#fic: safe and sound
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safe and sound
Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader
summary: Your daughter has a nightmare—her daddy makes it all better.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. set in Jackson. slight canon age deviations (Joel is 56, Ellie is 17) READER’S AGE IS NOT SPECIFIED. she’s a child bearing adult woman so do with that information what you will. established relationship, reader and Joel have a toddler (her age is not specified in fic but she’s 3 ish years old), reader has NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION and neither does their child except she has Joel’s eyes and his dark curls, no mentions of her skintone. Joel and Ellie are fine bc he deserves it, Joel’s an overprotective girl dad, reader is the chill parent. implications of a toddler being told about clickers, bad dreams, almost smut, Joel and reader get cockblocked, SOFT Joel who comforts his babygirl, mention of Sarah towards the end. very minimal editing.
word count: 2.3k
a/n: listen, i love me some daddy joel but tonight i needed a bit of actual daddy joel. this was whipped up last minute bc i haven’t had the best weekend and needed some comfort. also i didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to come up with a moodboard, so gif it is.
Joel looks down at the old, worn book in his hand.
Winnie the Pooh.
He never would have imagined it. This.
Reading a bedtime story to a toddler. His toddler.
He’s in his fifties—he shouldn’t have a toddler.
He shouldn’t have a teenager, either.
Yet, he has both.
The toddler has his blood, the teenager doesn’t.
But that doesn’t matter to him.
Joel still considers her to be his own kid.
Only, she’s not a kid anymore, not really.
She’s seventeen now. She doesn’t need him much anymore, not the way that his toddler needs him.
“Ellie’s not coming home tonight,” you’d said from where you stood at the stove, stirring in chunks of potato and chopped carrots into the pot of stew in front of you. “There’s a birthday party down at the bar. She’s going with Dina and Jesse.” You can feel the look of disapproval on his face and add, “I said she could go, Joel. She asked me permission.”
“She didn’t ask me,” he’d gruffed. He looked down at the little girl sitting in his lap, scribbling away on an old state map. He had given it to her along with the pack of crayons he’d found during patrol when his group stumbled across a schoolhouse. Though crumbling on the outside, the inside had remained untouched throughout the last two decades—little coats hanging over the back of little chairs, papers scattered all over little desks, little lunch boxes still stored in their cubbies at the back of the room. He instructed the group to search for anything useful, anything that Jackson’s teachers could use for the children in their classrooms. Joel knew that taking without trading was against the rules, but that did nothing to stop him from secretly slipping the box of crayons into his jacket pocket when no one had been looking.
His daughter’s squeals of delight when he’d gifted them to her had been well worth the theft.
“Because she knew you’d say no to her.”
“I would have. Kid’s got no business going to a bar at her age. She’s fuckin’ seventeen years ol—”
The little girl had gasped and stopped coloring.
“Daddy said a bad word.”
You’d turned around and glared at him. “He did.”
She looked up at him with her wide, brown eyes.
Those she’d gotten from him. His dark curls too.
Everything else?
Her smile, her nose, her softness?
That was all you.
“M’sorry, babygirl,” he apologized, sheepishly.
“S’okay, daddy.”
And back to coloring she went.
“Joel, let’s face it. Ellie’s growing up. She’s turning eighteen in a few months and truth is, she has one foot out the door.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the counter. “She was telling me how she wants to turn the garage into her own space.”
“There a reason she ain’t talkin’ to me ‘bout this?”
You’d smiled wistfully at him.
“Because she knows this is hard for you, Joel.”
It is hard. Because even though she isn’t his, she’s his and he’s afraid to lose her somehow.
Joel manages to snap himself out of his thoughts.
Rosemary’s now fast asleep, her well loved stuffed bunny rabbit wrapped in her arms. She’s a handful for him during bedtime—she has too much energy and most nights, you have to step in and help him. But tonight, after her bath, he had warmed a glass of milk for her to drink and it seemed to have done the trick because within minutes of him reading to her, her eyes fluttered closed.
Joel sets the book down and leans over to brush a kiss onto her cheek, quietly whispering goodnight. “Sweet dreams, babygirl.”
He switches off the lamp on the bedside table and steps out of his child’s bedroom, being careful not to wake her as he closes the door behind him.
“I still can’t believe she fell asleep within minutes,” you say, staring at him in utter disbelief. “How?”
“Gave her a glass of warm milk before I tucked her into bed,” Joel explains, tugging on a pair of faded black sweatpants. He peels off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before climbing into bed. “Worked like a fuckin’ charm. She’s out like a damn light.”
You set your book down and raise an eyebrow.
“Joel, I brushed her teeth before her bath.”
“I brushed them again after she drank it, darlin’.”
He outstretches his arm, beckoning for you.
Grinning, you scoot closer to him, draping an arm over his bare chest. “It’s only nine,” you tell him. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with all of this free time we have. Rosemary’s asleep, Ellie’s gone for the night.” You slowly drag your hand down his chest and over his stomach, a finger skimming the waistband of his sweatpants. You hear the way his breath catches in his throat and tease, “I guess we can actually get some good sleep for once, huh?”
Groaning, Joel rolls over and pins you down to the bed as he positions himself on top of you, his eyes glazed over with lust. “We can sleep,” he murmurs as his mouth hovers over yours. He reaches for the buttons of his flannel you’re wearing and begins to single-handedly pop them open only to find you’re not wearing anything underneath. He groans once more. “Or I can make you feel good. S’your choice, baby.”
You gasp as he nips at your chin and starts trailing his lips lower, peppering kisses down the length of your body. Heat blossoms in your lower belly as he settles himself between your thighs. Hooking both arms around them, he nibbles at the soft spot that is right below your navel, the spot you hate, but he adores. Having a child had changed your body and while you two seldom had time to yourselves to do anything of this nature, when you did find time, he never failed to make you feel like you were still just as beautiful to him, if not a thousand times more.
“Fuck,” you whimper. “Please, Joel.”
“Please what, sweetheart? What do you want?”
His voice is low, husky.
Your hands reach down and tangle in his curls.
“Your mouth, Joel. Please. I need your—”
The sound of a teeny knock at the door makes you both freeze on the spot.
“You heard that, right?” you ask him breathlessly.
There’s a second teeny knock.
It’s then followed by an even teenier voice.
“Mommy? Daddy?”
“Fuck,” Joel hisses, scrambling off the bed. “What the hell is she doin’ out of bed?” Picking his t-shirt up from the floor, he quickly throws it on, ignoring that he’d put it on inside out. Watching you as you fumble to button his flannel, he calls, “Just give us one second babygirl, alright? We’ll be right there.”
“I’m decent,” you tell him, getting the last button.
Nodding, Joel opens the bedroom door. His knees protest when he squats down, lowering himself so that he can meet Rosemary’s tearful gaze.
“S’matter, Rosie Posie?” he asks her in a soft voice that he reserves for his girls. “What happened?”
She sniffles. “I—I had a bad dream, daddy.”
You sit on the side of bed and wait patiently.
Joel has it handled. He always has it handled.
He never stopped knowing how to be a father.
“You had a bad dream?” he repeats, frowning.
Rosemary nods, clutching her rabbit to her chest.
A single tear slips down the side of her little face.
Joel reaches out, gingerly wiping it with his finger.
“M’sorry it scared you, babygirl. Tell you what, just for tonight, how about you sleep with me and your mama in our bed? That sound good?” With a small labored grunt, he scoops her into his arms. She is getting heavier and you often tell him it’s not good for his back—he can’t care less. He’ll keep picking her up until the moment his little girl decides she’s a big girl and doesn’t want him to pick her up. Joel carries her over to the bed and sits her on your lap and reminds her, “But this is just for tonight, Rosie Posie. Tomorrow night you’re back in your own big girl bed, alright?”
“Okay,” she nods again and leans against you, tiny shoulders slumping.
“Rosie? What was your dream about?” you ask her gently, wrapping your arms around her. She hardly ever has nightmares—she’s too young to know the world outside the commune’s walls, smart but still too little to understand why she cannot go outside the gates. “What did you dream about, honey?”
She hesitates, then answers, “Monsters.”
“Monsters?” Perplexed, you glance at Joel.
He seems to be just as confused as you are.
“Who did you hear that word from, babygirl?”
“Robbie.”
Your neighbor’s unruly, troublemaker son.
Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “Thought I told you he ain’t allowed to be around her. The kid is nine, ain’t got no business bein’ around Rosemary. Little brat ain’t nothin’ but a bad influence. He’s always up to no good.” He shakes his head at you. “Said I didn’t want that boy anywhere near our daughter.”
“The kids were out playing in the snow today,” you remember. “He must have been there too. It’s kind of hard to tell who is who when they’re all bundled up and flinging snowballs at each other, Joel.” You shoot him an apologetic look. “Rosie was having a blast playing with everybody—I’m sorry. I suppose I should’ve paid more attention to who was around her.”
He bites back a sigh. He knows it’s not your fault.
Rosie’s too good of a girl, too pure and innocent to know that not everybody is her friend.
“Rosie, what did Robbie say to you?”
Again, the child hesitates.
“He said—he said monsters live outside. They bite people and turn them into monsters too. He said it happened to his daddy.” Rosemary’s eyes flit from you to Joel. “He said it would happen to you, too.”
Your eyes widen in shock. “He said that to you?”
Hands curling into fists, Joel reminds himself now isn’t the time to let his anger take over. “S’not true at all, babygirl.” He reaches over and slides her out of your lap and onto his. Like you, he wants to lie—tell her those monsters she was told about are not real, that they don’t exist. But they do exist and as much as he wishes he could keep her from finding out about all that lies beyond Jackson’s walls, Joel knows that one day, she will. “Listen to me. M’real sorry to hear ‘bout Robbie’s daddy, baby. But I can promise you, that ain’t gonna happen to me.”
She points a chubby finger at you.
“What about mommy?”
“Ain’t gonna happen to her either.”
Rosemary drops her hand, fear clear in her tone as she asks the both of you, “What about me?”
“Of course not,” you say, smoothing back her dark curls. “You’re safe here, honey. As safe as can be.”
Joel nods. “Your mama’s right, darlin’. You’re safe,” he reassured her. “You’re safe and sound.”
“I am?”
He gives her body a warm, gentle squeeze. “Mhm. Always will be. Y’know how I know that, babygirl?”
“How?”
“‘Cause. As long as daddy’s around, he will always protect you,” he promises her. “He’ll never, ever let anythin’ bad happen to you, Rosie. I swear it.” Joel kisses the top of her head, his gaze meeting yours. He murmurs his oath quietly, “On my life.”
Flashing him a small, grateful smile, you reach out and touch his forearm and he places his hand over your own.
“And mommy too?” Rosemary questions him.
“And mommy too.”
“And Ellie?”
“And Ellie,” he nods, firmly. “M’always gonna keep my girls safe. S’long as I’m around, you’re all safe.”
Rosie tiredly snuggles into his chest, yawning.
“What about you, daddy?”
“Huh?”
You squeeze his arm. “Think she’s asking you who is supposed to keep you safe, Joel.”
The little girl nods sleepily. “Yeah. Who?”
“Well.” Joel’s throat bobs nervously. He knows the moment he says what he’s about to say, there’s no going back. Not that he never planned to tell Rosie about her sister, but he’d always imagined doing it when she was older and understood death. “I—uh, I have an angel in the clouds who looks out for me. She watches over me, keeps me safe and sound.”
Rosemary’s curiosity is all that is keeping her from completely passing out in his arms.
“Really? You have an angel?”
Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest. “Joel—”
He lightly shakes his head.
“S’fine sweetheart. I don’t mind tellin’ her.”
Rosie’s fighting to stay awake just a little longer.
“Daddy? What’s your angel’s name?”
Joel answers in the steadiest voice he can muster.
“Her name was—her name is Sarah.”
“Sarah,” she mumbles, her eyes closing. “S’pretty. Your angel has a really pretty name.”
“The prettiest name,” you agree, softly.
Rosie yawns again. “Daddy?”
“What is it, babygirl?”
“Will you tell me stories about Sarah? Please?”
Joel chuckles, rubbing her back. “I sure will. I have plenty of them to tell, Rosie Posie. But not tonight. I’ll save them for tomorrow ni—”
You cut him off. “Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s out cold.”
He glances down and sure enough, she’s asleep.
Moments later, the three of you are in bed. Rosie’s in the middle, curled up against Joel’s chest—your chest is pressed against her back but you’re being careful not to sandwich her in too tight in between your bodies.
In a beam of silvery moonlight shining through the bedroom window, you meet Joel’s gaze.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He chuckles. “For what? Doin’ my job and soothin’ our daughter after a bad dream?”
You smile at him.
“For being so good to her. To me and Ellie.” Lifting a hand, you reach over and cup the side of his face in your palm. “You’re so good to all three of us and I can’t even imagine what we’d do without you.”
Joel turns his face, brushing a kiss into your hand.
“I mean it,” he says, quietly. “S’long as I’m around, you girls will always be safe and sound.”
credit divider @saradika-graphics
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#fic: safe and sound
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come morning light
chapter 2 • series masterlist
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.
word count: ~2.5k
tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury
a/n: i'm finally finished with chapter 2, and once again nervous af about it haha. there's not terribly much happening in this one, but i promise we'll get there, it just needs the buildup :)
thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading <3
follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)
dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍
You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but after hours of tossing and turning in the darkness of your bedroom, you think it’s probably time to get up.
You’re halfway convinced that last night’s events were a product of your imagination, that your mind has felt so lonely that it conjured up the whole scenario. But when you step out of your bedroom and find the door of your parents’ bedroom only halfway closed, the way you have never left it before saying good night to Ellie earlier, you have to come to terms with the fact that this might actually be your reality.
Ellie seems to be sound asleep, a lump under the covers, softly breathing, but when you head to the living area and switch on one of the smaller lamps, you’re met with the piercing glare of Joel. He’s still lying on the couch, much like you left him, still pale, still dark shadows under his eyes, but he’s much more awake now, his gaze following your every move.
“Hey,” you say softly, sinking down on the same armchair that you sat in when you watched him last night while Ellie took a shower. You suppress a shudder at the way he regards you, his eyes flicking up and down your body, taking in your size, you presume, searching for weapons. Your gun is tucked into the waistband at the back of your pants, which you’re sure he’s already aware of. You don’t like the way he makes you feel, like somehow you’re intruding on him. You should have the upper hand, this is your home and he’s injured, you helped him for crying out loud, and here you are, nervously watching his every move. You did the right thing. It’s gonna be fine.
“Where’s Ellie?” he asks, ignoring your greeting, his voice gruff.
“Sleeping,” you reply, nodding your head to the bedroom door. “She’s okay, I promise.”
Some of the tension seems to release from his body and he slumps back down a little, but the distrust in his expression when he looks at you doesn’t waver. Then again, you’re probably not much different.
“Look,” you sigh, “I’m not playing some kind of game here. You came into my house, I saw that you needed help, so I helped.” You try to infuse your voice with as much confidence as you can. “Don’t make me regret that, okay?”
He shrugs, a noncommittal grunt the only verbal answer. It could potentially be interpreted as a thanks, you guess. In a less tense situation, you’d probably grow annoyed by now. Shrugging yourself, you get to your feet and head to the kitchen. Anything to escape the way he’s watching your every movement.
“Hey, do you want coffee?” You don’t really want to offer him any, but you’d feel weird drinking it yourself without asking.
He pipes up at the question, head turning in your direction, his face the most open that you’ve seen it yet. “You have coffee?”
“Yeah.” That’s why I’m fucking asking.
“I– yes.” A breath, a second of him not meeting your eyes. “Thanks.”
You smile, small, fleetingly, busying yourself with the ground beans and the boiling water, reveling in the smell that slowly spreads throughout the room. It reminds you of happier times, when the world was still normal.
He has pushed himself into a sitting position, breathing heavily, when you walk over to hand him the steaming cup, still careful to keep your distance.
After you sit back down, the both of you stay silent for a few minutes. You enjoy the bitter taste on your tongue, the way you slowly feel your energy rising.
“Does it hurt much?” you ask eventually, gesturing towards his stomach.
Another grunt, the hint of a head shake.
“So it does.” He opens his mouth, the protest most likely already on his tongue, and you raise an eyebrow. “I have painkillers, are you sure that you–”
“No.” It comes fast, his voice raised, no room for arguments.
You instinctively flinch back at the unexpected louder sound, the cup shaking in your grip. You set it down on the table in front of you. Have your hands free, just in case.
There’s a hint of regret in his eyes, his free hand slightly raised, palm open. He’s trying to calm you down, you realize.
“Okay,” you breathe, working hard to keep your voice steady, “no painkillers, got it.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, his face half hidden, words almost lost behind the cup. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s alright,” you tell him as much as yourself.
You’ve gotten jumpy, not used to loud sounds anymore, raised voices, not used to humans in general, you suppose. You hadn’t fully realized it until now, until there’s other humans around you again.
“Thank you,” he continues unexpectedly, “not just for the coffee, but– you know.” He’s struggling, the words not coming easily, but you think that he’s being earnest. “Patching me up.”
“Of course.” You nod hastily, your heart still beating a little too fast.
Another moment passes in silence, both of you slowly sipping the coffee. He’s looking around, taking in his surroundings, eyes lingering on the closed wooden doors and the stairs leading up. You try not to get nervous about it. It’s normal that he would want to know more about where he is, after all.
“This is the basement, right? Is it safe?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “No way to get in from outside.” As long as you stay inside, you’re safe.
He hums, appreciatively, you think.
“How long have you been living here?”
“Always. It’s my parents’ house. I mean–” you laugh, but it comes out hollow, “we lived upstairs, obviously. But my dad was… kinda crazy. Or– not that crazy, I guess, all things considered.” Your lips curl into a wry smile.
Your mind flashes back to long lectures about survival techniques, learning how to shoot, your father going on and on about first aid, hunting, all the things that you couldn’t have cared less about as a teenage girl, but were ingrained in your brain nonetheless. You’re grateful, now, but it’s laced with guilt about how often you snapped at your father, how often you told him he was paranoid, seeing dangers that weren’t there, that he was wasting your time. You couldn’t have known, the rational part of you argues. But you can never take it back now, the guilt whispers.
When you look up, Joel’s eyes are on you, eyebrows raised in question. You shake your head, trying to clear it. Stay in the present.
“Sorry, what did you–?”
Worry is painting his expression. “Are you okay?”
Don’t show weakness. “Yeah, of course. Just spaced out for a second.”
You force a smile onto your face and stand up rather abruptly, gathering both cups and putting them into the sink. Joel hasn’t moved, but you feel his eyes on you as you move.
“Do you, um, do you want to shower, maybe? Or just wash up, I don’t know, how–” You gesture towards the dried bloodstain on his flannel, forcefully keeping your tone light. “I have clean clothes, too, if you want.”
A shiver runs through you at the thought of going through your dad’s things, of someone else wearing them. He doesn’t need them anymore. He’s not coming back.
You know that you’ve gone silent for too long again even before you see Joel’s expression. He doesn’t ask this time, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t place, something that almost looks like understanding.
“Yeah, I guess cleaning up a bit would be nice. I– thank you. Again”
His voice is gruff and he avoids your eyes. You think that he doesn’t like it, having to thank you. Owing you.
Giving him a nod, you head to the bedroom, hoping not to disturb Ellie, but she’s awake already, her eyes glinting in the light that’s falling into the dark room from the living area. You clench your jaw, heading for one of the drawers, trying hard not to think about what you’re doing. It’s not like he ever wore this stuff, it was just sitting down here. It’s fine, you’re fine.
“Don’t worry, it’s not about you,” Ellie says quietly from beside you, breaking through your racing thoughts.
You turn towards her, confusion on your face. “What is?”
“Joel,” she shrugs, still keeping her voice low. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s a bit of an asshole, really.” She sounds fond, saying it, like it’s an endearing character trait.
A surprised laugh escapes you. “I– okay, thanks, I guess.”
She waves it away, swinging her feet out of the bed. “No, thank you for not murdering me in my sleep.”
“Yeah, likewise.” You shake your head, still laughing to yourself. It’s so easy to like the girl, to feel like you already know her.
You hand Joel a pile of clothes, purposefully avoiding to look at them too closely, explain where the towels are and he grumbles his approval before the bathroom door closes behind him.
You release a breath and close your eyes for a second. You are undeniably warming up to Ellie, finding it almost impossible not to, but her companion is a different story.
“Hey, do you drink coffee?” you ask in the direction of the bedroom.
“Ew, no!” comes her reply as she steps out of the door, collecting the wild mess of hair on the top of her head and securing it in a ponytail.
Her offense at the mere suggestion makes you chuckle under your breath as you busy yourself with preparing breakfast in the form of porridge instead. She’s leaning against the doorframe, watching you, her eyes wide as she takes in the cupboards full of supplies.
You’re glad that you don’t need anything from the storeroom, keeping that door in the corner firmly closed. You want to trust her, want to trust them, but a feeling of unease still lingers at the thought of letting them know just how much you have.
Instead, you voice another question, a thought that fills you with unease as well.
“Hey,” you begin, keeping your eyes trained on the stove, “I’m sorry, but you and Joel, there– there isn’t anything weird going on, is there?”
“Like what?” She sounds slightly defensive, but when you steal a glance at her, she’s eyeing you with curiosity.
“I don’t know, like…” You shrug, stirring the mixture of water and oats, “you want to be here, he’s not forcing you to come with him or anything, right?”
“No, don’t worry about that,” comes her reply, almost amused. It was a bit of a stupid question, when you think about it, considering how worried she was about him last night, how protective.
“Okay,” you smile at her. You’re curious nonetheless, how they ended up together and where they’re headed, but it’s probably not really your place to ask.
You divide the porridge into three bowls and hand her one, while you carry yours and one for Joel back to the living area and set them down on the wooden table.
Ellie starts shoveling the food down immediately and you’re left wondering once more what happened to them and when they last ate something.
“So…” Ellie begins, her mouth still half full, “you’re just down here with all this food? Because your dad stored it here, before… things went to shit?”
You can’t blame her for her curiosity, you’re aware that you’ve probably found yourself in a better living situation than most people. Your thoughts go to the storeroom again, basically stuffed with enough supplies to last you multiple lifetimes, especially now that it’s just… No.
You hum in affirmation, not trusting your voice and you’re thankful that she’s too distracted by her breakfast to notice anything weird about your reaction.
“So you don’t go out hunting or anything?” comes her next question. You freeze.
You did go hunting, back when you cared about variance in the meals you prepared, about using fresh ingredients when you could. Until there was no need for that any more.
You realize that Ellie is saying your name, not for the first time, judging from the look on her face.
“Sorry,” you mumble, your hands tightening around the bowl. “No, I- I don’t go hunting.”
If she finds the situation weird, she shrugs it off impressively fast.
She nods to herself, eating quietly for a minute, before she speaks up again. “So what do you… do? Down here all day?”
“Uh…” What is it that you do all day? Time has been blurring together, days without anything happening repeating on a constant loop. You realize that you don’t remember, can’t talk of any activities that are part of your day. How long has it been like this?
You’re relieved from having to answer by Joel emerging from the bathroom, his face pale and his breaths going heavy. He has put on the sweatpants you gave him, but his torso is bare, the skin around the injury still an angry red.
He sinks back down into the cushions with a heavy sigh and you quickly get to work, cleaning the wound once more and giving him more antibiotics before you redo the bandages and hope for the best. Your hands don’t shake as badly as they did last night.
Ellie gets him some water and pushes his bowl of porridge into his hands, urging him to eat, before she turns to you. She’s trying to be strong, to hide her worry, but the pleading look in her eyes when she asks you if he’s gonna be okay tells a different story.
“Of course,” you say, giving her what you hope to be a reassuring smile.
Joel does look better after he’s eaten something, but his eyelids are drooping and after a few more minutes, his eyes close and his breath evens out. You do the dishes and check the cameras, calming down a bit more when you’re sure that everything seems to be quiet upstairs.
When you return to the living area, Ellie is rummaging through her pack, muttering to herself, until she pulls a book out of, proudly turning the cover for you to read it. No pun intended - Volume Too.
She starts reading them to you while you settle back down with a second cup of coffee and you share her laughs, enjoying the way it makes her look lighter, allows her to be a kid who can laugh at stupid jokes. You ignore the sting it causes in your chest because you once knew someone who would have loved this book just as much as Ellie does.
thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
#fic: safe and sound#janas fics#joel miller#ellie williams#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedrostories
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just posted the first chapter of my jily centric fic<3
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(text from this post, fic is little kid with a big death wish by @remedyturtles)
i'm genuinely not sure where to start here - ig first of all this fic is absolutely incredible and if you somehow haven't read it yet you absolutely should!
okay. man. rem, this fic means so so much to me and i'm so glad i got to be here for it. i think this is one of those fics that'll stick with me years down the line even if one day i'm not into tmnt anymore, one i'll come back to over and over again
your writing has touched so so many people myself very much included, and i just. want to thank you so much for writing this fic and thank you for sharing it. you're an amazing writer and an amazing person and i'm lucky to know you. i can't wait to see what you do next
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#little kid with a big death wish#my art#forgor all my tags its ok ill come back later <3 anyway#god theres legit so so so much more i wanted to say but i cant get. the words right augh#i kinda tried to put some of it in the comic though so. yeah. the emotions anyway#idk idk i just have a Lot of feelings abt this fic and how real it feels and just . man. it hits so so hard /pos#just... the fact that dw leo has been through everything he has and is capable of recovery and living. even if he doesnt want to live just#yet. hes getting there. makes me feel like i can too as cheesy as that sounds lajfd;lajlfkl#anyway ive rambled enough i spent ten (10) full days on this comic i am setting it loose into the world. be free#suicide attempt cw#dissociation cw#<- just to be safe. ask to tag if theres anything else lafj;dljsafkl
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anya + flinching at loud noises and sudden movements (vs dmitry noticing, adjusting his behavior, and becoming a source of comfort)
#anastasia broadway#anastasia#my gifs#my edit#dimya#christy altomare#derek klena#my guy is like yeah i break the law every day but i draw the line at touching anya without her consent#he's like yeah i'm tough and heartless. omg honey are u okay <33 it's just a loud sound ur safe <3 anyway what was i saying#but yeah.#will always be so so so crazy about the nonverbal narrative of anya having a bit of trauma with touch/sound/etc and dmitry clocking it#and then making sure his intentions and movements around her are extra clear#makes me insane!#in case u couldn't tell ashldjfk (see: 10k fic from like 4 years ago)#anyway idk if other anyas played it this way but this was something i noticed from christy right away#obsessed with the way she played her like this#the complexity u know
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Please don't let this age badly but Bram and Fyodor are totally gonna get shipped, right? I mean ancient enemies AND lovers anyone?!?
#I wanna draw them#also what would theor ship name even be#it wouldn't be a healthy ship il the slightest but could definitely make for a good fic haha#i love being a multishipper#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd 113#bsd chapter 113#bsd spoilers#just to be safe#fydor dostoevsky#bsd fyodor#bsd Bram#bram stoker#fyobram#maybe#bramodor#that sounds so stupid#aria indulges the voices
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Safe and Sound
GE!Saeran/gn!reader:
Saeran's love for you was unconditional, just like the promise of happiness you've made to each other in the blooming garden of discord. However, learning to accept that kind of love was not as easy as you thought it would be. While, undeniably, some days were bright and happy... on days like this one, you couldn't help but struggle with your insecurities concerning your relationship.
TW for: feelings of severe insecurity, low self-esteem, depressive thoughts.
There was no doubt in your heart regarding Saeran's feelings for you. No, his love for you was undeniable and unwavering in its affection, even as the warm summer sun would inevitably flow into cold autumn winds and merciless winter storms. After all, after even the harshest of winter comes the comforting warmth of Spring. Such is the rule of all four seasons. And, each new passing season that you've spent by each other's side would only lead to new happy memories for you to look back on and smile as you flip through Saeran's diary whenever he wanted to share his new colorful scribbles with you. The promise of happiness that you two have made to each other all those years ago never faded away with time: it only grew stronger with the soil you've provided through your shared love and patience toward one another even in the darkest of times. Much like nourishing a flower, your love was growing and changing with time.
But... it wasn't Saeran's love that bothered you so much that you barely left the bed throughout the day. The source of your distress was a much more complicated enemy to beat since it was your own mind trying its damnest to make your life as miserable as possible. Some days were better than others. In fact, there were even some days when you felt like you were truly happy: like you could finally see the world for what it truly is, instead of focusing solely on depressing things that would only bring you down. And some days felt like you were living a nightmare. So, like the aftermath of any nightmare, all you could really do was hide yourself away inside of your comfy bed, tucked away in a bundle of blankets and pillows, and hope that it would all pass you soon enough.
You made an effort to shut out and ignore the insecurities and doubts that buzzed inside your head like a swarm of angry wasps, and were determined to destroy the enemy that dares to oppose them. Why did your own brain view its rightful owner as a foe to be tortured like this, you had no idea. But, you had no choice but to deal with it one way or another. Not like you could turn off your own thoughts, even if you wanted to.
It's possible that lying to Saeran was a bad idea rather than relying on him for support during this challenging time. No, it was definitely a bad idea for you to isolate yourself like this, but you did it anyway. You were slowly learning to accept your own shortcomings, to stop punishing yourself for messing up every once in a while, but... today, it seems like all you could do was make one stupid mistake after another. So, you refused to reach out for help, your own isolation serving as a twisted form of self-punishment you were inflicting onto yourself for being so weak-minded. It wasn't healthy, and it wasn't helping you in the slightest.
As you lay there, listening to the clock tick by, you slowly but surely fell into the self-doubt pit that you knew all too well. It was no surprise to you to find Saeran in the center of it all. You hated your mind for twisting the truth like that. However hard you tried to fight it, eventually, you were simply in too deep to get out. These hateful thoughts of yours were like a swamp full of thick tar that would never let you leave unscathed, once you were unlucky enough to fall in. Picking apart every kind word he ever said to you, trying to expose the lies that weren't even there to begin with, convincing yourself that he was just confused... It was painful. You didn't want to do that. You didn't want to do that to Saeran and you didn't want to do that to yourself, either. But, you couldn't help but question this newfound happiness you've found with him by your side.
Did you really... deserve someone as warm and loving as Saeran in your life? Maybe he would have been better off without you and your depressive episodes. After all, he wanted to see the world, to be happy and free... and you were only holding him back from achieving that. What is he getting out of babying you, as if you weren't a full-functioning adult who should be able to take care of themselves just fine? Sure, maybe you did help him sometimes... but, it was all overshadowed by your worst days that he had to withstand by your side.
As you immerse yourself further in the messy blankets, you shut your eyes tightly, helplessly hoping that this pathetic attempt to hide from your cruel thoughts would finally be successful. You hated being confined to your own bed like this, but you hated the idea of getting up even more. On days like these, you tended to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror or... looking at yourself overall, really. Your choices weren't ideal, but you'd much rather spend your day hating your character, rather than your body. So, burying yourself into the blankets up to your nose until you couldn't see much of yourself was the only option that worked best.
It felt like every single thing about you was wrong, both in and out.
But, Saeran viewed you differently. You were his love, his angel, and his promise of happiness. And, even despite your worst traits being at play here, just the thought of his tender smile and soft voice made your chest ache in a much different way than before. You missed him. It felt so silly. You isolated yourself like this on purpose, but here you were, already desperately hoping for him to come in and chase all of your demons away with his warm touch like he always did.
So, so stupid...
As you were about to shed a few tears, the bedroom door swung open, causing you to almost fall out of your bed from shock. Maybe getting so tangled up inside of your blankets wasn't as functional as you initially thought after all. Either way, you were way too embarrassed to show your face, since you didn't have to guess on the identity of this bold intruder of yours. There was only one person in the entire world who could come barging in into your room like this whenever you were having a hard time. Knowing full well how stupid you were behaving, you hid your head under the blanket regardless, staying quiet as the soft pitter-patter of footsteps hurriedly moved closer and closer to you.
Well, 'be careful what you wish for', as they say. Still, if you said you weren't happy to see Saeran close by, you'd be lying. Just knowing he was right there was enough to dull your negative thoughts, albeit slightly. If it wasn't for your inner shame for hiding yourself away from him like this, you would have already nuzzled up close to his chest, seeking the comfort that his closeness would bring you. But... truth is, you felt guilty.
You made a promise to each other that you wouldn't lie about things like that. That you would trust each other to lend a helping hand whenever one of you needed it. And yet, you did exactly the opposite of that. You knew Saeran wouldn't get upset with you for this, but that did not take away your own shame on the matter. Maybe you were being way too harsh on yourself for something terribly small, but you didn't care. It didn't feel right to throw yourself at him for comfort when you were the one who let things get this bad in the first place. It felt fairly selfish even.
You could hear a slight shaky breath from him as he carefully lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, the warm sensation of his palm touching the top of your head that was hidden beneath the blanket making you shiver. Really, you felt even more silly for tearing up at something so insignificant. It wasn't like you to be such a huge crybaby over a small thing like that. It's not like his kindness is something new to you... so why is your chest aching this much?
Caressing your head, Saeran was the first to break the silence between you, not a single hint of anger or disappointment present in his soft voice. "I knew something was wrong... My love, why didn't you tell me?"
You bit your lip, feeling your tears slowly forming an ugly, damp spot on the pillow that you buried your face in. "I told you I was just tired... How did you even know something was wrong? I thought you wanted to plant those tulips you showed me today."
Idiot, what are you saying-?
"I had a feeling that you needed me, and I couldn't stay still, so I rushed to check on you. I'm happy I didn't ignore this bad feeling of mine. I'd hate to know you were suffering all alone like this."
"That sounds like you, haha." You chuckled softly, imagining him dropping everything to run straight to you. It was such a strange phenomenon, this special connection of yours. While you'd like to say you were annoyed by it, it really wasn't true at all. Somehow, by some weird force of nature, you just knew whenever one of you needed someone by their side. It is how you found him by the lake right before his father could do the unthinkable, against all odds stacked against you. And, it's really no surprise to you that it worked in the opposite direction just as much. Truly, it was such a bizarre thing.
But... did you deserve to share such a special connection with someone? This all felt... too good to be true. Too good for someone so dark and bland like you. If you told Saeran this, he wouldn't take it seriously. You didn't know who was right between the two of you. It's hard to figure out the truth when your brain is playing all kinds of cruel tricks to keep you distressed and anxious at all times of the day. And, try as you might to shut out all your emotions in favor of staying rational... It didn't work all the time.
Well... no reason to hold back now. Saeran was already aware that something was wrong, and he would remain by your side until he was confident that you were fine. And, it's not like you wanted him to leave anyway. Call it weakness or clinginess on your part, but you couldn't possibly let go of him now that he was right there for you hold onto.
"I just... I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm fine, you're fine, and everyone else is fine. So... I should be happy, right? I should be bright and cheerful, exploring the world with you. But I... can't. I have no reason to feel so horrible and disgusting, but I still do. And I can't do anything about it! I don't... I don't want to hold you back from your happiness just because I can't even function properly, so... I decided that I should just wait it out on my own this time around. But, heh, as you can see, I can't even do that right." Bitter laughter left your lips in a suffocating burst, being accompanied by a series of hiccups and a new wave of tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. You were glad he couldn't see your face right now. You probably looked really gross, considering that you didn't even leave your bed to freshen up or brush your teeth today. God, you were such a mess. "I don't know what I did to deserve someone so kind and patient like you, but I... I feel like I'm just using you to feel better about myself, and I hate it. I shouldn't be crying like this over nothing and making you pity me. Not when I'm the only one who's at fault here. I don't want to feel like this, Saeran. I... I hate feeling like this. I want to be normal and just- Live my life peacefully. With you. But- But why can't I stop thinking all of these bad things? It's driving me crazy..."
After you released all of this negativity into cohesive words, instead of holding it in until it swallowed you whole, you felt relieved. But, another part of you felt guilty for burdening Saeran with all this pessimistic talk like this. You didn't need to look at him to know that he had a deeply troubled expression on his delicate face. Either way, you didn't try to push him away or deflect what you just said. There was no reason to. His hand momentarily stopped its movement, and you swallowed, feeling the bedsheets shift ever so slightly, as he hunched over you.
The next time he spoke, his voice sounded much closer, making your heart inadvertently skip a beat. "Can I... Can I see you, Y/N? Please. If you don't want to, that's okay, but... you need some fresh air to help you breathe better."
Pursing your lips together, you nodded, clutching the pillow to your chest. You didn't resist as he carefully found his way around the blanket that was wrapped so tightly all around you, you wondered how you even got this tangled up in it in the first place. Finally, after a few awkward movements of your numb limbs, you could feel the weight slipping off of you and fresh air rushing into your lungs.
Wow. He was right. It was definitely way too stuffy in there for you.
Saeran didn't hurry you to get up, but instead sat beside you quietly and gently caressed your back without saying a word while you cried into your pillow. You knew he wanted to say something. The only reason he was so silent is to avoid overwhelming you with his words. As always, he was way too patient with a crumpled mess like you. Either way, his tenderness did motivate you to eventually lift your head up from your scrunched up pillow, sniffling and wiping away at your damp cheeks.
"Do you feel better, my love?" He quietly asked, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. There was nothing but worry in his bright mint eyes.
Your voice was too shakey for your liking from crying, so you nodded again and leant into his warm touch. You did indeed feel better after getting all of this negativity off your chest, as well as getting some fresh air for you to breathe. But... of course, this didn't mean you were feeling okay in any way. You still felt embarrassed and upset about this whole breakdown, and these heavy feelings wouldn't just disappear any time soon.
Saeran gave you a small smile and now fully cupped your cheek, but he didn't go any further than that. So respectful, as always. He sounded so calm and composed amidst your raging emotions that you automatically hang onto his every word, like he was your lifeline. In a way, he truly was. "Good. I'm sure it was painful to keep everything bottled up like that... Do you want us to talk about these feelings you're dealing with right now?"
"I think... I might be too tired for that. But... We can talk about this tomorrow morning. Maybe." You mumbled awkwardly, feeling a bit self-conscious about the prospect of discussing this incident any time soon. Saeran was right, though. You two needed to talk about it, or things would only get worse, not just for you, but for him as well. It was unusual. Accepting someone's love and care like that, as well as being so open with your inner struggles. But, you did want to try. If not for yourself, then for Saeran.
Sniffling the last of your tears away, you did your best to keep your focus on the young man beside you instead of any insecurities still buzzing around inside of your head. "And... I'm sorry. For not telling you anything right away. I should've-"
Before you could finish your thought, he gently kissed your forehead and now his other hand was also cupping your other cheek. All you could do was gasp, feeling your heart pick up the pace from such a lovely gesture. Leaning back, he rested his forehead against your own, steering all of your attention back onto him and him alone. You could see how much he wanted to say: it was all written so clearly on his features in the dim lighting of your bedroom.
"There's nothing to apologize for, flower. I know you're not ready for us to talk about this now, but... It's okay to not be okay sometimes. My love for you does not require you to be someone else or do anything you don't want to do. We can figure it out. Not because we have to, but because we want to. I love you as you are, just like you love me as I am. I know it can be hard to believe in that sometimes, especially when all love you've experienced before was conditional... But, we can take it at one step at a time. Together. We have all the time in the world now to love each other and ourselves as we are. And, I'll be by your side on every step of this journey, holding onto your hand tightly whenever you need me. That's what we promised to each other, right?"
You had faith in him in your heart. He wasn’t saying this out of mere pity or any sense of obligation to you... No, those were his earnest thoughts and feelings he decided to share with you on his own accord. It was okay to mess up sometimes, and it was okay to have bad days. Saeran had his low moments just as much as you did, you knew that fact all too well. You never judged him for that. You never judged anyone out of the RFA for having bad days of their own. So, why should he do that to you?
Maybe... you let your inner demons get the better of you today. It's not a good idea to punish yourself for that, though. After all... the thought of you being a burden unworthy of love wasn't planted into your head on its own. It was simply easier to justify the hurt you were given by believing that you deserved it, even if it didn't make any sense in hindsight. It was hard to accept that all the bad things you had to endure happened without any grand reason to them. It didn't feel fair.
"...Thank you. I was in great need of hearing something that." You acknowledged, letting out some of the tension that was still in your system with a deep sigh. It wasn't easy. Some part of you still protested and squirmed deep within your mind: demanding to be heard, urging you to throw away his hopeful reassurance and interpret it as nothing but a lie. But, you did your best to ignore it. Thankfully, now Saeran was right here to hold you in his arms, and he was a hundred times better than even your most favorite blanket.
He appeared to appreciate your response, his smile widening ever so slightly before ultimately pulling away. Although, it wasn't long before his hands took hold of your shaky palms, his fingers interlocking with yours in such a simple, yet lovely way. "I'm happy I could help, my love. Now... why don't I help you take a warm bath? I'm sure you feel exhausted. And, it'll be good for you to eat something."
"That would be lovely, Saeran." You said, slowly but surely gaining some of your former confidence back.
Maybe you'll never get the picture-perfect happy ending you've envisioned for yourself in your daydreams. Maybe you'll never be that ideal version of yourself you were striving so hard to be. Maybe you'll never know for sure whether or not you were on the right path in life at all. But, perhaps, your reality didn't have to be ideal for you to find solace in it. This moment in time wasn't perfect or pretty at all, not from a traditional standpoint. And yet, your chest swelled with a warm, ticklish sensation as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the water to fill the space and listening to Saeran talk about his day.
Maybe, you didn't need to be perfect to find solace in the little things life offered you, even in the darkest of times.
Even though you had heavy limbs, burning eyes, and a pounding headache to deal with, you found peace, a tired smile slowly appeared on your face. The feeling of Saeran's hands in yours, the sound of his voice, the view of his warm eyes gazing into yours with nothing but care and affection swimming within them... It all felt so imperfectly soothing to you.
#mystic messenger#mysmes#mysme#mm#saeran choi#ge saeran#saeran x reader#ge saeran x reader#tw insecurity#tw low self esteem#tw depressing thoughts#a comfort fic but i really really like how it turned out so decided to post it <3#also listening to 'safe and sound' made me emotional jftjftht#no thoughts just saeran cupping your face into his hands like you're the most precious thing in the universe
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For Rowan: What is your character's biggest fear, and how does it affect their actions and relationships?
Definitely loosing more of her loved ones after she already lost her mother. It makes her very protective of her family and friends which sometimes may come across as overbearing.
It is also the reason she was reserved about starting a war and was advocating for a peaceful solution by backing Alicent in negotiating and offering Rhaenyra very generous terms for her surrender first. It's why her tactic in the beginning is to simply present a large enough threat that the Black aligned forces don't dare to leave the Vale and their lands undefended.
She would simply prefer not to sent her cousins to fight and possibly die.
#Rowan just wants to keep her family safe and sound at Runestone#oc: rowan royce#fic: a blade that never stops cutting
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i am actually kind of upset if i cant get it to work even a little bit to get some stuff off of there because i did have a few podfics i was editing i dont have saved to any thumbdrives, and my NES library was in transit since the last usb holding it crapped out, and my copy of nimona i borrowed off of youtube.
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Ok after Softness I definitely want to hear about Splash🩷🩷
hi non! 🤍
so its set in the same universe. rosemary’s two years old and it’s just a sweet little domestic drabble about joel giving her a bath on his own for the first time after she gets into some shenanigans while out in the yard with ellie
reader comes home to find him giving her a bath and it’s just gonna be tooth rotting fluff—maybe a tiny bit of angst? because even though it’s just joel giving her a bath alone, it’s also kind of more than that? like he’s finally finding his confidence in being a father to a child that small again
snippet below the cut 🐥
Arms crossed, you lean against the doorframe as you watch them, a smile tugging at your lips.
Joel lifts the rubber duck in his hand and asks, “What sound does a duckie make, Rosie?”
She stares at him, confused.
“C’mon, babygirl. Mama taught you this the other night, remember? What sound does a duckie make?”
Rosemary’s eyes suddenly widen. “Quack!”
“S’right, Rosie.” Beaming with pride, Joel hands her the duck and grins. “You’re so smart, baby. Just like your mama.”
“Quack, daddy!” Sweet little giggles fill the bathroom as Rosemary lifts her chubby arms in the air, bringing them down on either side of herself and into the water, splashing his face. “Quack! Quack!”
He laughs and leans away from the tub. “Alright, alright, little duck.” Reaching for a towel, he dries himself off. “S’enough. Daddy already showered today.”
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sun is going down
chapter 1 • series masterlist
pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.
word count: ~2.2k
tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, blood, guns, i think that’s it?
a/n: i’m ridiculously nervous about sharing this story, it has been on my mind for over a year and i’ve been too intimidated to start working on it for the longest time. i really hope that someone likes it haha
follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)
dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍
The alarm goes off in the middle of the night. You shoot up, your body on high alert, your heart beating rapidly, before your mind is even fully awake.
Probably just a false one, you try telling yourself as you make your way to the office. You’ve never had a false alarm, but– one can hope, right?
The place is plunged into darkness, no windows for any moonlight to seep through. You turn on the camera feed, squinting at the grainy screen. There’s movement in the living room, two people, from what you can make out. Not infected, judging from the way they’re moving, but one of them seems to be injured. Please don’t be raiders. There isn’t much to loot in the house, but the anxiety is already settling in your chest, threatening to crawl up your throat.
You turn on the sound and a panicked girl’s voice rings through the room as if you were standing right next to her.
“Fuck, Joel, wake up. Joel, please–”
It’s eerily similar to words that you’ve said once, the memory still fresh, even now. You wonder if your voice was as thick with tears then as that girl’s is right now.
Not again. Not in this house, not while you’re watching, unable to do anything. Not again.
You still hear it, the echo in your mind clear as ever. Keep them safe. Promise me. The promise you failed to keep.
Unblinking, you stare at the screen, your mind running a mile a minute. This could be a trap. They could have been watching, could have somehow figured you out. Or, the tiny voice in the back of your head insists, or they really need help.
The girl is pleading for the man to hold on, to not fall asleep. The desperation in her tone is tearing at you, urging you into action. Fuck it, you have to do something.
You grab your gun from the wall and slowly make your way up the stairs, ignoring the anxious trembling in your hands. Maybe this is how you die.
Leaning your back against the wall, you take a deep breath, a fruitless attempt to calm yourself, and switch on the lamp outside. You can’t hear them anymore, but knowing that the living room is now bathed in light, you’re certain that they’re on high alert now. Shit shit shit. You steel yourself, undo the complicated lock and push the heavy door open.
Please don’t let it be a trap.
They’re both staring at you, a young girl standing in front of a man, lying on the ground, taking panting breaths. She’s pointing a gun straight at you, as if she’s trying to shield his larger body with hers. The weapon looks much too big in her hands.
The memory of a similar image tugs at the back of your mind, but you shove it away. Stay in the present, stay right here.
You clear your throat, raising your hands slightly. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to another living person. Your voice cracks.
“I– I don’t mean you any harm. I live here, I saw you on– on the cameras.”
The girl furrows her brow, her eyes flitting across the room.
“They’re hidden, you won’t– Listen, I just want to help, I promise.”
The sound of your voice wavers, almost unfamiliar to your own ears. The girl lowers her gun a fraction, but the distrust is written all over her face. You can’t blame her. You clear your throat again, willing your hands to stop shaking.
“Your dad, is he– has he been bitten?” Please say no, please say no, please say no.
She shakes her head quickly. An expression that you can’t place flies over her features. Thank god.
“He’s not my– no. He got– he got stabbed.”
You can tell that she tries to sound strong, brave, but you recognize the panic in her eyes. You see it often enough when you look into the mirror.
You take another steadying breath. You can do this.
“Okay. I can help with that, if– if you want. I have medicine, bandages…”
Hope flashes over her face, mixed with the obvious conflict of not trusting you.
“You can come downstairs, it’s safer there. I– I should turn the lights back off.”
You’re painfully aware of how bright the house must shine through the darkness, from how far away it’s probably visible right now. Your nerves are fluttering anxiously.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, I swear. Just– let me help you.”
She swallows, hard, and fixes you with a stare.
“It’s just you down there?”
You nod in silent confirmation, not trusting your voice on this. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to admit it to anyone but yourself.
The girl sighs, her head turning between you and the man behind her a few times, surely seeking guidance from him, but his eyes are halfway shut, his lips trembling. Your gaze falls on the dark red stain on his shirt.
Don’t look, don’t think- Just focus on this, right now, right here.
You tell her your name, promise again that it’s safe. Finally, she nods timidly.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” You nod back at her, give her a small smile that she doesn’t return. “I’ll come closer now, we’ll carry him, alright?”
The girl looks at the man again. Her body tenses when you near them, but together you manage to get him back on his feet and half walk, half carry him. You push the door open wider and heave him down the stairs.
In the back of your mind, you take note of the sound of multiple feet walking down the steps, and how long it’s been since… No. Stay in the present.
You prop him up on the couch, where the girl keeps hovering by his side while you rush up again to close and lock the door and turn off the lights. Next, you throw open the bathroom cabinet, gathering all the material that you might need.
You return and crouch down beside him, lying your things out on the table, and take a closer look, your fingers halting over him. He’s watching you through lidded eyes, a sheen of sweat on his pale face.
“What’s his name?” you ask, looking up at the girl.
“Joel,” she answers reluctantly. “I’m Ellie.”
“Hi, Ellie.” You hope your smile looks sincere, not betraying how nervous you are right now. How shaky the sight of his blood-soaked shirt makes you feel.
“Okay, Joel?” you address him directly. He only manages a tired hum in return. “I’m gonna clean this and try stitching you up. It’s gonna hurt, I have painkillers, if you–”
But he shakes his head, humming again.
“Alright,” you sigh, and get to work.
You explain what you’re doing with every step, to calm both their and your own nerves. You know how to do this, you’ve trained for this. The wound doesn’t look too deep and you pray that there’s no organ damage involved, because you don’t have the means to treat that properly, but it doesn’t look like it. There seems to be an infection spreading though, so you gather some antibiotics as well, hoping that they’ll still work the way they’re supposed to. Joel inhales sharply a few times, but seems to be out of it for most of the time, which you’re grateful for.
“How did this happen?” you ask, looking up at Ellie who’s still standing beside you, watching intently over what you’re doing.
“Raiders,” she mutters. “It was a broken baseball bat, I think.”
“Jesus,” you sigh. You wonder how they got out, your thoughts circling back to the gun in her hands, and you suppress a shudder. “Are you injured too?” you ask, deciding not to press her about the attack.
“No,” comes her quiet answer. You don’t catch the way she averts her eyes.
“Alright,” mumble eventually and straighten up. You’ve cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability and now you just have to hope that it will be enough.
“Do you want something to eat?” you ask the girl, who has taken to sit beside the couch on the ground, now that you’ve moved away from it. Her face lights up at the question and she nods eagerly.
You get two bowls of the soup that you’ve had for dinner for the both of you and she has already had a few spoonfuls before she eyes you warily.
“It’s not poisoned or something, is it?”
You huff a laugh and keep eating yours, holding her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Does it look like it?”
“Um, no…” she trails off, swallowing another spoonful and sighing at the taste. You wonder how long it’s been since they ate something. “You could have poisoned only mine though.”
“Well I didn’t,” you grin. It feels foreign, talking to another person, another child, but a warmth is slowly spreading through you that has nothing to do with the soup.
She wakes Joel and gets him to swallow a little soup as well as some water before he collapses back on the couch, his eyes closed and his breath evening out.
“Why do you… have all this?” she asks eventually, setting her bowl down on the table and looking around the room, the wood-covered walls and the multiple doors.
“My dad built it,” you reply, forcing your voice to stay neutral. “B–before.”
She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes still full of wonder.
“You’re welcome to stay,” you hear yourself say, “until he gets better, I mean.”
You don’t know if you’re being reckless, if this will be the thing that finally gets you killed, but it seems too elaborate to be a trap. And maybe, just maybe you like the idea of not being alone down here, even just for a short while, a little too much. She thanks you, her expression just as weary as you feel.
You offer that she can wash up if she wants, use the shower, that you could give her some clothes of yours. You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right thing, or if you’re just being incredibly stupid, but the sight of her worn down shirt and the way her hair is matted down with dirt makes your heart swell with the wish to care for her.
Her eyes flicker nervously between Joel and the bathroom door a few times, but eventually she agrees. While the shower runs, you settle down on the armchair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions, your knees pulled up to your chin, your eyes resting on the sleeping man. He’s huge, taking up the whole length of it, his feet dangling over the armrest, overwhelming even in his unconscious state.
You really hope that they’re good people. He could overpower you easily, there’s no doubt of that. You might not be a terrible fighter, but you don’t think that you’d be a match for him.
Your gaze lingers on his face, the strong shape of his nose, the pout of his lower lip, his brow furrowed even in his sleep. His fingers are twitching, one wrist adorned with a broken watch.
Ellie exits the bathroom again, clad in your old clothes, her damp hair dripping into the neckline of the t-shirt, like a younger version of you. It makes your heart ache.
Now that the adrenaline is rushing from your body, you realize how weird all this really is. You haven’t spoken to anybody in years and now there’s two people here, in your space. Maybe you’ve finally lost it for good.
You show her to the biggest of the four bedrooms, the only one that no one has ever slept in. It’s easier, opening this door, than the two other ones that you keep shut. You debate moving Joel from the couch to the bed, Ellie mumbling about his back, but ultimately you decide against it.
“Okay,” you hesitate, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m in the room right next to you, if you need anything… Just– please don’t murder me in my sleep, okay?”
She mirrors your wry smile. “I won’t if you won’t.”
You nod and leave the room, praying that you’re making the right call here. You’re doing something good, right? And no one would plan an ambush like this. Would they?
You heave a sigh and retreat to your own bedroom, your gun clutched tightly in your grasp. You doubt that it would save you, not against that man who’s currently softly snoring on your couch. Still, it makes you feel a little better. You turn the lock on your door too, just in case.
When you sink back under the covers, eyes still wide open and staring into the darkness, a small smile creeps onto your lips despite your worries.
It’s not the way it was, it will never be that way again. But not being the only soul down here fills you with the ghost of a warmth that you had thought you’d never feel again.
thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!
#janas fics#fic: safe and sound#joel miller#ellie williams#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedrostories
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Series: Pokemon Horizons
Characters: Amethio, Friede, Conia, Zir
Summary:
Friede doesn't listen to Amethio and promptly gets his Charizard knocked out in a fight between some territorial wild pokemon, leaving Amethio to pick up the pieces.
With all the compassion left in Amethio’s miserable heart, he politely warned Friede about the pokemon, to which the other man confidently responded,
“Don’t worry about it! I’m prepared for any opponent”
Now, as Amethio watches Friede’s Charizard plummet after getting caught up in a battle between the Salamence and Garchomp, he’s beginning to wonder why he bothered in the first place.
Amethio gets to be a little shit in this one! And of course, Friede suffers. badly. I don't think I ever write Friede having a good time, if I'm being honest
#pokemon horizons#horizons fanfiction#amethio#professor friede#conia#pokemon zir#my writing#for the record. friede lands safely in the ice cold ocean water. its fine. he's fine#it that sounds similar to other fics of mine you've read: it's called having a brand (joking)#i just enjoy writing hurt/comfort with these idiots
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One of the joys of having a toddler who likes to kidnap your phone, is that he helps write your fics:
That's the most creative Italian I've ever seen. Thanks kiddo.
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I had to add to my description.
First part is about the canonxcanon shippers finding me and the second is the t r a u m a I cannot even deal with him being platonically shipped :c
#Its because I've had people in the past lie to me and tell me they shipped themselves platonically with my f/o only for them to send me#'platonic' ship fic and it turns out to be 100% romantic and I felt SO BAD#So because I am super attached to Kylo/Ben I literally see him as my soulmate I'd rather people just dni and leave me be if they#romantically/platonically or whatever with him because I cannot handle it.#I know it probably sounds like I'm being an asshole but I got hurt not once but twice when involving so called 'platonic f/o' status#I'm just keeping myself safe T_T#no hate to people who ship with him but I'd rather not be around for that and thus that is why I hard block
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safe and sound - javier peña x fem!reader
summary: after a long day on the ranch, javi just needs to feel you.
warnings: smut, fluff, javi being a softie, bathtime fun, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit folks)
a/n: this falls into the same universe as my other javi peña oneshot - hiding my heart! I’ll have a masterlist up shortly 💕 (also I know it’s canon that his mother is dead but I decided for this series she isn’t so)
| main masterlist | series masterlist | ao3 |
Javi’s still getting used to your presence around the ranch. He still does a double-take when he finds a stack of your books on the coffee table where his mother’s knitting once lay. He’s still surprised when he opens a bathroom cupboard to find your perfume and eyelash curler sitting on the shelf that used to house his father’s aftershave. He nearly stops in his tracks when he goes looking for a t-shirt and finds your silky underthings tucked in the drawer.
It’s not even only your things around the ranch that throw him through a loop. His own truck looks out of place on the driveway. The keys hanging from hooks beside the door are not the worn lanyards that belonged to his parents. The pictures on the walls haven’t been replaced, but new ones have been added, new faces peering back at him. And he’s just not used to it all. Not yet.
He’s getting used to it, that much he knows. Having you around is the best thing that’s happened to him since he came from from Colombia. It makes him feel safe like nothing else has for a long time.
And at night? That’s when he feels it hit the hardest. That safety. That coming home. That belonging.
Running the ranch has been much more work than he ever bargained for, no matter how hard his father had drilled into him that it’s not easy work, Javi. You need to be tough, and you need to be strong.
And he has been. He’s tried his hardest to be. His hands are calloused beyond belief, his scalp caked in dirt at the end of every day, and his joints ache like he’s never felt before.
The animals are fussy some days. He spends a full week hunting down roaming sheep and corralling them back into their home. There’s a tire on the tractor that refuses to stay patched. He has to make three trips to the supply store to find the right feed for the horses because they’re apparently picky eaters and Javi didn’t even know a horse could be a picky eater.
It comes with it’s bright sides, though. The sunrises and sunsets that greet him each morning and bid him farewell every evening are beyond beautiful, rivalling even the prettiest nights he spent in Colombia.
One of the horses, who he’s affectionately renamed Steve, has taken to him, nickering happily whenever Javi walks into the barn. He’s especially happy if there’s an apple or a carrot waiting for him in the pocket of Javi’s coat. Simple thing. They spend most days together, riding through the land and making the rounds.
It’s a hell of a workout, never mind. His mother has stopped telling him he looks too skinny when he visits the home on Sundays. When he’d first returned, he was worried she was going to have a heart attack, crowing over him and begging him to eat more helpings at dinner. Now, he eats like a horse, clearing away plate after plate of whatever you’re serving. He’s gained muscle he didn’t know he was capable of having, the lines of his body growing thicker and leaner, that skinny DEA agent that combed through Colombia and lived off cigarettes and whiskey replaced with a certified cowboy.
It’s jarring, when he realizes. To see how much has changed — how much he’s changed — how much of his old life has moved aside to give way to this new one he’s building with you. He reaches for work gloves and a bridle instead of his badge and a gun. He pulls on boots and his father’s old work coat instead of tight jeans and a button-up.
(He keeps the button-ups, though. You’re not shy on telling him how much you like them, and he needs something for the nights he takes you out into town.)
Another one of the perks of the ranch? The way he gets to come home to you every night, and there’s only a short ride between the farmland and you. He’ll find you dancing around the kitchen or just coming in the door from your own day at work, hanging your keys by the door and stepping right out of your shoes and into his arms. On the weekends, he’ll only work half the day, maybe, rising earlier than you to get his chores done before returning to the house and slipping into the shower, where you join him more often than not.
In the week, you always ask him about his day, and he returns the question in kind. You chat for a while as you eat, the conversation usually carrying you past dinner and out onto the back porch, where you’ll lounge on the swing, your head tucked under his chin and Javi moving his hand up and down your arm, head tilted on yours, listening to the crickets and watching the stars up above.
On the weekends, when you find him hunched over his father’s desk, head bent over the books and accounts, it’s almost always the same. You know. You can read him like an open book, knowing exactly what he needs and when he needs it.
You’ll rest your hands on his shoulders, fingers digging in expertly, seeking out the knots that have formed in his muscles, kneading your thumbs into the base of his neck in a way that makes him close his eyes, a pleased growl working its way up his throat.
“You’ve been working too hard, cariño,” you whisper, leaning down so your mouth is right next to his ear, dropping your jaw so you can graze your teeth right over his lobe. It sends a chill shooting down his spine, one that turns to a shock of heat straight to his groin when you drag your lips down his neck. “Come take a bath with me.”
Javi’s never been one for baths. If he thinks hard, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken one since he was a kid. Bathing has always been about getting clean, not relaxing.
But you know how to do baths right. With your scented oils that make him realize why you always smell so damn good, and your lit candles around the tub’s edge. There’s not always bubbles, and Javi’s loathe to admit that he loves them. There’s just something about watching the foam slither down your body, that quiet noise of bubbles popping, the way it coats his hands as they roam your form.
Tonight, he’s feeling needy. He just wants to be close to you, and he’s been cursing the fact that it’s only Tuesday all day, that he can’t head back early and find you still laying in bed or sprawled on the couch with a book in your hand.
It was an easy day on the ranch, but the moment you’d walked in the door (after him, a rare occurrence), he’d been on you, wrapping his arms around your waist and following you around the house, taking your keys and your purse and putting them in their rightful places. You’d giggled and laughed and covered his hands with yours, twining your knuckles together. “Someone’s in a mood,” you’d chided, your tone half-teasing.
Javi had pushed his face into your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, potent as anything even after a full day, and nipped at your jaw. “Been missing you all day, querida,” he whispered, “couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.”
“Clearly,” you said, squeezing his hands before manoeuvring yourself around in his grip, turning so you were facing him, leaning in to kiss him softly. “How’s your shoulder?”
He’d grumbled about his sore muscles as he walked out the door that morning, rubbing his left arm with a grimace that had your eyes trailing after him. He was glad for the easy day of work, because it hadn’t bothered him much, but…
“So sore, baby,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Think I need a nice long soak.”
And you’d been more than happy to oblige.
Later that night, after you’d eaten, lavender-scented steam fills the bathroom, the water as high as it’ll go, and the two of you, naked as the days you were born, wrapped in each other beneath the bubbles.
You’d started behind him, his back resting against your chest and your arms wrapped around his neck. Your palms kneaded at his pecs, nose trailing along his neck as you dropped water across his skin, reaching up to wet the grown-out curls at the base of his neck. He’d revelled at your touch, at that feeling of safe, safe, safe, that seemed to spread from your fingertips and sink into the very marrow of his bones.
But, as it has from the moment he’d met you, from the first time he felt your lips on his, that deeper part of him, that unbridled attraction that he’s never felt for another person, comes to life.
He’s managed to flip you, sliding his body under yours until you’re sitting astride him. The water sloshes around the two of you, soaking the bath mat and your piles of discarded clothes, but neither of you really notice or care. He’s got one arm tight around you, holding your hips pinned to his, your wet body against him.
Slowly, carefully, he trails his hand up your front. The bubbles slide down his arm as it moves, slipping from his skin to yours, dripping off the curve of your breast and straight down your stomach. Javi just watches, silently, his head tilted to the side, brow so hard you reach a damp hand from his shoulder to his forehead, your thumb soothing the line between his eyebrows.
“So serious, cariño,” you whisper, the pad of your thumb swiping upwards over and over. “You’d think you’d look happier with a naked woman in your lap.”
He cracks a smile at that, and lifts his head to nip at your wrist. “Sorry, baby,” he whispers, adjusting you in his arms, one hand plunging beneath the water and curving around your thigh. “Too busy thinking about all the things I want to do to this beautiful naked woman in my lap.”
Javier swipes his thumb across your inner thigh, the water making the touch slicker. You move your hips forward, chasing his hand, but he pulls back, moving his grip toward your knee. He uses it to haul you closer, the distance between you vanishing, and your legs inch wider, thighs pressed to either side of the tub as he curls his wrist in, thumb now swiping along your folds.
It makes your breath stutter. “Javi, I—” He’s not sure what you were going to say, but he stops you, thumb now pressed to your clit, drawing a tight circle as your body curls down over his. His other hand moves from chest up towards your neck, and he cups your cheek as your forehead falls against his.
“I told you, baby,” he murmurs, pushing his jaw forward so the words are spoken against your lips, “I couldn’t wait to get my hands on you. Been thinking about this all day.”
His cock is already stirring beneath the water, the keened breaths falling out of you and the way you keep whispering his name all it takes to have arousal rushing through his bloodstream. He keeps up the circles, the water easing his movements, and he feels your chest brush his, your peaked nipples dragging over his pecs as your hands settle in his hair, nails scraping his scalp.
“Thinking about what,” you whisper, and the huskiness in your voice makes Javier’s eyes roll back, “getting your hands on me or getting your fat cock in me?”
If there’s anything you do that drives Javier absolutely insane, it’s how filthy your mouth can get. He never would have guessed it, when you first started seeing each other, but now he’s thankful every time he has you that you can dish it as well as you can take it.
He adjusts his grip, feeling his cock harden, holding your hips between his hands and gliding you across his length. Water isn’t the best lubricant, but you’re a different kind of wet, and the glide makes his head tip back in your hands, mouth finding yours as you gasp out in pleasure.
“Always so ready for me, querida,” he murmurs, one hand slipping from your hip to your ass, delivering a quick slap that splashes water up your back. “Can I fuck you right here, baby? Please?”
He doesn’t have to keep guiding you any longer, your hips moving on their own, dragging your folds along him. You angle yourself just right, catching the tip of him at your entrance and sinking down in one fell swoop. The warmth of you makes him groan, the way your body stretches to accommodate every inch of him. Your nails dig into his scalp in the most pleasurable way, and Javier is the one gasping now, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as your hips settle on his.
“I’m the one on top,” you say, tilting your head to the side and dragging your mouth along his jaw. “Guess that means I get to fuck you.”
Any other day, and he’d let you. Any other time, and he’d let you ride him into oblivion, until every drop of water in the bath was on the floor, until you were both a spent mess against the tile. But not today. No, today he needs to fuck you.
You squeal in surprise as he curls both hands under your ass, slides his feet beneath him, and stands in the tub. Your limbs go frantic, hands scrabbling at his back and legs locking around his waist. It’s perfect, and he’s still buried inside you, the movement making him sink deeper, making your squeal end on a moan when his cock drags along that rough patch he’s become so well-acquainted with.
Javi drags his feet across the bathmat, making sure he won’t slip and drop you as he carries you out of the bathroom. Somewhere between the bathroom and bedroom, his cock slides out, making you whine, but the moment he’s over the threshold of the bedroom door, he’s pushing you against the wall, keeping you pinned with one arm and reaching between you to slip back into your drenched heat once more.
You clamp your jaw shut as he does it, a muffled moan caught behind your lips, and he starts to move, hips rolling into yours. He holds you with both hands now, fingers spread wide over each cheek, making you bounce on his cock as he thrusts up into you. Your mouth drops open again after a few more slides of his cock against that spot, your eyes fluttering shut as he keeps you pinned against the wall.
He can’t stop himself from looking down between your bodies, watching himself disappear inside you, his cock glistening with your slick. Your hands are in his hair again, pulling at the strands, tugging just like you know he likes it. “Javi, baby,” you groan out, head tipping back against the wall as he starts to fuck you harder, faster, eyes still glued to the place where you’re joined. “God, you fuck me so good.”
“Fucking right,” he grunts out, leaning forward until his forehead touches your chest. It obscures his vision slightly, replaced with the curve of your breasts, and he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive skin. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, his own orgasm growing closer and closer with every thrust. But he can’t cum, not yet — he needs to feel you cum around him first. “Need you to cum, querida,” he grunts.
Wordlessly, you drag one hand from his hair to plunge two fingers into your mouth, giving him more than a show of your tongue dancing between your knuckles, soaking your index and middle fingers in saliva. Javier just watches, rapt as anything, as you pull them from between your lips and slip the hand between you two, starting to rub at your clit. It makes you clench down on his cock, making his vision tinge black at the edges.
He tears you away from the wall, lowering you onto the bed a moment later, grateful for the high mattress that puts you at the perfect level for him. He slams into you over and over, still watching, eyes darting from the movement of your hand against your clit, the way you throw your head back against the duvet, the thin skin of your neck practically vibrating with your pulse when he leans down to kiss it.
Javier rises up, gripping your hips, pulling you down onto his cock with every thrust of his hips against yours, and god damn it, he’s so close he can taste it. Gritting his teeth, he lowers himself again, his mouth close to your ear.
“You gonna cum for me, querida?” he croons, nipping at your earlobe. “I wanna feel that pussy squeeze me.”
That’s all it takes, apparently, because you’re seizing around him a moment later, his name tumbling from your lips on a high-pitched moan, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. And god, you go so tight around him that Javier can’t hold back anymore, his hips stuttering against you as his orgasm takes over, painting your insides with his spend and his face buried in your neck as it spreads through his body.
Once you’ve both had a moment to catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a wince, flopping beside you on the bed. Your lashes flutter for a few moments, and then you’re leaning over to press a soft kiss to his lips before you disappear back towards the bathroom.
Javier cleans himself up while you’re gone, pulls the sheets back on the bed and puts on a fresh pair of boxers. He’s getting into bed when you return, still stark naked, your hair now piled atop your head. He just watches as you cross to the dresser, pulling out a pair of cotton panties and stealing one of his t-shirts from his drawer.
It strikes him then, how everything just fits. You know where everything is, your things interspersed with his. Your movements are confident through the house, not tiptoed like you might disappear at any given moment. Your life is mixed with his, on this ranch you’ve decided to call home. It’s comforting, knowing that you’ve fit yourself in with him just like he has with you. It feels safe, and he hasn’t felt that for a long time.
“What are you looking at, cariño?” you ask, and the corner of Javi’s mouth quirks, both at the notion that you caught him staring, and the learned endearment falling from your lips. You circle around to your side of the bed, climbing beneath the sheets with him, and Javi gathers you into his arms, pressing his mouth to the crown of your head.
“You,” he murmurs into your hair, his body sagging with relief, the safe feeling seeping into his muscles and bones and making him feel at ease. “Always you.”
—————
I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕
javier peña tags: @iamskyereads @ancientbeing10 @saintmurd0ck @woomen23 @plutoneu @pedropascalsx @allfoolsinluv @maddiewinchester @winchestershiresauce @minxsblog @bluestuesday @i-simp-much @trickstersp8 @kirsteng42 @lovesbiggerthanpride @beskarprincessjenny @loonymagizoologist @mashomasho @greeneyedblondie44 @tanzthompson @fiscinthirst @mswarriorbabe80 @vickytogisa @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @alyona-romanova @littlemisspascal @mrssarahpaulsooonn
#javier peña#javier peña fic#javi peña#narcos#narcos fic#javier peña x you#javier peña x reader#pedro pascal#my fics#javi p#safe and sound#the ranch
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I'M BAAAAACK!!!
Heyo - sorry about being M.I.A.!!
End of 2023 was super busy and crazy for me, then to top it all off, my laptop needed to get fixed this past week so I was without it for a few days. But, I give you this half-decent sketch of Michael I did the other night as a peace offering LOL 💜
Maybe I'll color it, too!
Hope all is well with everyone!!
#when my laptop was gone i was like “BRING MY GIRL BACK TO ME SAFE AND SOUND OKAY”#but i guess it's fine i didn't have it#i was still able to work on my fic on my phone#and doodle this#real ones know which photo this is supposed to be#michael jackson#michael jackson drawing#bad era#bad#michael jackson bad#bad tour#artwork#pencil drawing#sketch#doodle#love himmm
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