickled onto the ground, staining the dirt a deep crimson.

When Joel had first stumbled upon you, it had seemed like a miracle. A blessing. Almost like he was an angel sent from above. Most people would have left you there to die, taking your supplies in the process. But whatever mind games Joel was playing on you was much worse than that fate. Silence stretched for days, leaving you yearning for social interaction despite the man being right beside you. 

Each night you would try to start a conversation across the fire, but the only response you received was the popping of the flames–almost as if the thought of talking to you nauseated him. Words were only exchanged only when he started it–typically a tense warning or strict instructions, nothing more.

Unknowingly, a rough hand creeped around your waist, dragging you away from the building. Despite the only noises leaving your lips being deep grunts of pent up frustration, Joel had still managed to pick up on the rhythmic thuds of skin against brick. You hadn’t even processed it at first, fists still swinging in the air, only picking up on it when you no longer felt the therapeutic shock of pain in your veins.

“Stop- what the hell are you doing!” He yelled, one arm entangled around your waist, the other reaching out to take hold of your wrists. “I leave you for one minute and you fucking fall apart. What’s the matter with you?”

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, a frightening speed that made you dizzy. You leaned back into his chest, attempting to push his arms off of you, borrowing some extra strength from the adrenaline that coursed through your veins.

“Is this what it takes?” You still thrashed against his tightening grip, wrist growing sore. “I have to do all this for you to finally talk back to me?”

Joel’s hold faltered, his fingers loosening slightly. You were able to slip away and face him, knuckles burning, eyes wide, and panting breaths.

“That’s what this is all about?” 

He hadn’t realized the damage his silence had done to you. Years of solitude had conformed Joel to man of reclusion–something he actually preferred. His intimidating presence and gruff words never got him along with many people and he figured you’d only feel the same. Plus, the sour reminder of how he got here bore its way into his mind every time he looked at your face.

“Please…you don’t know what you’re doing.” Eyes wide, pupils blown, she looked to him with an unfathomable desperation.

He should have just walked away.

Shaking his head, he looked down to your hands. The blood had stopped flowing down your arms, now dried in thick ropes along your skin.

“What else would this be about?” Still enraged, you outstretched your hands, pushing his chest–he barely moved. “We’ve been walking for almost a month and you’ve barely said a word to me! I follow you around night and day like a dog that you just yell at to sit and stay. I try to speak to you and you can’t even look in my eyes. I barely know your name, age- hell I don’t know a damn thing about you while I’m letting you tote around my supplies. If I knew any better I’d say you’re just as bad as the two fu-”

“Miller,” he interrupted. “My name is Joel Miller.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Fists balled up, you took a swing towards that stupid, apathetic face.

A low growl left his lips, he stepped out of the way and watched you stumble forward. You fell face first into the dirt, breath knocked out of your lungs as your vision went blurry. A rough cough dispelled chunks of inhaled soil and a heat trickled up your neck to your cheeks.

Patience worn thin, Joel snapped, taking your injured arm in a tight, unforgiving hold. You cried out, his nails digging deep into the wound, blood seeping through the bandages and underneath his fingernails.

“I told you to do what I say and you fucking agreed,” he muttered harshly. “Now, if we got a problem you can quit whining like a child and say somethin’.”

Still wriggling in his grip, you felt suddenly hot, his face so close that his breath fanned the shell of your ear. “It’s not like you’d respond anyways…”

“I’m not here for small talk.” He was practically dragging you back to the entrance now, arm pulsing in agony. “You have something important to say, I’m all ears. Other than that, keep your mouth shut. I tried being nice.”

You kept your mouth shut. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because the stinging that radiated through your body threatened to force a whimper from your lips if you dared open them.

Rounding the corner, the gate that had been locked shut before was now wide open, the lock lying busted in the dirt. 

“How did you- ?”

He shrugged, grabbing a brick up off the ground. “Didn’t waste my time trying to break through the wall.”

Ushering you back with his arm, he pulled back the other, grunting under the weight of the brick. He flung it towards the glass door, the bottom half effectively shattering, creating an opening to go through.

Nodding towards the door, a smug grin twitched his lips. “You said you want somethin’ to do? There you go. Go on in, kid.”

Stubbornly, you brushed past him, making it a point to collide shoulders. You poked at the jagged glass with your shoe, removing the spikes that lined the inside of the panel. Peeking your head inside, you made sure the coast was clear–nothing but frozen in time bodega. 

Shelves covered the walls and were in rows down the middle of the room, expired food and useless merchandise strategically placed in order like the day they were stocked, and the coolers along the walls were lined with drinks. The front counter had an old cash register, the drawer popped open and emptied, and the corkboard behind it had torn pieces of loose paper like someone had grabbed them in a hurry.

Pulling yourself through the gap, the glass crunched beneath your feet, echoing down the aisles. A careful hand twisted the lock and you stepped aside as Joel pushed open the door. 

“Woah- “ he gasped as he took a look around.

The tension from moments ago had no room to grow under the overwhelming nostalgia you both felt. 

You had been young at the time of the outbreak. A corner store like this one was a usual stomping ground for you after school and the memories washed over you in waves. Your fingertips dragged along the edge of the shelves, layers of dust collecting under your hands as you read off all the snack names: Cheetos, Lays, Doritos. God, how you never thought you’d be missing a fucking Cool Ranch Dorito. 

“You think any of this stuff is still edible?”

You knew the answer to that question. All this stuff was at least twelve years old, but the possibility of being able to taste pre-outbreak food was thrilling.

You peered up to Joel who held a bag of Swedish Fish in his hands. His brow was furrowed as usual and his eyes crinkled at the edges, but this time it held something different–softer. When you looked closer, it was almost as if his eyes were glossy; his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat like he was choking back a violent sob.

You knew better than to ask another question, he had just told youthat moments ago, but you pressed on. “Those your favorite?”

“Huh? Oh- no uhm, just reminds me of someone I used to know.” He looked up, surprised, as if he hadn’t heard you speaking the whole time.

He cringed at his insensitive wording.

“Take ‘em with you,” you said with a simple shrug of your shoulders. “M’sure they don’t taste great, but the memories are all still there.”

Looking back down at the worn bag in his hands, he nodded contemplatively, whoever he was thinking about still on his mind. Slowly, he brought the backpack from around his shoulders, opening it just wide enough to drop the candy inside.

You went back to scouring the shelves, figuring that was enough conversation for Joel for the entire week. Piling various cans in your arms, you figured some of it might be perservable, stomach growling while you read the labels. Joel made his way towards you, strides heavy, with the backpack partially open.

“Here,” he motioned the bag towards you.

Dropping the contents into the bag, you decided to test your luck pushing the conversation further.

“You ever seen something like this?” You were standing shoulder to shoulder now, still taking in the undisturbed view. “Y’know, after everything…”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Not in a real long time…never thought I’d miss seein’ something like this.”

You bit your lip, a certain curiosity itching, but your previous conversation was still replaying in your mind. He seemed to be in a better mood now–both of you were. The store that was like a photo from your memory did the trick in calming both of you down.

“How old were you…when everything happened?”

His breath hitched, back stiffening at your question. The repressed memories of breakout day were already trying to barge their way into his mind, but now the gates flooded, sending a chill down his spine.

“Thirty-seven,” he said flatly, zipping the bag shut and walking to the other end of the store.

He didn’t seem angry, just uncomfortably vulnerable. You let him physically distance himself–at least he was trying to talk to you now.

A moment of tense silence passed, the only sound being Joel’s boots tapping against the linoleum, strolling up and down the aisles.

“You?”

“I was fifteen.” Tearing your eyes away from the nutrition label, you set the bag of chips back to the shelves. “Talk about a shitty start to high school.”

Joel laughed softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. But all he could truly think about was you, just around Sarah’s age, fighting your way through the end of the world–and by the looks of it–losing your parents somewhere along the way.

“Y’know,” you started up again, trying to shed the tension from creeping back in. “I’ve always heard talk about how much the outbreak has changed people. But I think everyone just reverted back to how they were in school–the cliques, betrayal, unnecessary fighting. Everything just went to shit and no one knew how to act anymore, so they started acting like kids again. Like some Lord of the Flies shit.”

Brow raised, Joel laughed at your observation. “Lord of the Flies? What is that, some stupid zombie game?”

You dramatically gasped. “You’re telling me you never read Lord of the Flies? Oh, I forget you're old, they probably had you studying cave drawings in English class.”

You didn’t know where you found it within yourself to whip out a joke like that. Many people around you had been sapped of any joy and finding someone to joke around with was a difficult feat nowadays. 

It was subtle, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch and his hand instinctively reach for his stubble, grazing a long thoughtful hand across.

“Good one, kid,” he sarcastically chuckled, setting the bag down onto the grimy tile. “Whatchu think about spending the night in here? Seems safe enough, I can pull the gate shut and we can better look for supplies in the morning.”

You had barely noticed, but the sun hung low in the sky, darkness creeping its way into the far corners of the room. The comfort this store brought you was undeniable–a feeling you thought both you and Joel shared. So, you agreed, wanting to revel in the past for as long as you could, knowing this was probably the last place you’d ever see like this again.

“That sounds like a great idea, Joel Miller,” you teased, referencing his full name from earlier.

He groaned. “I’m going to regret telling you that, aren’t I?”

“I’ll make sure of it, old man.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. i – what would you do for a granola bar?

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 3.8k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and brief mentions of death???, pretty much no actual tlou lore except the infected, joel's outbreak day, and jackson (and a little bit of boston??), age gap (27 and 49), no use of y/n

a/n: i'm so excited for this series you guys get the chapter a day early idc!! i won't be putting a lot of warnings so nothing is spoiled, but any major tw will be listed!!

June 26th, 2025 –

The air was thick and humid, each step like sifting through a sea of tar. Making his way through the dense underbrush had proven to be difficult. Branches reached out, lashing Joel’s arms, but the heat made him too hazy to care. Sweat clung his clothes to his skin, his shirt two shades darker from the liquid. 

He was ultimately unprepared and the dry scratchy feeling that followed every staggered breath was a sour reminder of that. The search for any sort of shelter had gone on a couple days now and his hope was wearing thin. Night was closing in and he wasn’t sure if it was distant shadows, pure exhaustion, or a dream that formed the silhouette of a shed in the distance.

Hope surged through his chest, ignoring the ache in his limbs as he powered towards the building. It was an odd spot for a building–the middle of a thick forest that had long surrendered to the ways of nature–but that didn’t stop his legs from moving. He had nothing else to lose.

As he made his way to the entrance, he saw the door had long caved in, the remaining pieces of wooden scrap laid on the ground beneath his feet. Stepping onto the concrete flooring, his boots echoed through the small building. There was a wooden table and three legged chair tossed in the far corner and two bookshelves against the left wall–the rest of the items having succumbed to the hands of time.

Litter rustled underneath his feet–bits of cloth, wrappers, and leaves–while he looked for anything of value. His stomach was tight, relentlessly growling at the hopes of some sort of substance. 

Joel scanned the shelves, mostly empty other than dust bunnies and cobwebs, but a small can at the top of the second shelf caught his eye. It was hard to see, but the faded yellow and red label churned the acid in his stomach.

“C’mere you little shit,” he said, standing on his toes, his fingertips grazed the rusted metal lip. 

He nudged the can, trying to urge it towards him, but his force was too strong and the can fell on its side and began to roll to the ground. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joel winced, expectantly awaiting the loud clunk of the can on concrete. But the sound never came. Instead, the can rolled off, out of sight, and landed with a soft thud. 

Instinctively, Joel reached an arm out, ready to retrieve the food he was so desperate for, until a low groan reverberated through the shed–bouncing off the walls. The noise was soft, but it had caught him so off guard it rang through his body, stilling every movement.

There was a small gap between the shelf and wall where the can had disappeared to. The corner was void of any light, but the sound assured Joel that something was there. 

His breath caught in his throat, debating if the mysterious can was worth facing whatever was possibly over there. But before he could even decide, the coaxing gurgle of his stomach urged his feet forward. 

His steps were slow, barely lifting his feet from the ground before shuffling them closer to the corner. Typically, he would’ve rushed in, seizing whoever was hiding before they could make any sudden moves–but this wasn’t a typical situation. Joel was weak, hungry, and exhausted from his last two days stranded in the woods. He only had the stained clothes on his back and the broken watch wrapped around his wrist. 

He couldn’t rely on his fists to protect him and he surely didn’t have a weapon, so he kept his movements quiet and steady. He squinted his eyes as they grew more adjusted to the dark. In the corner he could make out a human-like figure–slumped over and unconscious.

A sliver of moonlight slipped through the shattered window on the opposite wall, casting a slight glow on your face. Head hung low, Joel couldn’t tell if you were even alive. Your breaths, if any, were shallow. He couldn’t make out if he saw a gentle rise and fall of your chest through the blood soaked shirt that clung to your stomach. The pieces of skin that peeked through the caked crimson on your arms were pale, and a large, oozing gash dripped blood onto the concrete.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He didn’t know how he couldn’t hear it before, but seeing the reddened, aching muscle pulse made it deafening. 

Tearing his eyes from the bloodbath, he turned his focus back to his original goal. The can.

The stiffness of your body led him to believe you were, at least, unconscious–less trouble for him. A wavering hand reached out, fingertips grazing the lips of the can. When he lifted it however, his heart sank, the can rested in his palm with ease–weightless and empty.

“Goddammit,” he hissed.

Gripping the metal tight in his hands, knuckles turning white, Joel threw the can to the bookshelves. The can screamed out as it hit the wood, followed by the lingering scrape of metal on concrete as it retreated. 

Yet again, a low groan escaped your lips at the sudden noise. You weren’t entirely conscious, but the sound was enough to stir you from whatever daze your pain had you in. 

Joel held his breath as if that would make him disappear from the room. He held still, praying your head wouldn’t lift, like you were even able to, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. In his panicked glance at you however, he caught a glimpse of a tattered, blue plastic peeking out from your shirt pocket.

Another appealing possibility of food pressed another strained gurgle from his stomach. Weighing the possibilities, Joel had a decision to make.

As far as he could see, you weren’t making it out of here, practically dead where you sat. Blood covered most of your body and although your injury wasn’t life threatening, the lack of food, water, and medical supplies would take you out in days. You seemed too weak to even wrap your wound and infection would surely spread soon.

Joel was still able to move–he had made it all the way over here. And if he could get even just a bite of that granola bar it would give him the strength to find some actual shelter and supplies. Give him an actual chance at surviving. Or that’s what he tried to convince himself.

A few hours and Joel probably would had been in the same state as you. Exhaustion had already begun to tear at his resolve, the dry, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat a constant reminder of all the things he didn’t have. But here you lay, food almost out on display like it was fate for him to be here and see this.

It was decided. He needed this more than you did.

He pushed back whatever thoughts crept in to force him to change his mind. The prickling reminder of what had even gotten him here in the first place. How if he did this it would be like all of that didn’t matter and he was out here, stranded, for nothing.

None of that would matter anyways if he was dead though.

So his hand crept into your front pocket–swift and nimble–snatching the granola bar between his fingers, the plastic crinkling under his touch.

Once again, that haunting groan left your lips. This time stronger.

His movements were quick and deliberate, ready to get away from your lifeless body. The end of the world had shook Joel to his core, taking away everything important to him and showing him the darkest parts of this world. There wasn’t much that got to him anymore. But exhaustion and hunger played with his mind, it had been years since he was this weak. The events of the past two days weighed on him heavy, the screams of that girl ringing in his mind, and for just a second he could’ve swore he heard that same scream leave your parted lips.

Joel blinked in disbelief. His mind was playing tricks on him. Your head twitched upwards slightly, your lips moving, but not a sound coming out. 

Finally, through cracked and dried lips, you mustered out a soft, gravelly cry. “No…”

Shocked, Joel stayed crouched in place, as if you wouldn’t see if he stayed still enough. Guilt panged his chest, his hands tightening around the rustling plastic. He couldn’t believe you just spoke to him. 

He stayed silent, waiting for your voice just to prove it wasn’t a trick of the mind.

Then again, your voice pleaded–louder this time. “Please don’t…”

Joel didn’t know what in him had softened. He had grown used to the harsh realities of this new world, prepared to kill any threat needed to get by. But you weren’t a threat. You couldn’t even open your eyes to remember his face and track him down later. 

That didn’t stop his mind from racing…

“Please, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

The frail, broken voice rang out in his ears once again. The voice that hadn’t left his head–waking thoughts and dreams–for the past two excruciating days.

He felt sick to his stomach. The ache was still there, but the mind numbing need for food quickly turned to nausea. 

“Didn’t know you were even alive.” He didn’t know where the words came from–cold and stern–a complete contrast to everything he was feeling inside.

Joints cracked under the pressure of his hands on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. Without looking your way, he tossed the bar back into your lap. A tense silence hung in the air–thick and unpleasant–like if either of you were to say another word the floor would simply crumble to pieces.

Then a movement, strained and slow, caught the corner of Joel’s eye. You raised your head to meet his unwavering gaze. Dirt or blood–he couldn’t tell–smeared the left side of your face, caked and dried onto the skin. Desperation filled your eyes and beneath your lidded stare he could see a glimmer of hope he had lost years ago.

“Please…” you breathed out, voice still hoarse. “Don’t leave me here.”

Joel’s breath hitched.

Your hair clung to your face, eyes still on him, and sweat formed on your brow like the very act of keeping your head up was strenuous. The sight was plain pitiful–but Joel had no pity. You couldn’t survive in this world with pity.

When he had fled two days ago, Joel left with no supplies, no sense of where he was, and a vague destination. Leaving on such short notice, he wasn’t able to get a message through to his brother–his last known whereabouts being somewhere in Wyoming. Without a town or county to go by, Joel wasn’t confident he’d find Tommy, but it was the only plan he had. And if he wanted to give it his best shot, he needed to get there fast. Bringing you along would only slow him down.

He dragged a thoughtful hand over his beard like it would come up with some sort of answer. But all it brought him was more time to take in the scene before him. The torn and bloodied clothes, every surface of your body either scabbed with blood or clammy in sweat, and the pleading look in your eyes–begging him to stay.

He thought of Sarah for a moment.

Just a moment.

He shook his head. Quarantine life had made him partially forget what life was like in the wild, the choices you had to make–and the ones you didn’t get to. 

“Fine,” he spat, already turning his back to you. “But just until you’re back on your feet. I don’t have time for distractions so we go where I say and you do as I say. You hear me?”

You didn’t answer, only hung your head back down, sighing in relief.

Joel’s eyes flicked to the backpack you had hidden behind you, partially relying on it to prop you upright. 

“What’dya got in there?”

He reached for the bag, less careful than before, like you now owed him something. Snatching the backpack from your side, he was shocked at the weight and hurriedly fumbled with the zipper.

“Christ, girl,” he clicked his tongue as vast amounts of medical supplies, food, and clothes that spilled onto the floor. “Who the fuck did you piss off and steal from?”

Your head snapped, a sudden intensity in your eyes. “S’all mine. I didn’t steal from no one.”

He turned to you, brow raised. “Then what the hell’s the mat– Shit! You’re not infected are ya?”

Before the words even left his lips he was already backing away, bag clutched under his arm. 

“Does it look– Fuck!” The fabric clung to your wound had ripped off at the sudden movement, a wail of pain leaving your lips. “Some motherfucker stabbed me. I sprained my ankle trying to get away.”

Limply flailing your leg out in front of him, Joel could very clearly see even under the dim moonlight that your ankle was red and swollen. It looked painful to the touch and certainly untreated, you hissed the moment his fingers grazed the skin.

“Careful!”

Instinctively, you pulled back, but Joel certainly didn’t have the patience for this. He bit the inside of his cheek, giving you a moment to brace yourself while he gathered the necessary supplies from the bag–an old, ratty sliver of a towel and rolls of bandages. 

He reached out, grabbing your calf firm and purposefully, his calloused fingers digging into the skin. You wriggled in his grip, trying to escape the searing pain that came with his less than delicate touch. Your skin felt like it was a roaring campfire and every sense of pressure from Joel were like drops of water making you squelch and squirm.

Other than the occasional “Be still” or “Quit movin’”, Joel had stayed silent. Knotted brow, he focused intently on the swelling, securely fastening the bandage to stabilize the injury. 

Lifting your ankle slightly, tilting it so he could view it in the moonlight, he inspected his work. Satisfied with the wrappings, he pulled away, and you could feel relief wash over you now that your ankle had some sort of compression.

Curling his finger, he motioned you towards him with one swift, silent motion. You don’t know why or how, but you lifted your body, feeling almost weightless as if he was lifting you himself. By the time he had started working on the cut to your arm, you had succumbed to the pain, dwelling in the more warm and comforting aspects of his touch.

You didn’t know how long you were in there for, huddled into the dark corner, but each passing moment felt like your last. Each exhale was met with the lingering fear that maybe there would be no air to breathe in, that your heart, stuttering and frail, would no longer have the strength to beat. So when the bleeding stopped and the scorching pain finally subsided into a dull ache underneath the tenderly placed cloth, you found a brief solace within the moment. 

“Thank you,” you croaked out between harsh breaths.

Lips stretched thin, he nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

The day had been tiring for you, a bitter taste of distrust and betrayal left in your mouth. When the can had thudded into your lap, startling you awake, you were sure you were dead where you sat. It was obvious the man needed food, and in this state of the world people would do anything for just half of what you had stashed in your bag. His kindness was worth more than just mentioning.

But you stayed silent and relished in the moment.

It had been so long since someone had cared for you, dressed your wounds–and although his touch was harsh, it still felt nice to be cared for.

With a grunt, he placed his worn hands to the concrete, positioning himself away from you once he was done. 

“Should be good for a few days,” he threw the bandages back in the back, rummaging through for something. “You’ll have to rebandage it then.”

You nodded.

Silence fell over the room again, both of you too exhausted to speak. Metal quietly tinked against the zipper of the bag as Joel pulled out the canteen. He didn’t even shoot a glance your way before wrapping his lips around the opening, greedily gulping down the water. 

You watched the gruff stranger as he ate, ripping open a can of beans and tossing his head back. His face looked tired–dark circles encompassed his weary hazel eyes, his jaw was tight and movements sluggish. Relief washed over his face the second food touched his tongue, even though you knew the food that had been boiling within the depths of your bag in the summer heat couldn’t have tasted that great.

“What’s your name?” you finally asked, growing tired of the distanced silence.

His shoulders stiffened. He was busy in taking count of the supplies you had, clipping the sheathed hunting knife to his jeans, and your voice had taken him by surprise. He had left the half emptied canteen next to you, a silent offer that you graciously took, and your voice had regained a shocking amount of strength.

“Joel,” he said flatly, his eyes only meeting yours for a moment.

You nodded, whispering your name to him in response. It pained you to hear him repeat the words softly under his breath, a practice you had heard throughout the countless introductions this world brought you. You couldn’t help but wonder how long until he forgot your name too.

The night dragged on slowly. Both of you had found your respective places on the floor, using spare clothing and scrap towels as a makeshift pillow. 

Sleep didn’t come easy despite your exhaustion. You lay huddled in the same corner as before, a lingering distrust bubbling in your chest. Sure Joel had tended to your wounds, but he was still a stranger, a man–a strong one at that. 

Each time you closed your eyes, you pictured his figure looming above you–broad shoulders, threatening stare, and balled fists, ready for conflict. You tried to brush off the feeling, but this world had taught you that would be the very thing to lead to your demise. So you laid there, eyes focused on the rotting ceiling tiles. 

Occasionally, Joel would snore or stir peacefully in his sleep and your eyes would quickly snap to him as if he were a dangerous predator. But each time you were met with his unusually softened face, brow unfurrowed and jaw slack, sputtering out breathy snores. 

Exhaustion had caught up to you at some point in the night, swift and dangerous, pulling you into a deep sleep until the bright morning sun crept onto your face. You felt the stiffness in your back from sleeping on the concrete all night and the throbbing in your ankle reminded you of your injuries.

The memories of the night came flooding in, knocking down whatever dam kept the events at bay. Fear crept its way into your mind, frantically looking around for Joel and your belongings you so foolishly let him keep hold of. 

He was nowhere in sight.

“That son of a bitch!” 

Using the bookshelf, you pressed your palm to the dusty shelf and anchored your weight onto it. The rickety wood creaked under the pressure, but you were sure it would support you.

Snap!

The shelf, rotted and worn with time, caved in on itself, splitting in two. Before you could even react, concrete slammed against your ribs, head colliding to the ground with a thud. You yelped both in pain and shock, but thankful you hadn’t fallen on your arm.

The makeshift door–a long tattered and torn sheet Joel had draped over the entrance–swished to the side and heavy footsteps rushed in. 

Your heart pounded–more than it already was–the rhythmic thrumming accompanied by a deafeaning shrill. Breath still caught in your throat, lungs thrashing in its cage, you used every last bit of strength to face the intruder.

It was just Joel–and your backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What the hell are ya doin’, kid?” He snarled in a harsh whisper. “You tryin’ to get us killed?”

His demeanor had changed from yesterday. He shook with an undeniable rage and his jaw was so tense you thought it might snap. He lunged towards you, grabbing firmly at your arms, fingernails digging into the skin regardless of the blood that seeped beneath them.  

Darkness encapsulated your vision, the concrete cool against your skin as he dragged you to the deepest part of the corner. Holding you tight against his chest you could hear both your hearts beating opposite each other–his beating just as rapidly as yours.

“There’s noth-”

A hand, rough and calloused, slapped over your mouth. His nails dug into the angle of your mandible, clamping your jaw shut with a painful sting. The smell of lingering cigarette smoke stuck between his fingers and drifted its way into your nostrils each time you tried to bite out a word.

Minutes of pure silence passed, the only noise coming from your original protests and the crunching of leaves under wildlife. It was only until you felt Joel’s pulse return to a regular pace that he stirred, lifting his hand from your mouth.

“Those little friends of yours,” he grumbled, voice gravelly and unsure. “They’re still lookin’ for ya.”

You scratched at your jaw where you could feel the impressions of his fingernails. Quickly, you distanced yourself from Joel. A palpable anger radiated off of him and the displays of his strength were just making way.

“What are you talking about?” you spat, growing defensive.

He crossed his arms, eyes not once leaving yours. “Two men came up to me, askin’ for you.”

“How’d you know it was them?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “They could be asking for anybody.”

Joel was quick to bite back. “They used your name. Said you stole from them and ran off.” 

You stiffened. The distance was once again closing in.

They were still alive?

“Listen,” he said, grasping the straps around his shoulders. “I’m gonna need to start hearin’ the damn truth. Right now.”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, shooting him a menacing glare. “I told you I didn’t steal anything. They were trying to steal from me. And you don’t seem too hesitant to have a grab at my stuff either.”

Joel stood unmoving, his lips drawn tight, eyes surveying you while he pondered your sincerity. 

Slowly, he nodded. Brushing past you without a word, he started towards the window.

“We’ll leave at night. Can’t risk them seein’ you.”

Biting your lip, your gaze fell to your shoes. All your weight was being pushed on your good leg and still pain surged throughout your entire body. You weren’t sure how much distance you were going to be able to make.

“Where are we going?” You eventually asked.

“Wyoming.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

i. what would you do for a granola bar?

ii. time heals all wounds

iii. gossip girl (no…like please go piss girl)

iv. wife number five

v. home sweet home

vi. i know a spot.../weeping under the willow

vii. a bad case of man flu

viii. reader…there’s a girl behind you

ix. rejection therapy

x. reason #2,673 not to yell in the apocalypse 

xi. the weight on his shoulders

i have no words...don’t be fooled by the chapter names, they’re so unserious to deceive you lmaooo (and counteract how fucking sad this made me)

[tinytownn]

next one piece post —

hellooo !! with all of my drafts and requests, i couldn’t decide what i wanted to actually finish and post. soooo you guys are gonna decide for me :P

have a request?

i dont rly feel like writing out summaries so it’s just gonna be a surprise sryyy

[tinytownn]

zoro obsessed with a tall female reader that has a lean build? not so curvy but toned and skinny 💕i just love like shorter big men x tall delicate women (even better if shes actually strong too)

yesss i absolutely love this idea!! i had such a fun time writing out the characters fighting style with zoro i might return to this concept soon!! but i hope you enjoy, you can read your request here...

[tinytownn]

back to back – one-shot

roronoa zoro x [tall!]f!reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: based off of this request...

content: sword training, reassuring zoroooo, cute lil blurb!!, for this post and most op fics going forward the character will have giant scissors as a weapon (picture sheele’s extase from akame ga kill), no use of y/n

leave all requests here…

a/n: [UNEDITED] thank you to the person who requested this!! i formed the concept of back to back fighting as soon as i read this and wrote like three different blurbs on it so be prepared to see this concept again hehehe (also will i ever quit it with the b titles??)

—

The crew had first found you passed out on the beach, body tangled in seaweed and caked in sand. All you had with you was a makeshift board you’d drifted on and your weapon–a giant pair of scissors strapped to your back.

Your battle with the ocean left you barely conscious, limbs weak and breaths shallow. But Chopper was quick to heal you and bring you back to health, while Sanji spoiled you with home cooked meals. The rest of the crew hovered over you–curious and kind–until you got back onto your feet.

Luffy was immediately amazed by your weapon. “Ooo! These are so cool!” He had said, grabbing at the handles. “You have to join my crew!” 

You looked up at him, weakly nodded, and just like that, you were in.

Weeks passed aboard the Sunny. You were welcomed no doubt, but the sheer strength of the Strawhats started to weigh on you. Every day brought new displays of impossible power and it chipped away at your confidence. You began to feel like dead weight, like a weak link in the chain.

So, the next morning, you turned to the person that exuded strength with every waking breath: Zoro.

His fighting style was similar to yours–his swords, your shears–and you figured if anyone could get you stronger, it would be him. But Zoro didn’t train like anyone else. He was relentless when he was committed to something. No breaks. No mercy. Just pure bone breaking effort until he succeeded or collapsed.  

The rest of the crew had tried to warn you, but you simply just shrugged them off. “He’s insane.” Usopp warned. “You’ll give up by lunch.” Even Sanji tried to talk you out of it. But you were determined.

At six a.m., you climbed into the crow’s nest. The second you opened the door, the sound of clanking metal rang out—sharp and rhythmic. Zoro was already lifting, a monstrous weight in each hand, the floor groaning beneath him. His back was to you, muscles tense and rippling with every rep, sweat glistening down the curves of his shoulder blades.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You just gonna stand there?” Zoro’s voice cracked through the air. “Or you gonna pick up some weights?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, hurriedly walking up to him.

“You didn’t,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Rule number one of being a great swordsman: never leave your back unattended.”

You blinked. “Even while lifting?”

“Especially while lifting.”

He turned, grabbing two swords from a barrel in the corner and tossed one to you. Grasping the hilt in your hands, you wriggled your fingers to the unfamiliar feeling.

“I’m not used to holding one of these…” you mumbled. 

Zoro raised a brow. “I use three. You’ll be fine.”

He turned again, exposing that pristine, unmarked back. “The greatest dishonor as a swordsman is to have an injury here,” he said, voice low, like it came from deep in his chest.

Nervous, you took a step forward. Compared to Zoro, you felt huge—your height always set you apart, but next to him, it made you feel clumsy. You held the sword awkwardly, lifting it into position.

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you charged forward. The sword was lighter than what you were used to, your shears taking two hands just to get a steady grasp. You could easily maneuver the blade through the air, hearing the slices in the wind. 

In one fluid motion, before the tip of the sword pressed into his back, Zoro propelled himself upwards. You watched in awe as the brawny man launched himself into the air with ease. He took advantage of the distraction and his boot landed onto the blade of your sword, ripping it from your hands. The sword clunked to the wood and was held firmly under Zoro’s boot, a smug grin on his face as his eyes met yours.

“How did you- ?”

“You’ve got a good reach.” he said, eyes glancing at your legs with a teasing smirk. “But you’ve got to move quicker.”

–

It had been two years since you first walked out of the crows nest that day. The rest of your crew stood outside, huddled over one another in hopes to hear what was going on. No one had managed to train with Zoro for so long. But the both of you had been in there for hours.

It was tiring work, but the glint in your eye and immediate intrigue softened something in Zoro. He had made it his duty to train you for the next few years. The days went by fast and your strength only grew under his watch. The two of you became unstoppable.

“Just one more time.” Zoro said, stepping closer, He firmly pressed the weapon back into your palms with a stern look.

“Zo’ I can’t. My arms are gonna fall off.” You groaned.

“You’ve handled worse.”

You scowled at him, but your fingers curled around the handle. The two of you turned, backs pressed together. He straightened, lining up with your shoulders—though your longer torso made you taller than him. The top of his hair brushed just below your chin and you smirked as he grumbled, “Don’t get cocky.”

The quiet nudge of his shoulder was the signal. You pushed off each other in opposite directions, flipping mid-air and landing with your blades out—tips extended to keep anyone between you in a slicing grip.

Your muscles screamed. Sweat ran down your spine. Your shears clattered to the ground when you could no longer hold them.

Zoro didn’t hesitate. He sheathed his swords and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you upright against his chest. “C’mere,” he whispered, lowering your head to his shoulder. “You did so good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into him. Despite the soreness, you felt safe. Grounded.

Still, frustration crept in.

“My form’s still sloppy,” you mumbled. “I can’t hold my scissors steady in the air. I’m too tall—too off-balance. It feels like I’m just putting a bigger target on your back.”

Zoro stiffened. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his hands moving to your shoulders.

“Don’t say that,” he said sharply. “I trust you behind me more than anyone. You think your height’s a weakness? It’s not. It gives you range, power, perspective. I need that.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, his intensity too much to bear. Zoro sighed and leaned down slightly to meet your gaze.

“Whoever made you feel like a burden is an idiot. Your height is not slowing me down. You’re pushing me forward.”

The heat in your chest bloomed. You shifted under his stare, suddenly shy. “You’re just saying that because you like my legs.”

“Damn right I do,” he grinned, hands grazing your thighs with a playful squeeze. “Thank the gods you use ‘em for sword fighting and not whatever the hell that lovecook does.”

You laughed. “Little do you know, I’ve been getting lessons from him too.”

Zoro growled and suddenly hoisted you over his shoulder. “Oh yeah? Let’s see what you’ve got, chef.”

“Zoro- !” you shrieked, squirming in his grip. He tossed you onto the couch, looming over you with a smug grin.

From this angle, with you sprawled beneath him, the height difference flipped. Zoro towered you now, sweat-slick muscles framing his intense gaze.

Your breath hitched. “You’re the better teacher anyways.”

Zoro’s grin widened and he leaned down, brushing his lips on yours. “Don’t have much to teach you anymore. You’re kickin’ my ass half the time.”

“You love it,” you laughed, pulling him into a kiss by the collar.

You let the rest of the world fade away, your insecurity short lived with the reassuring man resting in your arms.

—

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

one piece requests?? –

preferred requests:

you can request anything, but it’s not guaranteed that i will write it !! i am still pretty new to the show so please keep that in mind !!

zoro, luffy, sanji, nami, robin .ᐟ

law and ace .ᐟ

i would really prefer modern au .ᐟ (neighbor! roommate! etc.)

i write fluff, smut, angst, (almost) anything to your heart's desire .ᐟ

no spoilers in my dms or i will riot, thx .ᐟ

leave all requests here or in the comments .ᐟ

a/n: heyy!! i know i haven’t uploaded a lot of op content lately, but i’ve been working on that slow burn zoro fic and trying to catch up on episodessss—for context i’m not even through alabasta yet…yikesss

most of my op knowledge comes from years of my friends raving about it, but i finally caved and started watching ! i’m really enjoying it so far so please be kind with my interpretation of the characters, i am still learning and getting to know them ! (although i know so many spoilers i shouldn’t lol)

[tinytownn]

first chapter comes out friday ! message to be added to the taglist !!

in the meantime, you should check out the newest chapter of road rage…

the weight on my shoulders –

work in progress

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

chapters: 8-12??

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey. joel’s struggle with grief and the harsh realities of the end of the world forces him to be cold and distant—too scared to make any real connections. you, having been young when the infection started, fight to regain the innocence you lost and grow from the betrayal you faced so early in life. your yearn for connection and joel’s adamant refusal towards any attachment strains the teamwork you both need so desperately to survive in this post apocalyptic world.

content: SAD ASF, tlou au??, sarah still dies, only 10 year timeskip from beginning of outbreak, no ellie, pretty much no actual tlou lore except the infected and jackson (and a little bit of boston??), darkish/tragic reader past (warnings will be placed when needed), slowish burn??, once again sad asf be prepared to cry idk why i did this, age gap (27 and 47), mention of a cult??, violence duhhh, no use of y/n, probably so much more i’m missing but specific content warnings will be placed per chapterrrr

a/n: i haven’t planned this story out fully so expect some changes as the story actually gets into the writing stage! it’s more angsty and heart wrenching than i usually post, but this is the stuff i prefer writing so i hope you guys enjoy it too!! (expect like tlou/twd game heartbreak and suspense from this series) also i have the last chapter of road rage in the works so expect that soonnn!

comment to be added to the taglist !!!

[tinytownn]

road rage – v

message or comment to be added to the next fic's taglist!

joel miller x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

content: LAST CHAPTERRRR, not much happens AT ALL tbh, sappy and corny ass chapter, cute lil dinner party, drunk tommyyy, shy/tipsy joel, age gap, no use of y/n

a/n: [UNEDITED] ahhhhh thank you to everyone who has supported this mini series!! this was originally meant to be a little smutty one shot, but i couldn't get the thought of soft joel (aka if sarah never fucking died) hence me writting five plotless blurbs with these characters. i couldn't really figure out where to take this so i apologize for the lack of development w/ this but i have the next series drafted out and i promise y'all are in for a treat. (the character development and plot have been the only thing on my mind this week i stg)

pt. i pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv

— 

A warm, amber glow spilled over the dining room table, the flicker of the overhead lamp casting soft shadows against the walls. Somewhere in the quiet hum of the house, laughter cut through–deep and familiar.

“Bastards had no idea what they were getting themselves into,” Joel laughed, slamming his beer can against the table with a thunk. “Gave me all that shit, but couldn’t even last five minutes with the guy. Whatever he said must’ve been bad enough– they scrapped the whole damn project.”

Tommy chortled, beer dribbling down his chin. “Serves ‘em right. Good luck findin’ someone who’ll work with his entitled ass.”

Legs crossed on the dining chair, Sarah beamed up at her dad. “I’m glad they’re lettin’ you work again. I was gettin’ kinda worried there for a bit…Hey! We should have a dinner party!”

Joel raised a brow, hand tightening around the can. “A dinner party? I don’t know, that sounds like a lot of work, babygirl. How ‘bout a movie night instead? Like we always do.”

“Nope,” Sarah said, already up and heading toward the kitchen, ponytail swaying behind her. “I’ve got it all covered. I’ve been lookin’ for an excuse to try out a bunch of new recipes anyway.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “I’ve got a wife at home that would love a reason to not cook dinner.” 

“Perfect! Invite her tonight! I’ll make enough for everyone,” Sarah called over her shoulder. Then, she hesitated, glancing back towards Joel. “And…you should invite your girlfriend, Dad. It’d be nice to actually meet her.”

Joel froze, mid-sip. A beat of silence stretched before Tommy’s voice broke through, laced with disbelief.

“Girlfriend?” he gasped, his beer clunking to the table. “You mean– Joel, no way!”

An audible groan left Joel’s lips, his hand instinctively knotting its way through his hair. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered, though it lacked conviction.

It had been almost a week since he picked you up from work with flowers in hand–calloused fingers nervously brushing against yours. That night he’d spent the rest of the evening in your bed, tangled in the sheets with you, your head resting on his chest, your breaths rising and falling in sync.

He’d seen you a few times since, though not nearly as often as he wanted. Work kept him on a short leash–endless meetings and forced apologies from higher-ups who admitted they’d been wrong. Again. The client was gone, the project canceled, and Joel needed to stay low.

“Take my truck ‘til you find somethin’,” he’d said, pressing the keys into your palm.

You pushed his hands away, shaking your head at the offer. “I can’t do that, Joel. How are you gonna get to work?” 

“Tommy’ll take me,” he shrugged. “We’re both stuck in the shop anyway ‘til they line up a new project.”

So, you took the keys–and Joel’s truck became yours for the week.

Tommy, of course, had questions and Joel simply chalked it up to the truck being in the shop. But now, sitting at the dinner table, Tommy’s eyes narrowed, the pieces finally coming together.

“Not your girlfriend, huh?” Tommy jabbed a finger between Joel’s eyes, the condensation from his beer dripping onto Joel’s nose. “Bullshit. You don’t just give some random girl your truck for the week.”

“And nap with her on the couch…” Sarah chimed in from her spot in the kitchen.

Joel squinted in her direction, pointing at her with a mocked sternness. “Can it, kid.”

Tommy grinned. “So, what’s she like? She got a name, or do we just call her ‘Not Joel’s Girlfriend’?”

Joel sighed, shaking his head, but unable to hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s…somethin’ else.”

Sarah peeked around the corner, hopeful. “So you will invite her tonight?”

Joel hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah…alright. I’ll ask her.”

Tommy raised his beer. “To the woman crazy enough to date Joel.”

–

Legs splayed across the couch, you lay in your living room, a show mindless droning through the speakers. The static haze of the screen washed over your face–your only company in the stillness of the evening. Until your phone lit up in your hand.

Joel.

You sat up straighter, swiping to answer. “Hello?” you asked, maybe a little too eagerly, pressing the phone to your ear.

There was some muffled laughter in the background—two voices, maybe three—followed by a shuffle of movement before Joel’s familiar drawl came through the line.

“Hey, what’re you up to, darlin’?”

“I am watching…” you trailed off, finding the remote to look at the title. “Our Living World Two? So, not much. What’s up?”

Joel chuckled lightly. “You know how I had that meeting at work today?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, already feeling a flicker of curiosity.

He hesitated, voice a touch tighter. “Well…Sarah wanted to throw a little dinner. Said it was to celebrate me goin’ back to work. And, uh…” He cleared his throat. “She wanted to know if you’d like to come.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to register. Sarah wanted you to come?

You shot upright, nearly sending your blanket flying off the couch. “Wait— yeah! Of course I’ll come! What time? Is it just you guys or…?”

You were already halfway to your room, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you began scanning your closet for something to wear.

“Just come whenever you can. Sarah just started cookin’,” Joel replied, but his voice sounded more unsure now. “Tommy’s here too. He invited his wife, Maria, but I’m not sure if she’s makin’ it.”

You froze for a beat, your heart skipping at the mention of more people. You’d met Tommy and Sarah briefly before, sure—but neither interaction had been what you'd call smooth. Sarah’s walls had been up, and Tommy’s teasing had put you on edge.

Still, you swallowed the nerves and forced a smile into your voice. “Gotcha. I’ll be there. You okay with that?”

There was a pause. You heard the soft clink of glass and a distant sigh, followed by the sound of him taking a sip.

“I’ve just…never really introduced someone to Sarah. Or Tommy.” His voice was lower now, softer. “Never had a girlfriend to introduce.”

You paused mid-motion, a jacket halfway on.

Girlfriend.

The word hung in the air–silencing anything he said after. He hadn’t meant to drop it—it slipped out naturally and somehow that made it even more real.

Your stomach flipped, a slow smile spreading across your face.

“Hello?” Joel’s voice came back through the line, a little more urgent. “You still there?”

“Yeah! Sorry,” you said quickly, clutching your keys. “I think it’s gonna be great. I mean—Sarah’s the one who invited me so that’s a good sign, right?”

Joel exhaled a quiet laugh, the tension in his voice easing. “She did. Practically twisted my arm about it too.”

“Well, tell her she had good taste.” You pulled your door shut behind you, locking it with one hand while adjusting your bag with the other. “I’ll be there in ten. Try not to freak out before I get there?”

A crack of a can echoed through the phone, followed by a long sip.

“I’ve got a twelve-pack to keep me company ‘til then,” he said, the smirk in his voice undeniable.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Classy.”

“I do my best.”

The truck’s seats, conformed to the shape of Joel’s body, hugged you on the drive to his house. His scent–earthy and warm–was a slight comfort to the uncertainty in your mind. 

The cul-de-sac was quiet, the street lamps illuminating a small glow into the center of the circle as the crickets impatiently chirped. The crunch of leaves under your feet was faint while you walked up to the porch, nerves building in your stomach.

Before you could raise a hand to knock, the screen door swung open. Taking a step back, a familiar hand reached out to grab your arm, calling your name and pulling you into the house.

“Get in here!” A very tipsy Tommy pulled you into a side hug, a can of beer sloshing in his other hand. “It’s about time you show your face around here! It’s nice to see ya again, kid.”

You laughed, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Didn’t think I was allowed, Joel’s been keepin’ me hostage in that truck.”

Inside, Joel sat stiffly at the dining table, hands tightly wrung around a crumpled can of beer. His jaw was tight, eyes flickering between you and Sarah. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased since you'd walked in.

You had made it a point to avoid Joel for the time being–his anxiety was radiating onto you from across the room. Sarah’s icy glare from the other day was imprinted in your mind and you needed all the confidence you had to start a conversation. 

“This smells amazing,” your hands tentatively slid over the cool granite. “Whatcha cookin’?”

She turned at your voice, blonde hair swaying over her shoulder. Her blue eyes no longer shook in a withheld fury, but held a lighter weight to them–softer, more delicate. Her lips stretched into a toothy grin and it was then that you realized she had the same eyes as Joel–the corners of her eyes crinkling in sync with her smile.

“Thank you!” she turned back to the stove, but her voice still rang out confidently. “I’m grillin’ some chicken right now to add to the pasta I just made. And I’ve got a new apple pie recipe I’m tryin’ for dessert. I ain’t never done too much bakin’, but I figured this was as good of an occasion as ever.”

Her words–warm and welcoming–were such a contrast to when you first met and settled the nerves in your stomach. She spoke with such an enthusiasm that mimicked Tommy’s extroversion, but the things she said–words deliberate and careful–showed the side of Joel you were waiting for.

“Well, from the smell I can already tell it’s gonna be amazing.” You finally felt confident enough to flick your gaze to Joel. “Your dad tells me you’re quite the chef.”

You cringed as soon as the words left your mouth. Your dad?

Should you have called him Joel? Did you sound too obnoxious saying that? You were only a few years older than her…

Joel must have noticed your falter in confidence because he cleared his throat, finally speaking up. “This girl is too humble. She’s been bakin’ me and Tommy birthday cakes since she could use the oven.”

“Though I wouldn’t call the first few cakes…” Tommy chimed in.

The room filled with laughter, warm and full. The tension that had weighed on Joel’s shoulders seemed to ease as he stood from his chair, crossing to the fridge. He plucked a photo from beneath a magnet and leaned on the counter beside you, holding it out.

“This was her masterpiece for my thirtieth,” he said, nudging your arm gently. “Maria and Tommy supervised, but she refused any help–obviously.”

In his hands was a small polaroid of a younger Joel and Sarah, his arm strung over her shoulders. Sarah beamed up at the camera, a lopsided chocolate cake held in her hands, the numbered candles melting the sugary scrawl that spelt out “HaPPY bIrtHDaY DaD!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“You sure Tommy didn’t make this?”

Laughter lingered in the air like the smell of dinner, wrapping around all of you. The conversation flowed easily now, laughter bouncing from wall to wall. At some point, Joel’s hand found your waist beneath the counter, his fingers brushing gently against your side. You leaned into him instinctively, grounding yourself in the moment.

Sarah’s stories were animated and captivating, bringing you in and making you feel like you had a place at the table. Tommy, meanwhile, was relentless with his jokes, keeping the mood light with his slurred one-liners and impressions.

And Joel had fully relaxed. The usual furrow in his brow was gone and the only wrinkles came from the smile tugging constantly at his lips. You kept catching him watching you–his gaze steady and warm. No longer so anxious and guarded.

It hit you somewhere between bites of pasta and sips of sweet tea, how far you’d come. Just a few weeks ago, you’d break checked Joel, your car flying off the road and mangled against the guardrail. You’d passed it on the way here. The sight should have made your stomach twist. But now all you could think of was Joel’s eyes locked onto yours with such intensity–one that never left–and how he took every blow of your fists despite his salty words that night. 

“You alright, darlin’?”Joel’s voice brought you back.

You blinked up at him, cheeks warm.

“The Millers already too much for ya?” Tommy slurred, crushing another can under his palm.

You looked around the table at the three of them, a slow, contented smile spreading across your lips.

“I think it’s perfect for me, actually.”

—

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @auteurdelabre @tweakersqueaker @icanbringyouinhot @forpunishers @doeeyestoji @legoemma @woodxtock @jaxmom66 @iheartoldermem @iamawkwardandshy @thejoywillburnoutthepain @krystal---meth  (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

work in progress

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

chapters: 8-12??

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey. joel’s struggle with grief and the harsh realities of the end of the world forces him to be cold and distant—too scared to make any real connections. you, having been young when the infection started, fight to regain the innocence you lost and grow from the betrayal you faced so early in life. your yearn for connection and joel’s adamant refusal towards any attachment strains the teamwork you both need so desperately to survive in this post apocalyptic world.

content: SAD ASF, tlou au??, sarah still dies, only 10 year timeskip from beginning of outbreak, no ellie, pretty much no actual tlou lore except the infected and jackson (and a little bit of boston??), darkish/tragic reader past (warnings will be placed when needed), slowish burn??, once again sad asf be prepared to cry idk why i did this, age gap (27 and 47), mention of a cult??, violence duhhh, no use of y/n, probably so much more i’m missing but specific content warnings will be placed per chapterrrr

a/n: i haven’t planned this story out fully so expect some changes as the story actually gets into the writing stage! it’s more angsty and heart wrenching than i usually post, but this is the stuff i prefer writing so i hope you guys enjoy it too!! (expect like tlou/twd game heartbreak and suspense from this series) also i have the last chapter of road rage in the works so expect that soonnn!

comment to be added to the taglist !!!

[tinytownn]

For all my One Piece followers !! I know I’m not that far into the show,,,but I have a chapter of a fic written if anyone’s interested?? It would be a Zoro fic not too heavily op plot based considering I’m lucky to watch 10 episodes a month…

summary: after the loss of her father, a young seamstress sets sail to conquer her father’s dream—seeing all the fabrics and fashion the world has to offer. nearing the grand line, she get caught in a storm, almost losing her life. trying to regain her senses, she stumbles across a strangely kind pirate crew…

content: nothing crazy honestly, tragic character past, mainly just a cutesy slice of life zoro fic, slow burn probably???

(if i were to do oc her name is Yukari Koizumi (iykyk) and she would obv keep the whole seamstress identity so that’s rly the only diff) (she’ll probably just look like yukari from parakiss??) (also for the weapon imagine the extase from akame ga kill (amazing show btw)

now heres the real question…

[tinytownn]

tinytownn’s masterlist .ᐟ ⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆˚.

₊⊹ 18+

joel miller .ᐟ

༘⋆ road rage

pt. i pt. ii pt. iii pt. iv ₊⊹ pt. v

joel miller x f!reader summary: on a drive home after a late night shift, a tailgating truck hits you, sending you off the road. the driver—his looks catching you by surprise—offers you a ride home.

༘⋆ the weight on my shoulders

post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

roronoa zoro .ᐟ

༘⋆ bar

roronoa zoro x f!reader word count: 2.3k summary: in the middle of a frenzy town square, left by the rest of the crew, you and zoro find yourselves alone in the bar. caught in an unspoken tension, subtle touches and teasing jokes begin to escalate.

༘⋆ back to you

roronoa zoro x f!reader word count: 1.7k summary: after being ambushed on the way back to the ship, the crew is faced with a difficult battle. you get injured and zoro comes to your rescue–thinking you're unconscious he lets his inner thoughts slip.

༘⋆ back to back

roronoa zoro x [tall]f!reader word count: 1.3k summary: based on this request…

portgas d. ace .ᐟ

༘⋆ stuck in the trees

portgas d. ace x f!reader word count: 1.6k summary: based on this request...