#maria’s death has a lot of meaning!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 5 months

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𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 & 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 | a joel miller x reader oneshot

summary: this is based around work song by hozier, felt a deep need to write some joel miller comfort stuff. listen to the song if you fancy, it really helps, i swear. this is just a lot of angst, fluff, and longing wrapped into a 5k fic i wrote out a couple weeks ago out of missing writing and joel miller.

word count & warnings: 5k | 18+, fem!reader, mentions of violence/blood/fighting (nothing graphic), joel being in a state of shock, sex for comfort/coping, no heavy sex warning it's just v intimate, psuedo love confessions bc joel is bad with words

It’s like an atom bomb uprooting your world with the heavy rasps of a hand against solid wood, sending a sharp buzz of electricity down your spine as you shoot up from your position on the couch, nearly tripping over Ellie on the way. The remnants of a night spent like a teen, enjoying a sleepover with the young girl who had a lot to talk about. You knew enough about Savage Starlight that you were practically an aficionado now, but that didn’t matter.

Ellie only stirs slightly, turning on her side on the cushion of her make-shift pallet and you open the front door slowly despite your rapidly beating heart.

Joel never knocked, never really announced himself. He would come in quiet, quick, and busy himself upstairs. You knew that because he usually found you in his bed, waiting for him.

Tonight was a little different.

No grave can hold my body down,

I'll crawl home to her

You world spins as you see what’s on the other side, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you see him.

Joel. But he wasn’t alone.

“Maria—“ It’s laced with too many emotions, too many meanings. You shift your gaze between the two.

“Everyone—“ Maria has to force herself to take a deep breath, a careful hand on Joel’s arm as she forces him to take a step forward, “everyone is fine.”

“Maria, he’s covered in blood.” As if that wasn’t obvious.

It was crusted and oxidized down, sticking to his skin and covering him like something out of a horror movie. He wasn’t shaking, that was the first thing you noticed. Joel was unnaturally still. Frozen.

“Do you have him?” Maria asks, only expecting one answer. “I’ve gotta tend to Tommy and he’s not telling me a damn thing.”

“Is he hurt?” Your brow furrowed in concern, but Maria doesn’t elaborate at all. You reach for Joel silently, his skin icey to the touch, the rigid, cold weather partially to blame.

“He’ll be alright.” Maria assures you with a nod and she’s gone without another word, leaving you to stare at the shell of a man before you, his eyes boring into the ground, staring at the scuffed up material of his boots, not a word to be spoken. Not even so much as a breath.

“Is he in shock?” Ellie’s less than chipper voice speaks from behind you, forcing your heart to kickstart again.

“Um, I don’t—know…” You pull him inside gently, which he doesn’t fight, but he feels lifeless, “has he—have you seen him like this before?”

“Never.” Her eyes well with silent tears and you quickly shoo her away. Ellie almost seems thankful. Joel can’t admit it to himself but Ellie knows.

You care.

“Go upstairs and get some sleep, Ellie.” You assure her, “I can handle it.”

The walk to Joel’s bedroom feels miles away. Joel shows no signs of life still, as you drag him inside of his room and shut the door with a soft click.

“You need to shower.”

Joel knows this, he can smell it on him.

The smell of death.

You smell it too, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Joel,” You speak softly, invading his line of sight, a gentle touch against rough skin, his scruff a few days grown and there’s a small twitch as your warm hand makes contact, “are you here?”

His nod is a sigh of relief, a weight off your chest.

“Okay—okay, that’s good,” You keep your voice low, like a secret between the both of you, “do you need my help?”

Joel shakes his head weakly, pulling at the buttons of his thick coat, realizing slowly that it was just as bloodied as the rest of him. He wants it off. All of it. Now.

“Are you going to fight me if I try to help?” It’s lighthearted, but you can see how deeply it digs at Joel, like a fresh wound. “Sorry—I just, I want to help. Okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push your hands away when they reach forward and take the coat from his hands. You toss it in a nearby corner, out of sight and out of mind.

You could handle it later, get rid of the mess so Joel wouldn’t have to bother with it.

He toes off his boots after tugging at the laces, delicate fingertips tracing down his chest as you unbutton his flannel, forcing it down his shoulders. It takes a moment, but eventually he’s down to his boxers and tattered white undershirt, barefoot on the hardwood floor.

And he stops, leaning into you, pressing his forehead against your own in a silent bid of thankfulness, a heavy sigh escaping his chest.

Joel showers alone, eerily quiet. You get rid of the clothes, bringing them out to the garage to deal with in the morning.

Joel is already in the bed by the time you make it back to his bedroom, but if he was actually asleep was yet to be discovered, the nightmare replaying behind his eyelids unbeknownst to you.

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Joel wasn’t supposed to come back until later in the evening that day, well after work was wrapped up for the day and everyone was already tucked into bed. You found yourself in Joel’s bed most nights now, off and on for the first few months but now, almost a year into…whatever this was, it was a weekly thing, as often as Joel wasn’t out on patrol.

There was never an agreement about what this was either, not that there needed to be. But, the unspoken rule was to keep your problems away–the anger, the fear, the suppressed feelings you both have tried to keep at bay for weeks now. Joel only mildly complains about things around Jackson, but never about his life before, how he feels now, or how his pseudo-daughter seeks out comfort in your presence when Joel isn’t around.

Joel hasn’t stirred for hours, or so it feels. The night sky fades away into early morning, the tiniest amount of dawn peeking through his window and bathing him in a shadow of blue. The crinkle of sheets pulls your attention toward his face, your body heats like a furnace as it slid near, hoping that even in his slumber he might draw closer. There’s a brief moment where you think he might wake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer. Nuzzles.

You’ll take it.

He moves silently, letting you hold him. An arm slipped under his head, a leg slipped between his own thighs and his hands found their way around your middle and you sigh, a deep breath through your nose that does nothing to calm your worrying, aching heart.

If he wanted to talk about it, he would. That’s all you can hope for.

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

Joel is edging on delirious. The adrenaline was beginning to wane and he kept seeing things in faint recollection. The faces of the couple that had snuck into the cabin he and Tommy were patrolling last night, the fear on his brother’s face–something he hasn’t seen from Tommy since they were teenagers. They’re battle-hardened warriors, attack first and ask questions later. His brother was helpless then and if it weren’t for Joel’s terrible bout of insomnia—he couldn’t think about it.

He feels everything finally caught up to him, the physical exertion, the mental toll, he’s never slept so easily in his life and he feels terrible about it. He feels terrible about bringing this on you, forcing you to help piece him back together and keep him from falling apart.

Joel is a man, solid and steel-like in his ways but he’s not invulnerable to emotion. He feels it creeping in as he blinks his tired eyes open, the flutter in his chest growing strong when he feels you wrapped around him and his own limbs just the same.

He could’ve swore you left. The look on your face, of pure terror and disgust as he poured his heart out to you, but Joel quickly realizes that was only a dream, something his mind cooked up in the haze of hysteria.

“Is Tommy hurt?” You ask with a timidness he’s not used to, your fingers massaging at the base of his neck, twirling a curl of his hair around your finger idly, “Maria...didn’t say, she looked exhausted.”

We don’t talk about these things.

We don’t talk.

We don’t.

“I’m not asking you to tell me what happened,” You assure him like he’d spoked aloud, “Just…even a nod, Joel. Anything.”

Joel waits too long, to the point where you think he’s fallen back asleep. But eventually, he shakes his head. You relax briefly. No, he wasn’t hurt.

But, that doesn’t explain the blood.

As much as you wanted to know, it wasn’t your place to ask.

She never asked me once

about the wrong I did

Joel doesn’t understand why he feels drawn to you, so eager to have you here, home. You had your own place, your own things, but when you were here it almost felt normal. Real. He’s dragged this out for months, avoiding the looks you give him when things get a little too intense and he pulls away.

Ellie calls him an idiot every month that passes, knowing how good it is to have you around.

“Jesus, Joel—you can’t really be that oblivious.”

Joel forces Ellie to drop it.

But, not before she mumbles the word under her breath.

There’s a soft sob that racks your body as Joel stirs, crying silently above him with worry. You weren’t as great at burying those emotions as him, unfortunately.

Because, for tonight, well—it was almost too much to process.

“I took care of it,” Joel speaks through his gruff, sleep-filled voice, “Tommy’s fine.”

It? Took care of it? Come on, Joel.

“It was a couple. Hunters. They were from the west.”

You stay silently, scared that speaking might startle him too. You didn’t want to steal the chance of knowing, understanding.

“I handled it.” The emphasis around the word is enough to make you understand.

He killed them. There was no way around that.

“I’ve never…” The quiver in Joel’s voice is apparent, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, “I’ve felt a lot of things. Anger, betrayal, but that fear—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling Joel closer into the space you shared.

“They had their hands around him,” Joel explains slowly, like he’s trying and failing to relive that sight in his mind, “my damn hearing, old fucking age—another minute and things would’ve been a hell of a lot different.”

“But, you took care of it.” You affirmed him and his hands tightened against your skin. “Seem pretty damn capable to me.”

“Fuckin’ cowards.” Joel spits out, “We were sleepin’ and they tried to get the jump on us.”

“It’s alright, though—Tommy’s okay, you’re…okay,” You hesitate, a quiver of a breath from Joel ghosts over your chest, his tired eyes peering into yours, “You’re okay, right?”

“Always am,” Joel assures you with a low, soft response, “had so much on mind, though, ya’ know?”

“Well, yeah—”

Joel shakes his head, cuts you off for a brief moment. You don’t really mind, talking felt too draining right now.

“Ellie’s still learnin’, she can’t even go out on patrol by herself. Tommy and Maria have the baby now.” Joel’s fingers squeeze again, a nervous tic he’s picked up when he’s got himself wrapped around you, the urge to say things he wishes he could but can’t. You’re begging for it now, wondering if this was the moment. “I couldn’t live with myself if things went the other way.”

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

Joel was a killer. Is. But, with good intentions. Not that it was needed anymore.

Survival, family, protection. He’s killed for the wrong reasons and the good ones, but it’s never been something you’ve judged him on. You never even questioned it. You accepted it, moved on, and treated him like everyone else. But, of course, there was a tinge of sweetness that creeped in, got him all caught and wound up in your web.

“Did she give you any trouble last night?” It’s a quick turn from the heavy conversation you were having, but it isn’t lost on you. He’s silently asking things to shift to something else.

“No more than the usual,” You shrug, talking softly in the early morning ambience, wind howling outside his bedroom window, a storm brewing on the horizon, “I don’t think it’s me that you should be worried about her giving trouble anyways.”

He would be stuck here in Jackson for a few days. You’ve never been more thankful for shitty weather in a goddamn apocalypse.

“That kid loves you.” Joel comments fondly, and I do too.

“Only because I help her and Dina sneak out during town movie nights,” You admit, glancing away sheepishly, “she really worries about you.”

Joel nods knowingly, his usual scowl returning to his face. You reach forward, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone—in this light he looks fine, untouched and perfect, but he winced at the contact. He’s a tough man, but he’s not invincible.

The touch of his fingers as they wrap around your palm are instinctive, he’s careful that he doesn’t startle you by the quick action, but it’s almost like he’s being shocked and brought back to hours before, the one hit they managed to land on him.

You’ve seen a few of Joel’s violent outbursts, yelling matches upon yelling matches with Tommy but it’s never been directed at you. You retract slightly, fingers curling over the top of his own.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, “I didn’t realize—“

“I would never hurt you.” Joel says adamantly, but you can’t help but feel puzzled. “I’m not a monster.”

That idea never crossed your mind.

“Defending yourself doesn’t make you a monster, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t know why he feels the need for validation.

“Maria—she thought I,” Joel laughs sadly, a huff of air that borders on defeat, “Tommy was hitchin’ the horses up and she saw me first, without him and she thought I left him behind. That I sacrificed my own damn brother to save my ass.”

Maria had never been fond of Joel, that much was always apparent, even from the moment you met. She tolerated him because he was Tommy’s brother but that was all. There was no way around it.

“I’ve done plenty of shit to cement my place in hell somewhere, and so has Maria,” You tell him, “Doesn’t matter what she thinks, Tommy knows you would never do that.”

Joel squeezes your waist tighter, the soft skin molding under his calloused fingertips, “You’re too damn good to me.”

The kissing starts slowly, a soft caress as Joel moves in closer, and doesn’t even try—he waits for you, teasing you with a touch until you can’t fight anymore and you press your lips against his gently. It’s the first time in the last several hours that Joel doesn’t feel like he’s drowning, barely skimming the surface to keep himself afloat.

He feels horrible, using you like this—coping with things by stowing them away and surrounding himself with you in a hope that you wouldn’t ask anymore questions, that he would have to explain his actions or justify them. But, you taste too damn sweet under his tongue and he prods until you let him in, a small sigh leaving your mouth as your lips part.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He swears like a symphony, sounding more devious than it should as it leaves his lips, “Can’t keep at this, not with Ellie upstairs.”

“Joel, she’s not here.” It’s not so obvious to Joel, who’s just about as oblivious to every teen antic thrown his way. “She’s out with Dina, probably. That’s usually where she goes when she’s upset.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I heard her moving around when you were asleep,” You explain quietly, jostling your head slightly on the pillow until Joel’s situated over you slightly, his head resting in the palm of his hand that held him upright, “it’ll do you some good to talk to her in the morning.”

Joel nods knowingly, half-smiling as he pushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb finding the sensitive dip behind your lobe and rubbing until you couldn’t hold your laughter in, letting it bubble out weakly before falling silent, a soft, but serious look growing across your features.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” You tell him, “please.”

“C’mere,” Joel nudges his chin upwards, drawing you in close, “I’m not goin’ down without a fight, darlin’.”

“I’m serious,” You don’t need to force a love confession on him, not that it would salvage anything or make things better, because Joel already understands—there’s too many instances where he’s felt his heart tug in all the weird, uncomfortable places he’s kept locked away since he was younger, before the outbreak, before Sarah, “you can’t do that anymore.”

“I’m here,” Joel assures you, forehead pressed firm against your own as he nods, “I’m right here.”

He failed to mention how after the attack, the split second of everything flashing through his memory, the possibility of losing Tommy, disappointing Ellie, that you were the one thing that kept him conscious enough to come home.

He’d left you with a burning kiss the day he left, kissing like two lovebirds trying to keep a secret as you hung around the stables as the pairs readied to leave.

It was his own little promise of a return, but you didn’t realize in just what shape. He was good at masking, even now. Joel was hurting, but all he wanted was you.

And you could give him that.

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Joel hums, soft and quiet, “Don’t move,” He pleads, “need you right here.”

His palms are heavy, feeling so much larger than they should as they span the length of your body, pulling you in close and cradling you like a safety blanket. Maybe you should stop, it isn’t the best route to cope with the situation, but Joel is there—wanting and needing and he’s mouthing at the junction of your neck in a way that has you gasping for air.

He needs you to occupy his mind, it’s what you did best for him. Joel needed somewhere else to be, anywhere but the hellscape behind his eyes when sleep succumbed to his pure exhaustion.

Just a moment. Just a moment to breathe. To feel.

Your brow furrows so deep that you're scowling now, but mostly out of concern, forehead scrunching from the emotion and you cradle Joel’s face carefully between your hands, “Tell me what you need.”

You.

He doesn’t say as much, but you can feel him sifting for your tattered pajama pants as he digs his fingertips under the waistband and yanks, hoping you’ll get the idea.

Okay, this is fine. He needs sex, you can provide him that. But, you won’t let him escape. Joel needed to be present and here with you, not forcing himself to some far off space in his mind and keeping you around him like nothing more than a warm body for him to fuck.

He’s got you all pliant under his touch as he needs at soft skin, thumb digging into your hip bone as he shifts between your legs lazily, spreading you wide and using the arm that is holding most of his weight to unfurl his hand and reach for that tight space behind your knee, tucking that leg up and over his right hip—this feels undoubtedly vulnerable, but he’s staring at you with those eyes and you absolutely fucking melt, his mouth parted by mere centimeters as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

“Go on, darlin’,” Joel encourages, “I know you need it too.”

That was an understatement.

He’s already hard, head of his cock resting against the small expanse of skin between his groin and belly button. It’s like a wave of heat that rushes over your bodies when you finally touch him how he’s been begging—not so much with words but pleading looks. He needs it even more than you do.

Usually you would spend a while in the throes of leisurely foreplay, letting Joel devour you until you were nothing but a heap of numbness on the bed and only then would he allow you what you were begging for the entire time. His cock, buried deep enough inside you that it felt impossible. But, there was none of that.

Your thumb slides over the head, smearing the precum in a too teasing motion that has Joel cursing under his breath before you’re abruptly guiding him to your core, slick and waiting without a single touch, embarrassingly so. Fortunately, you and Joel were long over that. Joel was overly aware of the effect he had on you—mind, body, and soul.

He slides home and you have to take a moment, a second to breath, chest expanding with a full breadth of air as Joel pulls you in closer, if that was even possible, warm hands settling firm on your hips, his head resting against the pillow you both shared, “There she is,” Joel comments vexingly, “always know what you need, right, baby?”

As good as it feels to hear him, the way he can melt you with a single phrase or sound, he’s still on guard in the way he’s shielding himself against your body, rocking his hips in a motion that drowns out all relative thinking and it builds, builds until you can’t take it and you feel like you just might burst. You slip a hand out from under him to pull at the chain on his bedside lamp, drowning you in a soft yellow glow and Joel doesn’t look right away—that’s how you know.

“Switch me,” You suggest softly, followed by an even lower, disgruntled noise from Joel, “—Joel, come on.”

Joel feels that distant ache in his bones, the soreness in his hands from the damage they caused, he groans with the movement, but even louder with the way you sink back down onto him once he’s settled against the mattress, hands fisted into his shirt and rumpling it up his stomach, revealing a few inches of soft skin, grinding down against him until he’s nearly writhing. His mouth opens slightly, ready to say something you didn’t want to hear.

You offer a soft shhh, eyes focused on the lines of his face, beautiful with age and scrunched up in pleasure, eyes closed as he settles into the feeling of you again, “Stay with me,” You jeer quietly, a soft giggle settling on the surface as you smile, ever so slightly, ”‘can you do that?”

Sometimes it feels like an impossible feat, but Joel grips you a little tighter, pulls you in ever the more closer and the slick of your body feels so goddamn good, he doesn’t even realize his thought breached his lips before your breath is hot against his ear, his mind battling the thoughts buried under the surface and every filthy thing he could blurt out in the moment, he’s so tense with anticipation, “Stop thinking so hard, Joel. You’re home. Safe.”

And for once, he gives in. A long, hard fought battle that succumbs to his own exhaustion, allowing the kinder touches, the intimate glances between two people, almost like your fingertips were grazing each other’s souls. It’s felt intense before, but this moment is sharp around the edges and Joel knows what you need to hear. He’s fought it for a while, trying to right his wrongs, remind himself still, that he didn’t deserve you. He’s done fighting.

“Just need you, darlin’.” He admits gruffly, lips sliding against each other in a messy, lazy attempt at a kiss, “Always know just what to do.”

In other words, you could read Joel like a book.

And in the few years you’ve known him, you were hoping that was the case, considering the level of intimacy you’ve reached. Joel comes with a tired, drawn out groan that pierces you deep, and you’re right there—right there, before Joel is flipping you over with little fight on your end, sucking on your clit with a ferocity that doesn’t let up, coming with a shout as you grip his hair at the root, riding out the extent of your climax against his mouth as he eased you into your sated state of exhaustion.

The comedown is heavy, long, extended bouts of silence as you two try to catch your breath, slow your pounding hearts and Joel, at some point, finds his way higher up your body, his head laying against your chest, just underneath your breasts and it's an easy position to rub your fingers into his hair, along the planes of his face. He'd never admit it, but this is his favorite part. The after.

For you, it was everything.

"I want you around more often," Joel says quietly, like a whisper, "—m'tired of worrying about you when you're not around."

It almost makes you think you slipped into some sort of fugue state, not believing that the Joel Miller had said anything remotely close to a confession. But, then again, he surprised you every day. And you knew he couldn't ask you outright, not now, maybe not ever.

But, you'd settle for this.

"I'm not going anywhere, Joel." You promise, "You've always got me to come home too."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #my writing #posting this and hiding for another six months #pedrostories

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penvisions · 19 days

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by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress.

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time.

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

��Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain, you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided. “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

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imtryingbuck · 2 months

Text

Thirty

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 5,109

Warnings: angst, heavy use of pet names. Engagement. Wedding. Death (Cancer) someone makes an appearance. Swearing. Fluff.

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

~Two and a half years ago~

The barbeque get-together that Howard and Maria was throwing was in full swing, Y/n and Bucky along with Steve and Sam was sitting at a wooden bench laughing at something that Tony had shouted to Morgan – his daughter.

Y/n sat there with Bucky’s arm around her shoulders listening to whatever he was talking about with the boys, every now and again he would press a kiss to her temple. Her eyes drifted over to where her dad and George was manning the grill, chuckling softly as George pulls Howard closer and all but force him to dance along with the music that was playing through the speakers. Every time her eyes caught her mommas and Winnie’s both women smiled brightly and turned to each other to whispering to each other.

“Son, come here” George shouted.

“Be back in a second pretty girl” Bucky told her, getting up and walking over to his dad and Howard. Maria and Winnie soon following, as well as Sam and Steve. Then Tony and Pepper – his wife. Then Rebecca – Bucky’s sister – joined them.

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion she went to get up but Morgan came bouncing over to her “Auntie Y/n do you like my wings?”

“I do sweetie”

“Do you want some?”

“I do”

“I can ask uncle Bucky to get you some”

Chuckling at the four year old she nodded “I would appreciate it if you did”

“Then we can match all the time and be fairies”

“That would be amazing-“

“Morg come here darling” Pepper called for her daughter.

Morgan turned to face her mom and confused Y/n even more by asking “Did I do good mommy?”

“You did sweetheart” Pepper replied, smiling at Y/n.

Everyone moved closer together as Bucky moved towards Y/n, smiling softly he took her hand in his.

“Y/n I love you more than anything in this world. You are my light, my happiness, my sweet Bunny. I am forever grateful for meeting you that day in the woods, because if I didn’t I would have never known the true meaning of love. Bunny will you do me the honours of being my wife?” Getting down on one knee he holds out a box, inside a gorgeous diamond ring.

“Yes” she whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “Yes I’ll marry you Ducky!”

Jumping up her picks her up and spins her around, placing kisses all over her face and finally her lips.

Everyone erupted in cheers. Congratulating the couple on their engagement. The moms had the audacity to act as if they hadn’t seen the ring before, the dads wiped their tears before anyone could see them.

“I love you Bunny”

“I love you Ducky”

It had been two and a half years since they were engaged, there was a few setbacks that made them not rushing into marrying.

First setback was their new home, both sets of parents paid for it as an early wedding gift, it was a beautiful house she had to admit but for Y/n it was way too big just for the two of them. A large gorgeous kitchen, two living rooms, two offices – one going to be turned into a library. Six bedrooms. Yes six. Three and a half bathrooms.

Gorgeous but way too big.

Not wanting to upset anyone or seem ungrateful she placed a huge smile on her face as she hugged her parents and surrogate parents turned in-laws. Moving in and redecorating took longer than planned.

The second setback was Bucky taking over his dads company. There was a lot of business he needed to take care of and Y/n understood, so the wedding got pushed back once again.

The third being Y/n’s biological father showing up.

She was walking down the street with Bucky, Steve and Sam. The plan was to buy some more furniture for the house, and Steve and Sam just had to come too.

The guys went into one store as Y/n went to get a drink from across the street. Everything was fine until-

“Y/n? Y/n” She couldn’t understand why that voice sounded so familiar to her ears until she turned around.

“Hi baby…wait don’t you recognise me? Y/n it’s me, your dad.”

No. No this was not happening. Nope this was a very bad nightmare, come on Y/n wake up.

“Surprised to see me aren’t you? I got out on good behaviour”

Nope, nope this was just life taking the mickey out of me. Wakey wakey Y/n!

“Why are you being weird for? Come and give your old man a cuddle”

The thought of touching you makes my skin crawl. Where the hell is Ducky when I need him? No no no no stay away from me!

“Look how you’ve grown baby girl”

Why aren’t you moving Y/n? What is wrong with you? Ducky? Ducky where the hell are you?

“Bunny? Can you get away from my fiancée, like now!”

Ducky you’re here! Thank God! Please get him away from me!

“Fiancée? Wow my little girl is all grown up indeed, she’s getting married man!”

“Wha-Bun do you know this man?”

“Did they change her name when she was adopted?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m her dad”

Bucky stood straighter at the man’s words. Placing his body in front of hers as a shield he looked back at the store hoping Steve or Sam would see and come out, he needed to get his Bunny way from the monster solely responsible for the pain and suffering she went through.

“Get away from her” Bucky voice dropped low.

“She’s my daughter”

“No she isn’t, don’t ever come near her ever again.”

“Why what are you going to do? Bet I can still control the little cunt. Y/n get here!”

It was a good job that Bucky had been standing in front of her as her foot moved on its own accord.

“Don’t. Don’t call her that”

Sam looked outside pulling on Steve’s arm when he noticed the way Bucky was standing in front of Y/n, and the way she was trying to make herself look smaller behind her fiancés back.

Jogging across the road, Steve slapped his hand on a cars bonnet when the driver nearly ran him and Sam over. “Buck what’s going on?”

“Sam take Bunny down the street. Now”

“Okay-okay. Sunshine come with me sweet girl” coaxing her hands away from Bucky’s jacket as she gripped on for dear life. “Come on Sunny, I got you”

Sam wrapped his strong arms around her shielding her from the prying eyes of strangers he led her down the street, already knowing where to take her. He heard Bucky tell Steve to ring Howard. Sucking in a breath and pulling his best friend, his Sunshine closer to him when he heard Bucky saying who the man was.

Fifty-four minutes later – Sam timed it – the bell ringing chimming over the door signalled someone had entered. He sat them both in the far corner, he watched as she sat on the floor in the corner as she stroked the large black and white cat in her arms.

“Bun?”

“Over here Buck” Sam answered. That’s when he saw Bucky, Steve, Howard, George and Tony. Each of them having blood on their clothes.

“Bunny, baby-it’s me Ducky” Bucky had to tell her when she flinched when he touched her knees.

“D-Ducky?” hearing her sound so small broke their hearts, wanting to go back and beat the prick up even more.

“It’s me baby, who’ve you got today?” he asked referring to the cat in her arms. It wasn’t uncommon for Y/n to come to the cat café on Main Street, sometimes when things got too much for her she would go there spending hours just playing with the cats, sometimes she even helped out the staff if they were busy.

“Mr Nibbles” great name for a cat that nibbled on anything and everything. Who was currently nibbling on her jumper.

“How are you feeling Bun?”

“Stupid”

“Why do you feel stupid baby?”

“I always thought that if I ever saw him again I would call him all the names under the sun, you know? Or at least hurt him but no I just stood there like a frigging idiot not knowing what to frigging say because I’m frigging stupid!”

“Bun you’re not stupid so don’t ever call yourself that ever again. You wasn’t expecting him to appear baby, it’s not your fault-“

“I froze Bucky! I frigging froze an-an-and I didn’t know what to do. I-I-I-“

“Y/n breath-“

Shaking her head, she couldn’t, she needed him to know why she froze. She needed to explain. She couldn’t let him think she was weak. “I recognised his voice straight away, of course I did it haunts my nightmares. I turned around Bucky an-and I wanted to tell him how much I frigging hate him, how much I wished it was him that died and not my mama. I wanted him to know that no matter h-how much he thought he won he didn’t because he didn’t, did he Bucky? No-no-no-no he didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t”

Not being able to stomach seeing his daughter struggle and stumble over words anymore Howard pushed Bucky out of the way, knocking Mr Nibbles off his daughters lap and pulled her into his arms.

“You’re right angel he didn’t win, he never will baby and I promise you that right now” he spoke with determination to make her understand that she had not only won by living a life surrounded by so many people who loved and adored her. Howard knew that everyone Y/n had around her all thanked whoever had brought her to them, because he did. Every night. Y/n was the light that brightened their lives. The sweetest, kindest, warmest souls out there and they were lucky to call her daughter, sister, fiancée, friend – hell even acquaintance. No matter what she saw the good in people, always happy to help family, friends and strangers.

But not only did she win she also survived. She survived the abuse she suffered, the orphanage, the bullying, the attack done by Brock. She proved the doctors wrong when they told Winnie and George that she wasn’t going to survive the attack from that bastard, by opening her eyes. She survived when she stood in the witness box of the court room and she told a room full of strangers what not only her but her mama had gone through.

Howard Stark was proud to call her his daughter.

Bucky had the wedding date pushed back once again, on the account of Y/n had been too scared to leave their home.

Months passed and Bucky was notified that Y/n’s biological father had been found in a ditch, dead. Nobody knew what or who did it, not like it mattered.

The fourth and final setback was Maria’s cancer diagnosis.

One night when Bucky and Y/n were asleep in bed the phone ringing woke both of them up, Bucky answered groggily sitting up straight away when he heard Tony’s voice on the other side sounding like he had been crying.

“Buck?”

“Baby w-we need to go, come on get dressed”

“What is it? What’s gone off?”

“Bun…it’s your mom. Baby she’s in hospital-” Though she could see his lips moving she just couldn’t hear the words he was speaking.

Getting out of the bed and rushing to her side of the wardrobe she put on whatever clothes she grabbed first. Practically flying down the stairs she rushed out of the house. Bucky following behind closely, trying to get her to slow down but it was no use.

Arriving at the hospital she instantly found Tony, running straight up to him she asked what had happened.

“Dad found her in the kitchen coughing up blood. Y/n/n I-I don’t know much more, Albert – Howard’s brother - rang me telling me to get here as soon as I could.”

“B-but she’s okay right? She will be won’t she Tone? Tony?”

“I-I don’t know Y/n, I don’t know”

By the time Bucky had gotten to them he saw brother and sister holding on to each other crying.

After multiple blood tests the doctor sat the family down the next day as Bucky waited in the waiting room with George and Winnie. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this but the results came back and it is stage four cancer. Lung cancer can be treated with surgery however the mass is too big for us to go down that route, we can also slow it down with the help of chemotherapy but sadly it will not cure it-“

“H-how long do I have left?” Maria interrupted, her hand gripping Howards.

“I can’t say for certain, it varies with everyone-“

“Can you give me a rough estimate? I’m sorry that I keep interrupting you”

“Don’t apologies, I understand. With treatment between seven to sixteen months, maybe even longer. Without treatment a few weeks to a few months” the doctor said regretfully.

“Months. Okay. Okay. That’s okay. When do I start treatment?”

“We can start the process next week”

“Okay, I’ll do it. My daughter is getting married soon a-and I want to see her walk down the aisle, you see” Maria smiled as if she hadn’t just found out that she’s dying.

The doctor smiled too “I’ll make sure that you see that happen”

Truthfully Howard, Tony and Y/n didn’t hear the rest of the conversation – their ears going fuzzy when the doctor said stage four cancer. Only snapping out of it when the door closed behind the doctor, leaving the family to come to terms with the results.

Telling Bucky and his parents, Winnie burst out crying at hearing her oldest friend was going to die. George trying to comfort his wife and best friend. Bucky took Y/n’s hand and took her outside for fresh air.

“It’s not fair Ducky, it’s not fair” she cried “It must be a mistake, it has to be. Yes they made a mistake!”

Even though he knew it was unlikely, he agreed with her. “It’s not fair baby, I know. Maybe they got it wron-“

“There’s no maybe Bucky. They got it wrong! My momma isn’t dying, she isn’t!”

“I know Bunny I know” he didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there and held his fiancée tight in his arms as she soaked his shirt through with her tears.

When Maria heard that Y/n wanted to push the date back just until things had settled down, she was against it at first she tried to argue with her daughter but ultimately got cut off with a coughing fit.

Now six months after her momma’s diagnosis Y/n was standing in the hotel room in front of the ceiling to floor mirror in her wedding dress. Wanda was behind her fixing the back of the dress and her hair at the same time. Nat was taking photos of everyone. Maria sat in the wheelchair she had been using for the past few months, Winnie sat next to her holding her friends hand. Both mothers crying at the image of Y/n in her wedding dress and at the fact that their babies were marrying each other, finally.

On the other side of the city Bucky was doing the same. Standing in front of ceiling to floor mirror in a hotel, Steve helping him fix his tie. Sam taking photos of them all. George and Howard sitting on the bed next to each other drinking whiskey. Both fathers feeling an overwhelming sense of pride at seeing Bucky standing there in his suit, knowing that in just in two hours that he will be marrying the love of his life.

Bride and groom to be both excited and nervous at the knowledge that they’ll be joined as one in two hours.

It was time to leave for the church when Nat stopped Y/n. “Bucky told me to give you this when we was on our way” handing over an envelope Nat gave her best friend a kiss on her cheek before helping Wanda with helping Maria into the car.

Finally seated in the car she opens the envelope containing a photo. At first she was confused as it was just a topless photo of Bucky until she turned the photo around.

She burst out laughing.

‘This is a reminder of what I looked like before we got married.’

“What is it?” Maria asked chuckling.

Showing her momma the photo and telling her to turn it over Maria too started to laugh, which made everyone else intrigued, one by one everyone started to laugh.

Bucky sure knew how to make her nerves settle even when they were apart.

When Steve saw Y/n in her dress he knew Bucky was going to cry. It was going to be the easiest fifty bucks he was going to win. Yes he and Sam made a bet on whether Bucky would cry or not. The bridemaids and groomsmen were in places, Nat and Steve, Wanda and Sam, Rebecca and Tony. Pepper was to help Morgan as she was the flower girl. Winnie had pushed Maria down already and were both waiting for the music to play along with everyone else.

The music had begun and everything was going perfect just like they had practiced but as Y/n put one foot out she just couldn’t move.

“Angel…”

“Dad-dad-I-something’s wrong”

“Nothing’s wrong sweetie, come on James is waiting for you angel”

“No-no it feels wrong. I can’t-“

Bucky looked at Steve, then his dad they both saw the pure fear in his blue eyes. George nodded to his son and smiled reassuringly before making his way out to see what was going on.

“Hey what’s wrong?” he asked seeing father and daughter standing there, Howard shook his head.

“I want you to walk me down the aisle as well George. Please.”

Oh how his heart leapt in his chest.

“Ar-are you sure darling?”

“Yes, it’s only right. That’s if that’s okay with both of you?”

“Of course” Howard and George spoke at the same time.

The music started again and everyone’s attention turned to the double doors as the three stepped over the threshold. Friends and family smiling as Howard, Y/n and George walked by, some of them muttering about how beautiful she looked.

Bucky stood there with tears streaming down his face at seeing his Bunny. Nat and Wanda rolled their eyes when they saw Steve smiling and Sam shaking his head, knowing they had put a bet on their friends reaction.

Reaching him Y/n smiled softly at Bucky, giving both Howard and George a kiss on their cheeks she took Bucky’s waiting hand.

“I thought you ran away” Bucky whispered.

“No never, just wanted your dad to give me away as well”

As the pastor greeted everyone and began the ceremony Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from Y/n, nor could she with him.

“James you may read your vows”

“My beautiful Bunny, I love you more today than I did yesterday and I’ll love you more tomorrow than I did today. For as long as I am alive I promise to not only to keep loving you in the purest form but I promise that I will never let you ever second guess my love, loyalty and devotion for you. You are my soul mate, my better half, my Bunny. I promise in front of everyone here to cherish you, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall tear us apart”

Reaching out to wipe the tears that had fallen on her cheeks, the pastor waited for Bucky to move backwards before telling Y/n that it was her turn to read her vows.

“My beautiful Ducky-“ she started knowing he always blushed when she called him beautiful or pretty. “I have loved you since I knew the real meaning of it. When I look at you all I see is my future, our future. Like I told you on our first date its always been you. You’ve always been my beacon, my happiness. You have saved me so many times I don’t think you realise how many. I will always love you more and more as our days go by and that’s my promise to you. I promise in front of everyone here to cherish you, to honour and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall tear us apart”

It was now her turn to wipe the tears that fell from his bright blue eyes.

“Rings please” Nat and Steve stepped forward handing the rings over “James repeat after me- With this ring I, James, take you, Y/n, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

Repeating the words, making sure his voice was strong so she knew he was as serious as he has ever been, he slips the ring on to her finger.

“Y/n repeat after me- With this ring I, Y/n, take you, James, to be no other than yourself. Loving what I know of you, and trusting what I do not yet know, I will respect your integrity and have faith in your abiding love for me, through all our years, and in all that life may bring us.”

She too repeats the words, she puts the ring on his finger.

“Y/n and James, you have come here today before us and before God and have expressed your desire to become husband and wife. You have shown your love and affection by joining hands, and have made promises of faith and devotion, each to the other, and the receiving of the rings. Therefore, it is my privilege as a minister and by the authority given to me by the State of New York, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife. James, you may kiss your wife”

The whole church erupted in cheers as Bucky took Y/n’s face in both hands and kissed her passionately.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to introduce to you for the first time Mr and Mrs Barnes”

Their first dance as man and wife was to Unchained Melody, as they danced on the dance floor Y/n noticed the way her dad was looking at her mom, and how George looked at Winnie. The same way Bucky looked at her. Full of love. Nothing more, nothing less.

Y/n caught her momma’s eyes and nodded.

Winnie stood and helped Maria stand. Howard shooting straight up as her legs were lightly wobbly. Before he could ask what was going on Y/n spoke “Instead of doing the traditional father and daughter dance, I would like my father and mother to dance alongside me and Ducky, the same for Winnie and George”

As the music continued both sets of parents danced on either side of their children. Bucky couldn’t stop looking at his wife, his heart soaring at being able to call her that now, his trousers tenting too. Don’t judge him.

As the night draw close, Bucky and Y/n thanked everyone for coming and took their leave back to the hotel that Bucky had gotten dressed, celebrating on their own. As husband and wife.

The next morning they were off on their honeymoon. Greece.

Six weeks after being married and four weeks after coming back from their honeymoon Y/n sat on the toilet checking her watch every few minutes, the white pregnancy test seemed to have grown eyes as it was staring back at her. Bucky sat on the side of the bath, his knee bouncing, checking his own watch.

“Baby it’s time”

“You check I’m too scared”

A noise between a laugh and a sob made it way out of Bucky’s mouth as the positive sign was there.

“What? What does it say?”

“Positive. Bunny your pregnant!”

Standing up and taking the test from his hands not really believing him, Bucky got down on his knees his hands going straight to her stomach, lifting her shirt up he kissed the flat surface.

“Ducky…we-we’re going to be parents”

“We are my love”

The bathroom filled with laughter mixed with cries.

And then the phone rang.

Arriving at her parents’ home as fast as they could, Pepper greeted them. “In their bedroom” is all she said.

Running up the stairs Bucky tried to get her to slow down without blurting out the reason but it was no use. She needed to see her momma.

“Momma-I’m-I’m here”

“Oh my sweet girl” Maria croaked out, looking weak and so small in the double size bed. Her hair long gone, skin wrapping it’s self tightly around her skeleton. Though she didn’t look like herself but a shell of what she once was, Y/n thought her momma was still as beautiful as she was the day they had first met. “I’m so pr-proud of you, y-you know that don’t you?”

“I know m-momma”

“Oh b-baby plea-please don’t cry, I’m always go-going to be with you. Always.” Taking her daughters hand in her frail one Maria knew it wasn’t long until she left her husband and children behind to head up to the pearly white gates in the sky.

With her family around her, she was happy. Her eyes scanned the room, her husband on her right holding her hand, her only son who she was so unbelievably proud of everything he achieved in his life sitting on the chair close to his father, Pepper who she was proud to call her daughter-in-law standing behind Tony. George standing against the wall, the man gave her the life she had from the moment he introduced her to Howard. Winnie-her dearest and longest friend tucked in George’s side. Bucky who she help deliver when he decided that he had been in the womb for long enough, the one she was proud to call her son-in-law even in the short period that he had been married to her daughter, standing by his parents.

And her pride and joy, Y/n. Though she wasn’t biologically hers yet she never treated her any different to Tony, no never. Maria’s love for her daughter was pure and real, she always wanted a daughter and she knew she could leave this world happily knowing she had the sweetest, kindest people to call her daughter.

“Momma, I ne-need to tell you something”

“Wha-what is it sweetie?” Y/n leaned in so she could whisper to her the news. That she was going to be a grandma again.

“Oh swe-sweetie th-that is amazing” gesturing for Y/n to come closer so she could whisper in her ears. “Make sure they know that I love them e-even t-though I wo-won’t meet them”

“I w-w-will momma. Promise”

Thirty minutes later hand in hand with her husband and daughter, surrounded by her loved ones Maria closed her eyes and took her last breath with the only regret being that she wasn’t strong enough to meet her unborn grandbaby.

Two weeks later it was time to say goodbye properly by burying Maria, Howard couldn’t find it in himself to stand long enough to do the eulogy. Tony couldn’t find the words to do it so Y/n told them that if it was okay with them she would.

Now standing there in a church packed full of family, friends and strangers she started to regret saying she would do it. But she couldn’t fail her momma, not today.

“As many as you know I’m- I was adopted when I turned eight by my parents. I was brought into their home, their lives, I was accepted and loved by them. I never once felt out of place growing up or felt alone, I never felt like I was different because they always made sure I knew I was truly loved. My momma was always there for me when I needed her, she was the best person to go to for help and advice. She was the best mom ever and I was truly blessed to have her as mine. There’s no doubt in my mind that my momma will be with my mama and be talking her ear off” she stops as everyone chuckles. “Maria Stark was the one of the best women I have ever met, she didn’t care about your past, whether you was rich or poor, as long as you was kind-a good person she was happy to talk to you. She helped anyone who needed to be helped. She saw good in those damaged and I’m the perfect example of that.”

“My momma wouldn’t have wanted people to cry at her funeral so please don’t, dry your tears and smile. Smile at the memories of her, smile at remembering how she was, smile when your think of the name Maria Stark and all the good that comes with the name. Maria Stark was an incredible, strong, beautiful woman, please don’t ever forget her. On behalf of my father and brother I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming here today to celebrate the life of a wife, mother and friend, thank you”

Y/n steps down from the podium, her hands shook as she moved towards Bucky who stood up and took her hand in his. “I’m so proud of you baby” he whispered into her ear.

As her momma was placed into her final resting place and the flowers started to overflow Y/n stood back and let everyone say their final goodbyes first. As everyone moved away and started to go back to their cars all that was left was Howard, Tony, Bucky’s parents, Bucky and Y/n.

Y/n looked to her right, her breath hitching caused Bucky too look over at her. Following with his eyes at what she was staring at he released a stuttering breath.

Howard caught onto what Y/n had saw, putting his rose on top on the pile of flowers and saying his goodbyes to his wife, his only love, he moved over to his daughter. Kissing her forehead, he squeezed his eyes shut before whispering.

“Your momma wanted to be buried next to the woman who gave her, her daughter”

A/N: I wrote Maria’s death whilst listening to For Whom The Bell Tolls by Bee Gees…and I had to stop three times because I was ugly crying.

Tags: @cjand10 @unaxv @mcira @bisexualnikkisixx @kneelforloki @kandis-mom @sagebarness @sandyruston @scott-loki-barnes @nikkivillar @saltedcoffeescotch @scentedharmonymiracle @examinarei @sarcastickiddo @sadboiabby @unholyhuntress @8crazy-freak8 @ijustneedpopcorn @moonbeampillgoth @imcinnamoons @elmo-1066 @violetwinterwidow01 @suz7days @adoredire @ozwriterchick @randomrosie01 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @emerald-writes @justafangir1 @sibsteria @spencerreidisagorgman @sapphirebarnes @bruher @hawkinsavclub1983 @onlyonetifosi @parisadams @unabashedstarlightcrown @nash-dara @allofffmypeaches @loki-laufeyson68 @behindmygreyeyes @missvelvetsstuff @pigeonmama @lizslibrary @gloriouspurpose01 @gaya-is-weird-af

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katiexpunk · 3 months

Note

You may have done this before, I haven’t read all your work, but How about Joel and Tommy (or just Joel 😜) take you on a horse ride, out into the woods and end up having a fun time on the grass

Tell Me a Secret | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Non, thank you so much for this request. I hope you enjoy this! I love getting requests from ya'll, makes my heart so happy.xx As a side note, this will be my final fic as an unmarried woman. My wedding is in less than a month (!!!!)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Word Count: 7.8K | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: References to canon typical violence. It's hinted that readers father was abusive. Death. Blood. Reader is an artist. Ellie/Sarah/Tommy/Maria and others are referenced in this. Ellie and Reader are friends. Alcohol. Angst. Horses. Pining. Oral (female receiving). Praise kink. Pet names. Emotional sex. Very unprotected sex. They fuck outside, but nobody is around. Joel makes a questionable choice in this one that invades readers privacy. Breeding kink if you squint. Creampie. Fingering. Lots of references to art and poetry. A surprise ending that might mean more later on... Immersibility: Reader has no physical descriptions apart from having hair, breasts, and a uterus. It is noted at one point that there is charcoal visible on her hands. No age gap is mentioned (make it your own). Creative Credits: the middle image of the graphic is a drawing by @kamal.classic.art on Instagram. The poem referenced at the end is by Olivia Ann Rose. The opening section is modified poetry from Brianna Pastor. Inspiration was pulled from the lake scene in The Princess Diaries 2. And shout out to our boi Leonardo da Vinci, cuz I reference the Mona Lisa.

It’s really easy to be angry.

Over the years, anger became so familiar to you that you had a difficult time differentiating between that and your sadness. Both felt equally daunting.

It’s difficult to work on your sadness with its roots are boiling with anger. Both don’t always look the way one might expect them to. Sometimes, the face of anger is neutral, a quiet rumble you don’t notice because it’s buried so deep.

That steady stream of anger and hurt seemed to trickle into every single thing that you did. You had become cold and numb to the reality of the world around you; an empty shell of who you once were.

And then you met Joel Miller.

He came along and started to nurture what you buried so deep that you eventually forgot what was even planted there.

And you did the same for him.

Like the sun, you elevated the ordinary with a simple touch. Your rays warmed the cockles of his heart he thought had gone so cold they could never be revived.

This is that story.

++++

It doesn’t take Ellie long to figure it out.

“Hey, give me that back!” You snap at her, attempting to pull the tattered notebook from her hands, but it’s pointless. Her tiny fingers must have been sumo wrestlers in another life, you wager. Putting space between both of your bodies by quickly walking backward, she locks eyes with you until her back is up against the makeshift bookshelf.

This is your favorite place in all of the Jackson – the makeshift library Maria started a few months back. It’s not much, but with your help, the collection is starting to grow. You’re quick to stuff books into your pack on raids and have summoned a handful of the townspeople to aid in this effort. It’s always quiet and peaceful; a stark contrast to the world outside the walls that keep you safe here.

Well, that was until a rather foul-mouthed 14-year-old named Ellie arrived in town. Despite your age difference, you two have become fast friends, even if she does annoy the shit out of you sometimes.

“Ellie, I am so serious right now, please give my notebook back,” you plead with her from across the room, your hands on your hips, a serious undertone to your voice.

“Why? Whatcha trying to hide so bad? Drawing a bunch of dicks or something?” she jokes.

When you don’t respond, her eyes widen in surprise. “Holy shit, dude. You are drawing a bunch of dicks, aren’t you!” she teases, resting the pads of her fingers in between the pages of the notebook, slightly parting the paper. All she’d have to do is move them a little and the pages would fall open, revealing your secrets faster than a Catholic at confession.

She starts to crack the spine of the notebook, but your voice calling out once more causes her pause. “No, wait, Ellie, stop,” you say a tad softer this time. “I’m not drawing a bunch of dicks, and even if I were, that’s not something you should be looking at – it’s…personal,” you respond, hoping the sincerity and softness you’re attempting to frost over the obvious bite of anger behind your voice will encourage her to listen.

She stares back at you, scanning your face up and down for a hint of the truth, thinking for a few moments.

“Fine,” she says. Your shoulders fall from your ears and the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding escapes from your lungs. She walks back over to you and extends her arm out, the notebook in hand, preparing to hand it over to you as if she’s some sort of General accepting a truce deal.

As you reach out to grab it, she lets it slip from her hands a few seconds too early. A nearly silent oops escapes her lips. The notebook falls to the floor with an audible thud, dropping as fast as a dead body, its pages falling open on both sides, like blood spilling on the floor.

Before you register what’s even happening, Ellie already has her knees on the floor, hovering over the open pages, a look of astonishment and delight on her face.

“Whoa – is that,” she asks, but before she can finish her sentence, you’re quickly snatching it up, snapping it closed with an audible thud. You both rise, and she’s looking at you, a smug smile of knowing on her face. Her smile grows like she’s just found some sort of secret treasure. “That was me, wasn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question, she already knows the answer.

You consider lying, but fuck it, you’re in too deep at this point. Plus, she may be only 14, but she’s smart as a whip, and you know she’d be able to call your bullshit from a mile away. Besides, she already saw the damn thing.

“Yes, okay, Ellie. Fine,” you concede. “It’s you. I – I like to draw,” you admit sheepishly like you’re afraid of what might come if you say it out loud.

It’s not that you’re not proud of your drawings, you are. The only thing you can attribute to your unwillingness to share your hobby with the world is akin to a trauma response.

Memories of your father ripping up your first notebook of drawings, the one he found under your pillow when you were a teenager, flash through your mind. Goosebumps litter your body when you swear you can still hear his raspy voice, harsh from the burn of whiskey, telling you that drawing won’t pay the bills and to knock that shit off or he’ll beat it out of you. He wasn’t particularly a man of his word, but somehow, he managed to keep that one. You’re not sure when the anger started to creep in, but you think it might have been then. Watching your hard work darken and crumble in the fire almost hurt worse than the sear his belt left behind.

“You were reading your comic over there the other day,” you admit, nodding your head toward the little nook by the window. “The light was just right, and well…I don’t know, I just got inspired and figured I’d give drawing you a shot,” you admit, voice soft and shy.

“Well you’re pretty fucking good at it,” Ellie admits.

You shove it down, the spark of happiness her words ignite in you, and it works. For now.

“Yeah, whatever,” you respond, clutching your not-so-secret secret closer to your chest. You aren’t good at taking compliments; especially now, after everything that’s happened.

“Can I have it?” Ellie asks. She rolls her eyes for a second, before eventually adding a please to the end of her request. You remember her telling you a few weeks back that Joel has been working with her on manners. You’d only met him once, but as far as you could tell, he was the southern gentleman, wounded dog, not to be fucked with, but still the impossibly polite type of man. The type of man that would punch another guy in the bar for questioning a lady’s honor, or stab him in the kneecap for looking at his girl the wrong way.

You consider her request for a moment, before eventually deciding that since it is her likeness, she should be the one to have it. You crack open the book, being careful to hide the other pages from her view before the familiar sound of paper ripping fills the room. You’re careful to tear it in a straight line, close to the spine, so as not to ruin the drawing.

With her portrait in hand, you bargain, “You can have this under one condition. You can’t tell anyone about this.” Ellie gives a subtle nod as if to agree. You don’t notice her middle and index fingers crossed tightly behind her back when you hand it over.

“So you’re sure you don’t have anything super naughty in there?” Ellie teases.

“Alright kid, no more dick jokes or Joel is gonna choke me,” you chide, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. Wouldn’t that be quite the piece of jewelry; a Joel Miller hand necklace. The truth is that while you don’t have anything super naughty, you do have more than one drawing of her guardian hiding in your pages. You’re not sure of much anymore, but there is one thing you do know for certain – those drawings are something she can never, ever, see. Those drawings are something nobody can ever see.

Ellie was quick to discover your secret.

Good thing it was just one of them.

You drape your arm over her shoulder and walk out of the library together.

++++

It all happens so quickly from that moment on.

It’s only spring, yet the Jackson grapevine is in full bloom, carrying the fruits of your talent to pretty much the whole town. You can’t say you’re surprised. What did you expect from a 14-year-old with minimal entertainment options?

It starts with Ellie letting it slip to Maria while they’re washing the dishes from family dinner with her, Tommy, and Joel.

Maria lets it slip to Tommy.

Tommy lets it slip to Samantha, the town’s soapmaker.

Samantha lets it slip to Joey, the butcher.

Joey lets it slip to – well – pretty much everyone else. You wouldn’t have guessed the town's butcher would be such a gossip, but dead cattle don’t make great conversationalists. Before you know it, you’re accepting some sort of art deal over porridge in the dining hall like it’s a shady drug deal.

“Come on, think of how happy it will make people,” Maria pleads with you. “You only have to do as many as you want,” she adds, looking at you with kind eyes, the ones that are nearly impossible to say no to.

You stare back at her in silence, attempting to piece together a response in your mind, but your words may as well be a 1,000-piece single-color puzzle at this point.

“So many of us don’t have those memories anymore. Think of how much it will mean to people to be able to put a drawing of their family up on their walls once more, you know?” she says, laying it on thick. Like how it used to be is what she leaves out.

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you respond, dropping your spoon on the wooden table next to your half-eaten bowl of breakfast. You feign annoyance, but deep down, you’re excited about the opportunity. Scared shitless, but excited.

“Yeah? Great. Oh just wait until I tell Tommy, he’s going to be ecstatic,” she says. “Now finish up, can’t have any of that food going to waste,” she quips, before swinging her leg over the bench and adjusting the brim of the cowboy hat on her head as she walks away, a smug look on her face.

++++

In the following days and weeks, you find yourself immersed in the lives of the residents of Jackson. Setting up your makeshift easel from scrap wood you collected on patrol in living rooms, on front porches, and amidst picturesque landscapes.

The people, once reserved, slowly begin to open up to you as they share stories and anecdotes of their lives before. It’s sweet, you think – how chatty people get when they have nothing to do but sit there while you try your best to capture their likeness.

Some conversations are easier than others. Most of the time you just nod your head and let out occasional nods or grunts of agreement, too immersed in your work to listen to what they’re saying, but sometimes you find yourself so engrossed in their stories that the drawings take hours to complete.

As much as you learn about them, you rarely open up about yourself. Sometimes they ask, sometimes they don’t. Regardless, you feel like the woman you were before no longer exists, she was left to decay with the rest of your family back in Austin. You know she’s in there, buried deep inside, hiding behind a door of anger and tears. Sometimes she cries out, but you buried the key to that lock years ago. No getting out now.

As the portraits accumulate, so does a sense of connection and unity. You’re no longer an unknown. A threat against resources. When you first arrived in town, you did your best to make yourself useful and show people that you weren’t just dead weight. And it worked, or you think it worked anyway, but the past few weeks have caused a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Before the apocalypse, you never really saw a place for your artwork or your talent. But now, you can see how it’s becoming a bridge, linking generations and weaving a tapestry of shared histories. Giving people something to cling to, something to hold on to, something to cherish once more.

Of all of the portraits you’ve done so far, your favorite is the one you did of Tommy and Maria. She hasn’t said anything yet, but from the way she placed her hand on her belly, and the way Tommy looked at her, it was pretty easy to guess. You did your best to capture their likeness, knowing it would likely be shown to generations to come. When you showed them the final result, Maria cried and hugged you tighter than you’ve been hugged in years. Their love was obvious – radiant and shiny. If anything were to make you believe in love again, wouldn’t seeing it right in front of your face be it? You try not to think about it too much when you realize it doesn’t.

You no longer have to walk the streets of Jackson, bouncing from place to place, alone. There’s always someone to talk to on your journey, or a comfortable silence paired with a subtle wave in the distance, or the occasional sound of a creaky screen door opening for you. Even before things went to shit, you never had this – community. With each finished portrait, you find yourself making a new friend.

You should be happy now. You know that. Your parasympathetic nervous system has had an opportunity to return to its normal state for the first time in years. You have the warmth of friends, and people like you. Like actually like you. They like what you’re doing, what you’re creating.

But you aren’t.

Because while you’re capturing the entire town's attention, you’re starting to realize you only care about attention when it’s from one person.

And unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to give two shits about you or what you create.

As you lay in bed that night, fidgeting with your necklace, you stare up at the ceiling and think about what started this whole infatuation in the first place. It was a drunken night, hardly anything. Not even a story worth repeating. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It was nothing.

But as you feel sleep calling you into its abyss, you remember the way his voice called your name that night and the heavy feeling of his gaze on your chest.

It was nothing.

Nothing.

That doesn’t stop you from dreaming about him that night.

++++

Being the town's only artist comes with its price. While most of the time you don’t mind the endless stream of hellos and requests for additional portraits, you’re not up for much conversation this morning.

You slept like absolute shit last night and decided that if you weren’t going to sleep through the night, you might as well be productive with your time. When your eyes fluttered closed thinking of what, and who, to draw, the image of Joel sipping a cup of coffee in the dining hall, reading an old Western book from your library, played on the screen of your heavy lids. You decided to put your feelings on paper and start a new portrait. After you woke up from your dream, probably around 3 am you guessed, you stayed up late enough to see the sun rise over the horizon, before eventually deciding that it was too late, early for most, to go to bed now.

Seeking solitude and shielding yourself from prying eyes, you make yourself at home in the stables. You perch on a weathered stool in the corner of the barn, perfectly positioned in the corner so your back is supported, and begin sketching the handsome grump. As if he was right in front of you, his features are regal; sharp jawline decorated with a salt and pepper beard, one of the patches faintly shaped like a heart, dark brown eyes that resemble those of a deer, the crinkled lines around his eyes and forehead that serve as proof of age. Arguably your favorite feature is his nose. Prominent, aquiline, like a bow that perfectly ties all of his facial features together. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man.

Completely immersed in your world, you lose track of time. You could have been sketching for twenty minutes or three hours, who’s to say. Exhaustion envelopes you in an embrace and you doze off in a peaceful slumber.

When Joel enters the stable for his morning shift, he catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye; perched up on a rickety old stool, head slumped over, resting on the wooden edge of the barn. Your arms are wrapped snuggly around your chest as if to keep yourself warm in the dewy morning air. As he approaches closer, treading carefully against the hay as if he were a cat trying to sneak up on its prey, he takes in the finer details of you peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware.

There’s charcoal on your hands, your lips are slightly parted and there’s a little glisten of drool pooling in the corner of your lips, and your hair slightly covers your face. Jesus, he thinks you’re gorgeous awake, but seeing you asleep – so vulnerable and tender – nearly causes his heart to skip a beat. He tries to ignore what it does to his cock. He knows you’re an artist, but with the way you look right now, hell, you might as well be the artwork, too.

He thinks he could stare at you for hours, but there’s something more pressing for him to look at first. He’s seen you carry your trusty notebook around, rarely ever setting it down, and certainly being very guarded when you have it cracked open around others – especially him. So when he sees it lying on the ground, he thinks…what could one look hurt? He doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. He’ll be satisfied once he knows what you’re hiding in there. Surely. One look, and he’ll wake you and that will be it.

After all, it’s just a peek.

He’s not quite sure what he expected, but this was most definitely not it. As if he were looking into a mirror, his reflection stares back at him from the dull matte of the pages. As he flips from one page to the next, he swears time stops altogether as he takes it in. Your secret.

As he scans the pages, something burns deep in the marrow of his bones, a fire and heat that exists only for you. Now that he knows your truth, he’s not sure he can stop what he does next. His large palm floats out to caress the underside of your jaw, and the pad of his thumb ghosts over the soft swell of your bottom lip. Before he lets himself get too carried away in his thoughts, he clears his throat.

“Mornin’,” a husky voice says, startling you. You all but launch into orbit and almost fall over like the stool, but the owner of the intruding voice grabs your elbow before your backside collides with the floor. You’re relieved to see that your saving grace is Joel, yet you’re burning with embarrassment at your clumsiness.

Joel clears his throat before speaking with his hand still grasping your elbow, “M’pologies, didn’t mean to startle ya, sweetheart.”

”Oh no, I was just…” you sputter out, still finding your bearings. He reluctantly removes you from his grip but not without letting his fingers trail across your skin as he lets go. The ghost of his touch is a noticeable one.

“Didn’t sleep well last night, I take it?” Joel asks, a softness to his voice.

“Afraid not,” you say, kicking your heel into the hay, trying your best to avoid his eyes so as not to spill all of your fucking guts. I was too busy thinking about you.

“You’re in luck, darlin’. I have just the thing to wake you up,” he says, “and ‘m not takin’ no for an answer,” he says with a wink.

“I’m sorry, am I speaking to Joel Miller? Have you been bitten? Are you feeling alright?” you joke, placing the back of your hand up to his forehead, a giant smile on your face.

“My reputation of being Jackson’s own Boo Radley precedes me, I see,” he jokes back.

You shoot him a look that says who the fuck is Boo Radley? Instead of giving you an explanation, he just chuckles like it’s an inside joke.

“Come on now, we’re goin’ for a ride,” he says with finality.

You try to ignore the heat that stirs low in your belly at the thought of riding with Joel Miller as he guides you deeper into the stables.

++++

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the picturesque landscape of Jackson. Situated in front of Joel on the horse, you close your eyes and exhale all the air from your lungs. You hold your lack of breath for a moment, before feeling your lower belly rise, taking in the crisp air laced with the scent of wildflowers and fresh blades of grass in through your nostrils.

Joel is an easy-riding partner. He doesn’t say much, yet you feel secure in his presence with your back nestled up against his chest, his thick arms wrapped around you, his capable hands holding the reigns, guiding the horse through the scenic trail with ease. You rub your eyes for a moment before opening them to take in the breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains far off in the distance, and the lush green meadows that surround you. You almost forgot beauty like this could exist.

Joel turns his head, following your gaze. A small smile tugs at the corners of his weathered lips as he agrees, "Looks like a good spot to take a break."

Guiding the horse toward the field, you both dismount and allow the horse to graze freely. Joel suddenly remembers he has a blanket tucked away in his saddlebag. He retrieves it and spreads it out in the clearing amidst the vibrant flowers.

Seated on the blanket, you unravel the satchel from over your shoulder and place it on the ground by your side while you simultaneously marvel at the beauty surrounding you. The sun plays hide-and-seek through the branches of nearby trees, creating dappled patterns on the ground. Joel settles beside you, gazing out at the open expanse.

As you bask in the splendor of the spring day, your attention fully absorbed by the vibrant beauty surrounding you, you inadvertently miss the subtle shift in Joel's focus. His gaze transitions from the scenic view to rest upon you. In a moment of silent admiration, he drinks in the essence of your being. His eyes trace the contours of your profile, lingering on the way the sunlight plays in your hair, transforming it into a golden halo that only seems to make his mouth water more.

He admires the view of you propped up on your elbows, eyes closed, heart center shining toward the sun, the swell of your breasts painted like a picture before him.

“Tell me your greatest desires,” he says.

As you open your eyes and turn to face him, as swift as the breeze you feel in your hair, you feel all of the air escape your lungs. Joel Miller is one beautiful fucking man. You’re momentarily lost in your own world as you admire the way he looks like this; relaxed, basking in the sun on a checkered blanket. His dark brown eyes are now a soft shade of amber, the silver streaks are a little more prominent in the sunlight, and the furrow of his brow has lessened.

“Alright. Tell me a secret” you respond, the corners of your lips threaten to turn up in a smile. You press up off your elbows and roll onto one on your side to face him.

“Isn’t that the same?” he asks, responding to your movement, mirroring it.

Now face-to-face, and chest-to-chest with him, inches only separating your bodies, you pause and let your eyes flint to his lips.

“Anyone can see your desires, no one knows what’s in your heart,” you say.

“Tell me something,” he says.

“I still dream of the taste of McDonald’s french fries,” you say, “and I’m not sure I know how to feel happiness anymore,” you say, as a matter a fact.

Your words reverb through his ears, and he stares at you in silence, unsure of how to respond.

“I used to be a contractor,” he admits, “and I had a daughter named Sarah.”

You look at him with soft, wide eyes. Pain is visible on your face, taking in what he’s yet to say. When you don’t respond, he adds, “She died in my arms on Outbreak day,” he admits, averting his gaze over your shoulder. His hands have somehow navigated to find a single blade of grass that he toys with in between his fingers.

“Fuck, Joel,” you pause in silence. Like your words could ever make up for his loss. Everyone had lost someone at this point, but the way he said it, you could tell it still felt fresh to him.

“It’s alright, Darlin’, next confession,” he says, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“Ellie,” you chuckle, but you don’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. “She’s such a pain in my ass, but she’s probably one of my best friends right now,” you say. Like it should be embarrassing, you, an adult woman, friends with a 14-year-old.

“Yeah. Little bugger has her way of working her way under your skin, doesn’t she?” he says, bringing his attention back to the panoramic scene laid out in front of you. You notice the smile that graces his face. “Your turn,” you say, this time paying all of your attention to his profile as he stares out to the horizon.

“I saw your drawings,” he admits, even though every fiber of his being is telling him not to. Your smile fades from your face and your heart sinks. You swear the sun must have navigated light years closer to Earth from the way you feel your skin heat, your blood hot enough to melt bone. You might as well turn to liquid there, melting into Mother Earth.

“Wh–what? What do you mean?” you ask, your voice mostly a tremble.

“In the barn, this morning… when you were asleep. Your notebook fell to the ground, and well – I saw them,” he decides to leave out the part where he intentionally decided to take a peek, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing the ethics of it.

You’re nearly one with the core of the Earth, her heat drawing all of the moisture from your mouth, your tongue dry, briefly incapable of forming a response, before your brain lands on the following.

“You mean – you saw – yo,” you start to say before he interrupts you.

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, once again, a soft tone of honesty behind his voice.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is not happening. This is not happening.

Mortified, your whole body goes limp and the back of your head falls to the ground. You scrunch your eyes closed as tight as possible as if that might somehow wake you up from the nightmare that this scenario is. You bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and let yourself absorb all of the nasty and icky feelings of embarrassment that cross your brain.

When you open your eyes, you start “Joel, I can explai–” he cuts you off with the weight of his body pinning you in place, his lips pressed against yours in an intentional, yet gentle, kiss. It’s stationary at first like he’s just trying to get you to shut up, to save you from the danger that is your thoughts. With your eyes still wide open, you stare back and try to rationalize if this is really fucking happening right now.

You break the kiss for a moment and look up at him, “Joel, what are you doing?” you ask.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t overthought it like you’re about to,” he admits, staring back at you, “tell me you don’t want this,” he says, hoping you don’t. As if you could ever. When his question is met with no response, he takes that as a green light, and his soft lips once again find yours.

Your eyes flutter closed, and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, your fingers interlacing behind his neck. He deepens the kiss with a moan and grinds his hips into yours, the heavy weight of his center pressing deep against yours ignites a firework display of nerves in your body. You can tell from the package that’s pressed up against you that he’s quite big. The strengthening of your touch is met with a soft mmm from his chest, as his heavy frame pins you tighter to the ground.

His lips stray from your lips, kissing over the razor edge of your jaw, finding their way to the nape of your neck. His hot breath and the weight of his strong and capable body make you feel weightless, despite the pressure he pushes on you.

He presses tender kisses to your pulse and trails them down to the hollow of your throat, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat. His wide tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your windpipe, and his teeth come together in a little nip on your chin. Fuck. You let out a little cry of unexpected pleasure at the sensation. He pins both of your arms high up above your head, and his mouth continues its relentless pursuit on the bare skin of your neck and exposed collarbones.

“Joel, please,” you beg, your vision foggy from the thrum of your blood pulsing through your veins at a rapid pace; your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“Gotta use your words for me, pretty girl, tell me what you want,” he responds, a low growl to his words.

He’s barely managed to touch you, yet, you choke out, “Need you,” you moan, “need you to touch me more, god, please,” you beg, your arms still pinned above your head. Satisfied, he releases his grip on your arms, and both of his palms find purchase on your center frame, just below your ribs. He kisses his way down from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and over your belly, trailing the ghost of his lips to the soft plush below your navel.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of your pants, and deftly pulls them off, alongside your underwear. He continues kissing down the gash between your thighs and pauses once his mouth is centered on your glistening slit. His tongue darts out to lap at some of your slick and you swear all of your senses cross at the sensation of his tongue.

Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good.

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit.

You pull at your nipple through your shirt with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you.

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and you’re so close. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are fucking primal and filthy.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me have it, soak my face.”

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my God – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop," you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. As much as he would love to make you come multiple times under his tongue for hours, to savor your sweetness like it was the last strawberry on earth, he’s starving for it.

He makes quick work of undoing his belt and jeans, before sliding them off his legs to free himself. Gripping his heavy cock in his hand, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes just the tip in, wishing he were less riled up, less desperate for the warmth of your body, but he finds comfort in knowing you’re right at that line with him, begging to be filled.

“Need you,” you beg, your doe eyes looking up at him. He’s had many people beg for things from him – supplies, food, their life, but you, god, there’s something about you, split open and begging for his cock that he can’t say no to.

He smiles, and slides all the way in, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. He buries his cock deep inside you, to the hilt, so deep you can feel the tickle of the dark hairs that outline the base of it against your clit. Your pussy is so wet and tight, and holy – “fuck me, baby,” he moans, thrusting his hips out of you just barely before shoving them forward; the stretch of him is a delicious slow burn.

“Choking my cock so fucking good, baby. So good,” he moans before he begins to set a slow rhythm with his movements, letting you both adjust to the sensation. He praises your name and his breath catches on your collarbone, and he sucks a small mark there as he fucks in and out of you. When you whine for more, more of this, and more of him, this time he’s the one who’s lost for words. He might not know what to say, but his body responds in kindness, his cock thrusting in and out of you with a slow drag that drives you wild. All he can do is admire the beauty that you are under him, an angel on earth making a sweet, sweet mess, all for him. Just for him.

“Mmm, God, Joel – ‘m gonna, fuck, Joel, – right there –” you cry up to the sky above you, the clouds in the sky witness to your pleasure. He knows his cock is enough to get you there, but it’s not enough, not to him. Putting all of his body weight into his left arm, being sure not to crush you, he drags his right hand out from under his weight and it lands to cup your pussy; already so wet and so full. His fingers extend and find a home on your clit, and he begins rubbing tight circles on your aching bud in a way that makes you swear it must be nighttime from the stars you’re seeing.

“Here, baby?” his fingers continue their relentless pursuit of your clit, and he bucks his hips harder. He’s rewarded with the glorious sound of your moans reaching an octave that makes his cock twitch a little harder inside of you, “Jesus, sweetheart – gonna make me come like a teenager if you keep clenching like that, gripping me so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, an animalistic sound emanating from his chest.

“Joel, I’m gonna come –”

“I can tell, baby – clenchin’ so hard around me, want you to give me your all,” he demands, as he grabs your hair and tells himself not to come with you, too soon.

“No,” you choke out, staving off your orgasm. He stops his thrusts for a brief second, “What?” he asks, a bit bewildered. At this point you’re both a tangled mess of limbs, sweat beading on your foreheads, chests heaving. You intertwine your hands through his hair and gently pull at it as you look him deep in the eyes, “I want to come,” you promise, “I just want to ride you while I do it,” you admit.

You pulse around his cock at the confession, and with your truth still lingering on your lips, Joel pulls out and flips around so he's on his back. He steadies himself by the base and holds his cock straight up for you. You rise and position yourself over his center; you line yourself up against him while he cups your cheek with the other hand, “take your seat, pretty girl,” he says in a tone that’s just shy of a beg, and you do, feeling yourself slowly sink onto every inch of him. Your action elicits a throaty groan from him. Your eyes once again glaze over at the sensation of him so deep inside of you, so big, so deep. The stretch of him shoves out every other thought you can muster until all that’s left are thoughts of him in your brain.

In an attempt to get a better angle, he shifts his upper body up onto his forearms, as you continue to grind your hips into him. Both of your arms wrap around his neck, and you use the strength of them to pull him closer into your chest as you continue to slowly grind your cunt into him. You swear you can feel him in your lungs, and with the way your clit grinds against his skin, you’re nearly there, nearly gone.

A weird combination of emotions pools in your belly, part pleasure, part something else. You feel it creeping up your throat, clawing up the back of it like it’s manifesting its reality before it manages to surface. Heat pricks in your tear ducts, and before you know it, it’s such a big, bold feeling – a lion in a cage that won’t be tamed. Simultaneously, you feel a familiar tug at your navel, like a rubber band, stretched to its capacity, on the verge of a snap.

The orgasm that tears through you is so epic it causes your head to fall back, and your eyes to roll to the back of your head, your vision going static white. Your lower body shudders against his thrusts, and your inner muscles clamp hard around his cock as he fucks you through it. You convulse around him, doing your best to ride his thrusts and contribute as your whole body trembles. With tears streaming down your face, you press your lips against him. He wraps both of his arms tight around your chest, pinning you close to his heart, meanwhile spearing you with his cock. His thrusts stop for a moment, and he looks up at you, both hands coming to grip the sides of your face.

“Why are you crying baby,” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“You’re just – so god damn beautiful, Joel,” you admit, and your sobs come a little harder. If this were pre-apocalypse, you might be mortified by the fact that you were sobbing for a man you hardly know, all while riding his cock, but it’s not. You rest your forehead against his and let the tears continue to fall, a handful of them dropping to his cheeks. Your hand comes up to cup his face, and one of his hands leaves your face, trailing down to gently grab at your wrist in comfort. “No, baby. That’s you,” he says, slowly continuing to fuck into you with a slow grind.

“My perfect girl, I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he says, as he holds you and fucks you with such passion and intentionality. He fucks all of the love you haven’t let yourself feel in decades back into you. His cock fills every gap that has been left unfilled by every wrongdoing, every terrible, bad thing. He holds you like it isn’t the end of the world, but rather the beginning. He fucks you like his cock alone could fix everything, and at this moment, you’re confident it just might.

Still riding him, a soft “please,” leaves your lips. “Please use me,” you say, sinking your pussy down further onto him, so tight you can feel the tip of him pushing down on your cervix. “Want your come, Joel – need it, need it so much,” you beg, and oh god, he’s so fucked.

Joel was already on the crest of his release a long time ago, but here you are – utterly fucked out, riding him, and begging for his come. He’s a smart man, he knows he shouldn’t, but – you tug at his hair harder, and ride him for all you’re worth. “Fuck me, baby,” he moans, alongside a long slew of your name and other profanities, he only has so much resolve left, a resolve that’s slowly crumbling with each drag of your wet cunt up and down his cock.

You press your lips to his once again and he feels his balls tighten. The litany of pleas and the taste of your salty tears is what undoes him. Buried deep inside of you, he comes harder than he has in decades, spilling hot and deep inside of you. He fills you up with all he’s worth, painting your insides with white hot ropes of his seed. Normally you’re the artist, but right now, you’re his canvas, his fucking Mona Lisa.

Joel grunts and you collectively still your movements. He holds you close as he waits for the aftershocks and twitches to still, still plugging you, keeping all of his spend deep inside of you. He plants soft kisses all over your face and neck and caresses your hair. You stay like this for what could be hours, minutes, days. Time is a construct you have no concept of right now.

After a few minutes, he groans. Pulling out is always the hardest thing to do. “Gonna get off you now,” you say softly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, as you lift your hips and swing your leg over his body. Your pussy whines at the lack of something to grip around. A rush of his come dribbles out of you onto your inner thigh, but you don’t pay any attention to it. You roll over onto your back, and he does the same. As you both lay there, he grabs your hand and squeezes it tight. You’re not sure what time it is now, but by the color of the sky, you guess it’s late afternoon at this point.

“We should get back,” you say, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds make their creations.

“Yeah,” he admits, only looking at you. When you avert your gaze from the sky to look at him, you get deja vu as you take in the sight of Joel Miller, his tossed curls and chocolate eyes, and you swear you’ve seen this sight before. Maybe in a dream.

You commit the sight to memory, promising yourself to draw it later.

“Will you sit for a portrait with me?” you ask, voice soft, once again turning to face him, but this time it’s different.

“Only if you promise to go for a ride with me again,” he admits, and you smile, a heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“Deal,” you promise.

You both lay there for what could be hours or minutes, you’re not sure. But as the sun looks like it’s about to dip below the horizon, you both decide it’s time to head back. You both get dressed, and he helps you onto the horse. You both leave your perfect little meadow, knowing that it will be there for you to discover again and again.

On the ride back, you reflect on a poem you remember reading years ago.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those who see the ending, and those who see the beginning.

And after years of living in the ending, you’re ready to let the girl who you were before out of her prison. Joel undid the lock, all you had to do was let her see the light of day once more.

A new beginning.

You and Joel ride back in blissful silence.

Once on the outskirts of Jackson, Joel simply says, “Maybe we should invite Tommy next time.”

But that’s a different notebook.

END

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As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #katiexpunk answers #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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heartgold · 7 months

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Always loved how Umineko subverts the whole "creepy horror little girl" thing with Maria going kihihihi mode in Legend and almost baiting a less attentive reader into believing she's Evil or being possessed by Beatrice only for the text to immediately explain that her shift in behavior when infodumping about the topic her entire life and sense of self revolves around to the adults who belittled her and are now interested due to recent developments makes perfect sense if you think about it for 5 seconds. And then that behavior causing discord and panic as the murders keep happening which leads to her being yelled at and smacked around and literally thrown to the wolves while the text is basically gripping the reader's shoulders explaining how much witches mean to Maria and how this tragedy has an entirely different meaning to her. It begs the reader to avoid the kneejerk impulse of reading her unfavorably when she isn't behaving in ways that are agreeable or cute anymore, because she doesn't only deserve understanding and your sympathy when she's the innocent little girl being horribly abused by her mother. Which is why Maria haters really failed the most basic litmus test in Umineko, imagine being that wrong. lol

Anyway the point I wanted to make was that it's interesting to me how that was also done in Higurashi and Umineko basically expanded on it. The way Akasaka in Himatsubushi immediately projected this image of a lovely cute ideal child on Rika only to be taken aback and frightened when she suddenly started talking seriously about her premonitions of death and he couldn't reconcile this Rika with the Rika he projected her to be, suspecting that they couldn't possibly be the same little girl, she must've been possessed by Oyashiro-sama or not even human herself. And then that fear and the betrayal of his expectations stopping him from realizing that she was, in fact, a little girl asking him for help because she desperately wanted to escape certain death. She didn't only deserve his protection when she was doing her cutesy nipah☆ bit. It speaks a lot how Akasaka was a soon-to-be father, saw Rika being cute and immediately set that impression as an ideal for his daughter who wasn't even born yet, and Rika herself breaking that image meant shattering that ideal. Akasaka failing Rika is a direct reflection of the mentality of parents placing expectations on their children and then feeling betrayed and giving up when they turn out to be complex individuals who don't match the projections they made up. And this is similar to the surprise of Maria going from a cute and naive child to cackling and speaking at length about "scary" topics in a smug tone, and the way the text immediately explains that you should get over the whiplash and accept that Maria is a complex individual, there's nothing out of place about it if you try to understand her situation

Basically I think it's neat how both games use the idea of an archetype that honestly would fit right into the setting to basically shake up the expectations of the audience and the characters themselves and add to the fundamental point the series makes, that girls who behave in ways you can't personally comprehend (with a big emphasis on neurodivergent and traumatized girls) and/or that aren't palatable deserve unconditional understanding and compassion, that they shouldn't have to match your projection of who you want them to be or be helpless perfect victims for you to sympathize with them

#umineko #higurashi #child abuse cw #i rly dislike how the console cgs leaned too heavily into making maria look creepy in a shocking way bc thats clearly not #the vibe you get from the original. shes just an autistic girl very smug about infodumping and feeling vindicated. which makes their #reaction of being terrified n treating her harshly even more blatantly unfounded. theyre afraid of a witch n taking it out on a little girl #◇

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arlana-likes-to-write · 10 months

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Rescue by Lauren Daigle

Summary: Natasha doesn’t have a lot of regrets, everything she’s done in her life has gotten her to where she is now. An Avenger, a hero to young girls, and trying to remove some red from her ledger. But the one thing she does regret is giving you up. But when a word gets out that you are in trouble, she will come to rescue you.

Pairings: Natasha x Maria, Natasha x Maria x daughter!reader, past Natasha x Bucky

Warning: gun shot violence, implied rape, death, cannon typical violence, gambling, the reader needs a hug but so does Natasha

Word count: 7.1 k

“Mail call,” Wanda said, walking into the common area with a few pieces of mail in her hand.

“Who the hell gets paper mail?” Tony asked, pouring coffee into his mug.

“Some of us like to do things without technology,” Steve said as Wanda handed him the newspaper. Tony looked at the super soldier with disbelief. It was rare that the Avengers got mail but each one had specific memberships. Vision received a copy of the newest National Geographic and Pietro got Sports Illustrated. Sometimes Sam received a letter from his service buddies and Steve always got the newspaper, he did take the comics out for Peter. As Wanda handed out the mail, Natasha waited with bated breath to see if she received a letter. It was rare but she was excited nonetheless. The Sokovian smiled at the Black Widow and handed her a letter. It was addressed the same way, her name and her current address with no return.

“Thank you,” the Black Widow said, leaving her unfinished lunch on the table and heading for her room. She barely heard Tony question her odd behavior but she didn’t care. When she was safe behind her bedroom door, she opened the envelope. There was a single picture of a young girl with fiery red hair standing at a picnic table. A birthday cake was lit and presents stayed unwrapped around you. Natasha smiled, moving her finger across your face. Her daughter, whom she only got to hold once on the day she was born. When she defected to SHIELD, she gave up for you to live a normal and safe life. But she was promised that you would go to a good family and on birthdays Natasha would receive a photo. The most important thing was if there was any sign of trouble she would be called in.

“It’s about that time of year,” Maria appeared at her door. “Did you get a photo?” Natasha nodded as her girlfriend sat down next to her. Not counting the agent, four other people knew of your existence. Maria was one of them but not even the Deputy Direction knew of your true location to keep you safe. The agent gently took the picture and smiled.

“She’s spoiled rotten,” Maria teased. The Black Widow chuckled, letting her head fall onto Maria’s shoulder. It was times like this that Natasha questioned if she made the right choice. She wished she could be there for birthdays and every school accomplishment. Maria kissed her head. “I know, baby, I know.”

“Miss. Romanoff,” FRIDAY said. Natasha stopped her assault on the sandbag. “Your presence is being requested in the conference room.”

“Do I have time to shower?”

“No, Director Fury said it’s urgent,” it was never a good sign when Fury was involved. She quickly grabbed her water off the floor and headed for the conference room. When she entered, Fury and Maria were standing by a screen and her sister and Clint were sitting at the table. Oh, she did not have a good feeling about this.

“What’s going on?” She asked, not bothering to sit down.

“Does the Winter Soldier mean anything to you?” Of course, it did. He was one of her trainers in the Red Room but also the father of her daughter. In hindsight it was the perfect companionship; one of the Red Room’s best assassins and HYDRA’s most feared weapon. Their child would be the ultimate fighter but they didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “He’s credited for over two dozen assassinations in the last 50 years.”

“So, he’s a ghost story?” Clint questioned. She shook her head.

“I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot at my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff,” she said, remembering every part of that day. “I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I covered my engineer, so he shot him straight through me,” it was heartbreaking as she stared into the eyes of a man she once knew but there was no recognition in his eyes. She lifted her shirt, revealing a bullet wound on her stomach. “A Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now,” Maria sarcastically said. Natasha smirked.

“Ew,” Yelena said. “He was also a trainer in the Red Room. Before my time but the guards would talk.”

“Why are we here, Fury?” Clint asked. Natasha was wondering the same thing.

“We picked up chatter that was concerning,” he nodded to Maria, who pulled up a recording and played it. The audio was all static and it was hard to hear but Natasha could make out two distinct voices and they said your name and the Winter Soldier.

“Send me there now,” she said. The audio was still playing and Maria quickly stopped it.

“Nat..”

“Don’t ‘Na’t me,” Natasha cut her girlfriend off. “When I gave her up I asked for two things; a picture once or twice a year and to be notified if she’s in danger. In return, I’d never reach out to her.”

“We need you here to run point and we are going to send Belova and Barton to look after her,” Fury instructed.

“Like hell, you are,” Natasha was slowly losing her composure. “She’s my daughter.”

“You don’t have any claim to her,” Natasha’s jaw clenched. Fury sighed. “Can I please speak with Romanoff alone?” Each one of her closest acquaintances left the room and tried to reassure her in their way but she ignored everyone. Her eyes never left the man. When the door closed, Fury sighed again.

“Natasha..”

“Don’t Nick,” she said, walking over to the man. “Don’t say another word because I’m very close to throwing you through a wall,” Fury smirked.

“I’m trying to look after you,” he said. “Your name was mentioned. It could be a trap.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “She’s my daughter even if you don’t think she is,” she saw the smallest clench of his jaw. “I hear her SOS. I will never stop marching toward her. So I’m going. You can’t stop me.” He thought about it.

“Fine,” he relented. “But Maria is coming with you as your backup.”

“Clint will run point and I want Yelena on standby if we need it.” He nodded.

“What do we tell the team?” She wasn’t sure. For the longest time, she’s kept your existence a secret to ensure your safety. But now it may have been all for tonight. No, she couldn’t think like that. You were going to be fine.

“The truth,” she said. “It’s time they know.”

“Hurry up,” your best friend called out. You giggled, running over to her. She climbed up to do the monkey bars.

“You got this Sarah,” you cheered as her arms began to shake when she reached halfway. She fell to the ground unable to go the entire way. “Nice try,” you smiled, beginning your turn. You liked the challenge of the monkey bars, the burn of your arms and hands. Unlike Sarah, you didn’t feel your arms shake and you made it all the way across. Sarah rolled her eyes.

“No fair,” she pouted. “How are you so strong?” You shrugged. It was a mystery to you and something you attributed to your biological parents. In PE class, you learned to hold yourself back even though you could beat all the kids in your class. No one wanted to be friends with the abnormally strong girl.

“I don’t know,” you said.

“Come push me on the swings,” Well besides Sarah, she didn’t care that you were stronger than her and she used it to her advantage. You smiled, running after her. She jumped onto the empty swing and you began to push her. It wasn’t long before your mind began to wander as you looked around the park. There was a small party at the pavilion and a small-sided soccer game. A few black vans were parked on the far side. You found your parents sitting at a bench speaking with a man you knew well. Agent Cruise. He was present at every birthday party and family gathering. According to your mom, he was the one that found you when your birth mother abandoned you. Why was he here?

“I’ll be right back,” you told Sarah and walked over to the trio. Agent Cruise saw you right away, a smile on his face.

“Hi firecracker,” he held out his fist and you pumped it three times then gave him a side hug.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him.

“I was in the area and I thought I’d say hi to the family.” That was a lie but you didn’t question it. If he was lying for a reason, it had to be a good one.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart,” your mom said. “Go back and play with Sarah.”

“Okay, love you guys,” you turned around to go back to the playground but a gunshot froze you in your spot. It was a sound you heard on TV and in movies and never expected to hear it in real life. A body crashed into yours pushing you into the ground as another shot went off.

“W-Will,” you stuttered.

“Eyes on me, okay?” You nodded, staring into his brown eyes. “My car isn’t far. I need you to run and I’ll cover you.”

“What about -” Your eyes found your parents, slumped against each other and blood pouring from a single shot in their head. “No,” you whispered, tears pooling at the corner of your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“Firecracker, run,” he got off of you and began to fire. You scrambled to your feet as he shot at a man walking towards you. His bullets made him take cover but you locked eyes with him. They were blue, similar to the color of your own eyes. His brown hair was shoulder length and half of his face was covered with a mask. But the most striking feature about him was his metal arm that shone under the California sun.

Finding his car wasn’t hard and it was unlocked when you opened the backseat. You slammed the doors closed and tried to calm your racing heart. You mimicked the breathing technique your dad would do. Breathe in for 5 seconds and hold it for 5. In for 5 seconds and out for 5. Soon your heart rate calmed down but your eyes burned with unshed tears. They died, killed right in front of you. You heard voices outside the car and you covered your mouth to keep quiet. His windows were tinted so they couldn’t see in but they would be able to hear you.

More gunshots and yelling made you yelp and the silhouettes of the men outside disappeared. You removed your hand and listened outside. Soon the car door swung open. You bite back a scream that almost left your lips. “Hey, it’s okay,” you weren’t expecting a woman with red hair and green eyes wearing a black tactical suit. You knew her. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and Avenger. “You're safe but I need you to come with me,” you stayed frozen, staring at the woman in front of you. “Look, we are running out of time. Please come with me.” She held out her hand and you took it, hoping you could trust her.

This wasn’t how Natasha wanted to meet you. She had so many other ways that didn’t involve your adoptive parents murdered and an assassin who happens to be your biological father hunting you. Nothing was easy for the Black Widow. “Put this on,” she handed you a helmet. “Get on,” she got on the motorcycle and she felt you get on behind her, hesitant arms wrapping around her waist. Natasha kicked up the kickstand and the engine came to life. “I got her,” she said over the comms.

“Well, you got company,” Maria said. Natasha looked behind her and saw 3 vans turning down the street; they were one and the Winter Soldier handing out the window with an AK-47. “Stick to the side streets,” she continued. “I’ll get you both back safely.” Natasha trusted Maria to do just that and started to drive.

“You have to trust me, okay? When I lean, you lean,” Natasha said over the wind. “If you don’t, they will catch us and kill you.” She wasn’t sure if you heard her until she felt your head and squeezed her waist.

“Take your next right,” Natasha let out a shaky breath and turned right. Your body leaned with hers. Okay, the Black Widow thought, maybe they’d get through this.

The motorcycle stopped and you took off the helmet. You were in an alley between 2 apartment buildings. The Black Widow got off and helped you down, your legs shook and were a little unsteady. “Come on,” she said, leading you to a door. “We can rest soon.” She opened the door and led you up 2 flights of stairs. The redhead stopped at a door, room 324, and knocked three times. It took a minute for the door to open. In front of you was a woman with black hair, pulled back into a bun. Her brown eyes were sharp but they landed on Natasha and they softened.

“Glad you're alive,” she said, stepping out of the way. You hesitated but followed the Black Widow inside the apartment.

“Did you have that little faith?” Natasha teased sitting on the couch. You could see the tension leave her body.

“What the heck is going on?” You asked. “I just watched my parents die in front of me, a mystery man with a metal man was chasing me, and an Avenger shows up,” you looked at the other woman. “I have no idea who you are or what is going on.”

“I’m Maria,” she waved, sitting down next to Natasha. It was nice to have her name but that did not answer any of your questions.

“We can’t tell you everything right now but you're safe here,” Natasha said. You stared at the redhead, the color so similar to your own. Now that you looked at the Avenger you saw a lot of your features in her.

“How can I feel safe when you won’t tell me the truth?” Her green eyes locked onto your blue ones and she looked away.

“We can’t,” she said. “Not right now.” Your jaw clenched.

“We may be here for a while,” Maria said, standing up. “I’ll show you to your room.” You continued to stare at the Black Widow, wanting her to look at you or wanting to grab her by her shoulders and yell - ‘are you my mother?’ but she wouldn’t look at you. You sighed, following Maria.

“Here you go,” it was a simple room. A bed pushed up in the corner, no TV or posters of any kind. It was a stark contrast to your room. “I know this isn’t ideal,” you skimmed your hand over the bedsheets. “But we will keep you safe.” You looked at Maria.

“She’s my mom, right?” Maria had an excellent poker face but it was a game you’ve been playing since you could talk. She was surprised by your statement so there were a few ways she could go about this; lie, tell the truth, or deflect. You were leaning towards deflection.

“There are take-out menus on the fridge, figure out what you want to eat.” Deflection. It was the easiest way, to tell the truth without betraying someone’s trust.

“Right,” you sat down on the bed. “Thanks.” She nodded.

“Come find us if you need anything,” you didn’t respond as she closed the door. You leaned against the wall, looking out the window to the street down below. People were going about their day unaware of how your life was altered forever.

“How is she?” Clint asked over the computer. They just finished a meeting with the rest of the team back in New York to come up with the next phase of the plan. She ignored Tony's thousand and one questions regarding you. Overall he seemed hurt she never told him, since ‘we’ve been through so much together.’ Natasha felt bad, they were her team, her family but sometimes the thought of you hurt too much. But a plan was made which consisted of you, Maria, and Natasha to head to Norway to lay low while the rest of the teams tracked and captured the Winter Soldier. Easier said than done. Now she was only talking with Yelena and Clint while Maria tried to get you to eat.

“She’s quiet,” Natasha knew that was to be expected. “She hasn’t said anything since Maria showed her to her room.”

“Does she know?” Yelena asked. Natasha sighed, nodding her head.

“Yeah, she asked Maria but she didn’t give her a yes or now,” You were smart, maybe a little too smart. “But I haven’t told her.”

“Are you going to?”

“Do we know how they found her?” Natasha deflected. She didn’t have an answer to Yelena’s question. Clint nodded.

“Her adoptive father got into some gambling debts,” he said. “Ripped off the wrong people.”

“But why go after her?” Yelena questioned. “Why do they want her alive?” Now Natasha knew that answer. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Her biological father is the Winter Soldier,” she told them. “That is why they are after her. If she falls into the wrong hands, she could be an unstoppable weapon.”

You couldn’t sleep. Every time you close your eyes, you saw the metal man with a gun and your parents dead at your feet. Natasha came into your room to tell you that all three of you would be leaving bright and early and to try to get some sleep. You didn’t respond as she left saying goodnight. So you lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, you sighed and stood up leaving your small room to venture into the rest of the apartment. The other bedroom was on the opposite side of the apartment but you tried to be quiet as you went through the bare kitchen. In the last drawer you opened, you found what you were looking for. A single deck of cards. You grabbed it and sat down at the dining room table. Game night was common practice that took place with you and your parents almost every night. At a young age, they taught you poker, blackjack, pitch, rummy, and spades. You never left home without a deck of cards as a simple game of poker square or solitaire could calm your racing mind. So, you set up a poker square game. It was a game of strategy, patience, and a little bit of luck unless you could count cards. Another skill your parents taught you. “Couldn’t sleep?” The Black Widow questioned. You didn’t answer, glancing up at the redhead as she got two bottles of water and sat across from you. “What are you playing?”

“Poker,” you answered.

“Poker? Aren’t you a little young to know how to play poker?” You rolled your eyes. It was the same thing said to you by every adult when they found out you could play.

“Poker isn’t just a way to gamble all the money in your pocket,” you didn’t look away from the cards. “It can teach you emotional stability in changing situations, to think analytically, and how to read people. But also how to be deceptive, you have to make everyone believe you have something in your hand when in reality you have something else,” Finally, you looked up at the Black Widow. “You’d be good at it. Your poker face is shit though.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know I thought about you all the time,” you went back to your game. “It kept me up some nights questioning why my mother gave me up. Maybe I wasn’t good enough or a mistake or she didn’t love me,” a glance up and you saw everything you needed in her eyes. They softened as her other facial features stayed stoic.

“Not your mom, kid,” she lied.

“From an emotional standpoint, sure, you aren’t. But biologically, I know I share your DNA,” you flipped the last card, placing it in the final spot. Taking a moment to look over how you did, you gathered up the cards again. “Shit poker face remember. It’s all in your eyes, they give too much away,” you shuffled the cards and began to play again. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” you added quickly, not wanting to offend the woman sitting across from you. “Just surprising,” you took a sip of water she gave you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” she said. “You can ask but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Her smirk mirrored your own.

“Say we don’t share any biological relation, why would the Avengers come and save me?” You began to play again. “I'm nobody,” you said. “It would probably cost less to have them kill me,” you saw her flinch slightly at your blunt comment.

“You're not the only one he’s after,” you looked up at her.

“Why?” You questioned.

“I don’t know,” she answered. You hummed, nodding your head.

“First time you were honest with me,” you cleaned up the cards. “Goodnight, Natasha,” you took the cards and the water bottle.

“Night, kid,” her voice followed you to the room. When the door closed, you rested your back against it. Your poker face was failing. You felt the cracks. Letting out a shaky breath, you pulled back the covers and climbed in. You were surprised at how quickly you fell asleep.

Norway was beautiful. It was your first time leaving the country. You sat in the backseat of the white car with Maria in the passenger seat and Natasha was driving. You stayed quiet, playing with the charm around your neck. It was a turtle dove, a Christmas gift from Agent Cruise, who had a matching charm. You wondered if he was okay. Maria tried to make conversation asking about your likes and dislikes. You kept your answers short. Natasha drove through a dirt road through the woods and when the car emerged you saw a camper in the middle of a clearing. The driver's side window was down and you heard water. There was nothing for miles around. “It’s not much but we’ll stay safe,” Natasha said, parking the car. Maria got out and opened your door for you to get out. The wind caused goosebumps to form on your skin as you followed the couple.

The camper was simple, a couch that faced a small TV and a kitchen. Natasha walked towards the main bedroom, passing a bathroom. When she opened the bedroom door, there was a man fast asleep on top of the bed. The Black Widow hit the man on his foot, who jerked awake. “You're in our bed.”

“I’m..I’m not even under the covers,” he sat up, looking at Maria then you. “You're new. Who are you?” His voice was laced with a British accent.

“I’m not telling you,” you said, not missing the way Natasha smiled at you.

“Did you get everything on my list?” Natasha asked, walking back into the main part of the camper. You sat down on the couch as the three adults stood around the kitchen countertop.

“Got passports, entry visas, and a couple of local driver’s licenses,” he handed the couple a white envelope. “There is a generator outside. It’s petrol-powered and the septic tank will need a flush in a couple of weeks,” he spun around, leaning against the counter. He was looking at you. “You’ll have to haul your rubbish into town. It’s about a 20-minute drive,” he continued. Finally, you couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Can I help you?” You questioned. He smiled.

“No, just looking,” you rolled your eyes.

“Take a picture and it’ll last longer,” you mumbled, standing up and leaving the camper. You followed the sound of running water to a small stream. You sat on the bank and got lost in the water.

“She’s a spitfire,” Mason said, turning to face the couple. Maria picked up the envelope on the counter and hit his arm. “Ow, what was that for?” He rubbed the spot that was just hit.

“Leave her alone,” Maria said. “You're lucky I hit you and she didn’t.” Mason rolled his eyes.

“Does she know?’ He questioned. “She must, right?” Natasha walked over to the window and watched you. You were kneeling by the steam’s edge. “I mean it’s like I’m seeing double.” Mason continued.

“She does,” Natasha whispered. “Not sure how she feels about it.”

“Have you asked?” He asked, standing behind her. The Black Widow shook her head.

“She’s been through a lot. I don’t want to add more to it.”

The three of you fell into a routine. You slept on the pullout couch while Maria and Natasha were in the main bedroom. By the time the Black Widow was up for her morning run, you were up playing with the deck of cards you brought from the apartment. Maria would cook breakfast and the two Avengers spent the majority of the day doing Avenger duties, trying to help their teammates in any way. While they were doing that, you explored the surrounding woods and walked up and down the creek. When they needed to go into town, you went with them and a movie to end the night. Repeat. Repeat. And repeat. The repetition of the days wasn’t bothering you but the lack of conversation with the Black Widow was driving you insane. Maria was making an effort and you enjoyed talking and playing cards with her. Every time Maria invited Natasha but she would turn her down, coming up with a bullshit excuse. You knew what she was doing. She was building a wall between you and her. It would be fine if you didn’t catch her longing looks at you or hear Maria and Natasha fight one night when they thought you were asleep. Maria called her girlfriend out on her stand-offish behavior and Natasha claimed it was better off this way, it was only temporary.

Temporary. You were only a mission. Once the metal-armed man was dealt with you would go back home. But where was home? The only parents you knew were dead, no one spoke about Agent Cruise, and you were beginning to feel safe with the couple. Even though Natasha’s behavior was upsetting you. You wanted her to acknowledge you so were going to push her buttons.

She just got off a meeting with the other Avengers and you heard the last of it as you came back into the camper for some water. The man disappeared. There were no signs of him. Natasha sighed, closing her laptop. You stared at the Black Widow from the kitchen, finished the glass of water, and placed it on the counter. “I want to go home,” you suddenly said. Her head snapped to you, you thought she was going to give herself whiplash. “They said he’s gone so it’s safe for me to go home.”

“And where are you going to go?” She questioned. Your jaw clenched.

“Anywhere is better than here,” you mumbled, ignoring the flash of hurt across Natasha’s face and walking back outside. You heard Natasha behind you.

“You know if you go back to the States he’ll kill you,” you stopped. “That is what he’s waiting for you. He will find you and kill you.”

“Then use me as bait,” you turned to face her. “Have the Avengers stand guard, he’ll come, you’ll play hero, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“That’s not happening,” her face was hard to read, not even you could read her eyes. She had been practicing. Shit. “Even if I thought that was a good idea, which it isn’t. You aren’t ready,” you heard a car pull up as Maria returned from a quick trip to the store. “You have no idea how to survive in this world. It will chew you up and spit you out.”

“I hate you,” you said, tears swelling in her eyes. You couldn’t help it. Natasha shook her head.

“No, you don’t. Shit poker face. Your eyes give away too much,” repeated the same thing you said to her. “Not that it’s bad, just surprising.”

“Screw you,” you snapped and ran towards the woods, ignoring Maria calling your name.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” Maria asked. Natasha put her hands on her hips and looked down at the grass.

“She wants to go home and I told her that as soon as she sets foot into the States he’ll kill her,” she sighed. “She said we could use her as bait and I may have said some other hurtful things.” Natasha heard her girlfriend sigh and walk over to her. With gentle hands, she lifted Natasha’s head to force her to look up. Green eyes stared into warm brown ones.

“Why are you pushing her away, my love?” Maria whispered, gently pushing away a tear. Natasha didn’t realize she was crying.

“This won’t last,” Natasha whispered. “Once she’s safe she’ll go back to a new family and I’ll never see her again. I can’t,” she cleared her throat. “I can’t handle growing close to her and then having her ripped away from me,” Maria brought her into a hug, cradling her head. Natasha felt her fingers run through her hair. Maria’s steady heartbeat helped the Black Widow’s heart calm down. Maria smelt like sandalwood and rain but it reminded Natasha of home. Maria stepped back, keeping her arms wrapped around her.

“But wouldn’t a little pain be worth it so you experience having her now as you’ve always dreamt about,” Maria pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “Love her now because you have the chance to.” Natasha let out a shaky breath.

“I love you,” the Russian whispered. “I don’t think I could do this without you.” Maria kissed her softly.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby, I’m right here.”

“Kid,” you spun around to see the Black Widow behind you. You weren’t surprised she found you on a small rock near the stream’s edge. “You said you want to go home fine but I’m going to train you.”

“Train?” You questioned.

“Yes,” she crossed her arms. “Once word gets out who you are, that man won’t be the only one after you. I was right when I said you won’t survive this world so I’m going to make sure you can. I won’t always be around to save you,” she added on quickly. Her statement made your stomach drop but there was a crack in her pocket face. She was lying.

“Okay,” you whispered, instead of calling her out on it.

“Okay,” Natasha repeated. “Come on, Maria is cooking enchiladas.” You stood up, wiping the dirt off your pants, and followed the Black Widow back to the camper.

Training started the following morning. You were up when Natasha went for her run and you joined her. It's been a while since you had to use your full speed to catch up with someone. Natasha was a lot faster than your 5th-grade classmates. After you ran, it was a quick breakfast then strength training and hand-to-hand combat. Maria would stop the two of you for lunch then it was weapon training. That was your favorite. Instead of nightly movies, you spent your time watching fight sequences and going over old mission reports to enhance your battle strategy.

It has hard and back-breaking work but you loved it. It reminded you of when your dad would take you to his poker games and gave you the job of reading his opponents. No one expected a little girl to have a better poker face than a 40-year-old man. Even though Natasha was yelling orders at you, it was the closest you felt to the Black Widow. Was it the healthiest way to bond with the mother that abandoned you? No, but she and Maria were all you had. You liked the proud smile Natasha tried to hide when you did something well or Maria’s gentle hands to help clean the cuts and bruises you received from the day’s training. It was nice, you felt like a family no matter how grueling the training sessions were.

“You're holding back,” Natasha said. You were sparing with the Black Widow with Maria off to the side, watching. You were exhausted. The couple already put you through a 5-mile run and intense strength training. Natasha promised this was the last thing for the day if you managed to pin her. Easier said than done. “Come on, kid, push.”

“I’m trying,” you said, putting your hands over your head, trying to get more air in your lungs.

“When you're tired this is how you grow and learn. Now come get me,” you rushed her but Natasha grabbed your arm and threw you back to the ground. You groaned, staring up at the blue sky. “Come on get up. Do you think he’ll or anyone will let you have a break?” You huffed and stood back up. “This is how you survive. You get knocked down 100 times and you keep getting up because if you don’t you will die.” You sighed, wiping the sweat off your forehead. Think and breathe. Think and breathe. It was like a game of poker. You had to make her think you were going to do something then change your attack. Who knew your parents were training you to be an Avenger? Natasha said you were holding back so you weren’t going to. You sighed, bouncing on your toes, and sprinted towards her. She expected it since it was the same move you went for prior but when she went to grab your arm, you grabbed her and twisted it behind her back. She was quick to escape and you jumped back, creating distance between you and her. There was a smile dancing on her lips but you ignored it. You had to focus.

She made the first move and punched with her right but you blocked it with your forearm. You blocked a few of her blows and hit her a few times in the stomach. She stumbled backward and you surged forward. You grabbed one of her arms and the other went behind her neck. You turned into her, sticking your right foot into her leg, and used the momentum to fling her over your body and onto the ground. You put your knee into her chest and stared down at her. You stared at your reflection in her green eyes. You didn’t recognize the look in your blue eyes but you’ve seen it before. The man with the metal arm had the same look in his blue eyes. It scared you, seeing your eyes void of all emotions and mimicking the glare of that man. Your eyes were dark, losing the light that your parents loved so much. They were void of the color so many people envied. You were terrified of yourself.

With shaky legs, you stepped away from Natasha and Maria was already walking over. “That man who's after me, what’s his name?” You asked, trying to keep your voice from shaking. Natasha stood up and the couple had a silent conversation with one another.

“He’s called the Winter Soldier,” Maria said. “HYDRA’s deadliest assassin.” You recognized the name HYDRA, a name said in passing at one of your dad’s poker games. You looked at Natasha.

“Who is he to me?” You questioned. Her jaw clenched. “Tell me!” You demanded.

“He’s your father,” she said simply. You weren’t sure if it made it worse or better. “The Red Room decided to work along with HYDRA to create the perfect weapon,” there was a deep sadness edged in every one of her words. She looked away from you and towards the woods. Your stomach turned. You were a product of a forced relationship.

“Does he know?” Natasha shrugged.

“I don’t know,” her voice shook. “They did this horrible thing to reset him and wipe his memory. I don’t even think he remembers me,” Maria gently took her girlfriend’s hand in hers. You felt cold all of a sudden. Every one of the weird quirks that made you different now had an explanation.

“Uh okay,” you nodded your head. “I need a minute.” You turned around and walked into the camper, making a beeline for the bathroom and closing the door behind you. Your hands shook as you turned on the water and splashed water on your face. You tried to regulate your breathing; in for 5, out for 5, in for 5, and out for 5 but it wasn’t helping. Bile was rising in your throat. Did Natasha have a choice? Did they have a relationship together or was it forced? You closed the toilet seat and you sat down, your legs finally gave out.

HYDRA was a name whispered once or twice at your dad’s poker game. Your parents must have known who your biological parents were. Did they care? Did they realize the mistake they made before it was too late? You sighed, biting down on a towel and letting out a scream. You hoped the towel would muffle it.

Maria found you sitting on the couch with one of Natasha’s pistols and a timer. Like playing poker or another card game, you found that dismantling a gun and putting it back together calmed your racing mind. You glanced at the agent. “Where’s Nat?” You asked.

“Ran to the store,” you nodded. Maria sat down next to you, taking the gun from your hands. “Maybe we should talk instead of playing with a gun.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stared at the TV. “I mean I find out my biological mother is an Avenger and my father is a feared assassin who is trying to kill me,” you felt your throat burn as tears threatened to escape. “My adoptive parents are dead and I’m pretty sure they were the reason he found me,” you folded your hands together, squeezing them. “I finally have answers to so many questions but now I don’t want them because I feel so alone,” you sighed, angrily whipping your face. “But I’m so fucking fine.”

“Language,” she gasped. You looked at the woman and laughed at the teasing smile on her face. “I want to show you something,” she stood up and grabbed a small box next to the TV. She handed it to you. “It was part of the arrangement,” you opened the box and saw pictures of you at all stages of your life. “Natasha agreed to give you up in return she got pictures of you and was notified if you were in trouble.” Maria sighed, picking up one of the pictures. “I know it’s very hard to see but she loves you very much even if she doesn’t say it,” you closed the box, whipping away a tear that fell. “And you aren’t alone. You have us.”

“But when the mission is over, what happens to me then?” You asked.

“What do you want?” You weren’t expecting the question, not thinking you had a choice in the matter.

“I know what I want,” you answered. “But I don’t think I can have it.”

Natasha didn’t join you and Maria for dinner. She was outside, drinking from a bottle of vodka when you joined her. The only light was from the stars and the small camping light. You sat down next to her on the top of the picnic table. “Are you hungry?” You asked. “I can go get you something.” She smiled.

“Not hungry, kid, but thank you.” You nodded, watching her take another sip from the bottle.

“I’m sorry,” you told her, looking up at the stars so you couldn’t see her face. “This probably hasn’t been easy for you since I’m a constant reminder of everything. Plus I know I haven’t made it easy for you.”

“This is not your fault. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. It just,” Natasha sighed. “Hurt too much.” You nodded, that you understood. Silence fell between you and her.

“I asked Maria what was going to happen to me once the Winter Soldier situation was over. She asked what I wanted,” you looked at her. “Do you know what I want?” You asked. She shook her head. “I want to go live with you and Maria and meet the other Avengers.” The shock was evident on her face.

“Why?” She whispered.

“Because you're my mom,” you whispered back. “And I know I’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.” Natasha let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.

“Your innocence was stolen because of all this,” she whispered, pushing some of your red hair behind your ear. “I will send out an army to find you even in the middle of the darkest nights. I will rescue you,” she whipped away a few of your tears that fell. You didn’t realize you were crying. “There is no distance that cannot be covered. I’ll be your shelter and armor. There was never a moment you were forgotten or I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“I can’t,” your voice shook. “I can’t lose any more people in my life. I think it will break me.” She pulled you into a hug and something inside you snapped. You cried. You finally cried against her.

“Sh, dorogoy (sweetheart),” Natasha whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “I’m right here. I won’t go anywhere.” You heard the camper door open but you didn’t move from the Black Widow’s arms. You felt the table move as Maria sat down on your other side. Without looking you intertwined your fingers with Maria. She squeezed your hand. “We won’t leave you. We are right here.” You nodded your head against Natasha. You so wanted to believe them but there was a theme of people coming into your life and leaving. Maybe you were the problem.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Maria whispered. “Let’s go to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.” You nodded, removing yourself from Natasha. ‘Along the day,’ you thought, ‘It’s been the longest few weeks of your life. What’s one more long day?’

Part 2

#inspired by music #marvel one shot #natasha romanoff x maria hiill #Maria Hill x Natasha Romanoff #blackhill #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff x you #maria hill x you #maria hill x daughter!reader #blackhill x reader #blackhill x daughter!reader #blackhill x you #natasha romanoff x winter solider #black widow one shot #black widow fanfiction

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poetrysmackdown · 9 months

Note

hi hiii i wanted to say that your account is so refreshing to see, esp with the passion you have for the arts. as someone who's been meaning to read (and write) more poetry, do you have any recommendations? some classics that everyone and their mothers know? perhaps some underrated pieces that changed you? or even just authors you like, I'm very open to suggestions :]]

Hi! Thank you so much for this kind ask :) So exciting that you’re looking to delve deeper into reading and writing! I had to take a little time to answer this because my thoughts were all over the place lol.

For a review of notable/classic poems/poets, I honestly just recommend looking at lists online or, hell, just binging Wikipedia pages for different countries’ poetry if that’s something you’re into, just to get a sense of the chronology. I read one of those little Oxford Very Short Introductions on American Poetry and thought it was pretty good, but online is quicker if you’re just searching for poets or movements to hone in on. Poetry Foundation also has lots of resources, in addition to all the poems in their database. I guess my one big classic recommendation would have to be Emily Dickinson (<3), but really the best move is just to find a poet you already enjoy and then look around to see who their peers were/are, who they were inspired by, who they’ve maybe translated here and there, etc. and follow it down the line as far as you can.

For some personal recs, here are some collections I’ve really enjoyed over the past two years or so. Bolded favorites, and linking where select poems from the book have been published online. But also, if you want a preview of a couple poems from another of the books to see if they interest you, DM me and I can send them over! You can also feel free to pilfer through my poetry tag for more stuff lol

Autobiography of Death by Kim Hyesoon trans. Don Mee Choi

Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings by Joy Harjo

DMZ Colony by Don Mee Choi

Hardly War by Don Mee Choi

Whereas by Layli Long Soldier

Geography III by Elizabeth Bishop

Dictee by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine

Mouth: Eats Color—Sagawa Chika Translations, Anti-Translations, & Originals by Sawako Nakayasu

The Selected Poems of Osip Mandelstam trans. W.S. Merwin and Clarence Brown

The Branch Will Not Break by James Wright

This Journey by James Wright

God’s Silence by Franz Wright

Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke (the translation I read was by Alfred Corn—I thought it was great, but idk if there are better ones out there!)

DMZ Colony, Hardly War, Dictee, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely, and partially Whereas are all book-length poems with some prose poetry and varying levels of weirdness/denseness/multilingualism—if you were to pick one to start with, I’d say do Don’t Let Me Be Lonely or Whereas. Mouth: Eats Color is some experimental translations of Japanese modernist poet Chika Sagawa, with other translations and some of Nakayasu’s original stuff mixed in—it's definitely a bit disorienting but ultimately I remember having such fun with it, as much fun as Nakayasu probably had making it. It’s a book that emphasizes co-creation and a spirit of play, and completely changed my attitude towards translation.

If you’re less interested in that kind of formal fuckery stuff though (I get it), can’t go wrong with the other books! Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings is the one I read most recently, and it’s great—Harjo also featured in Round 1! Franz Wright also featured, and God's Silence is the collection which "Night Walk" comes from. James Wright (father of Franz) is one of my favorite poets of all time, though his poetry isn’t perfect. Even so, I’m honestly surprised he’s not doing numbers on Tumblr—Mary Oliver was a big fan of his, even wrote her "Three Poems for James Wright" after his death.

I mentioned in another post that one of my favorite poets is Paul Celan, so I’ll also recommend him here. I read Memory Rose into Threshold Speech which is a translated collection of his earlier poems, but it’s quite long if you’re just getting to know him as a poet—fortunately, both Poetry Foundation and Poets.org have a ton of his poems in their collections. There’s also an article by Ilya Kaminsky about him titled “Of Strangeness That Wakes Us” (!!!!!) that’s a great place to start, and is honestly kind of my whole mission statement when I’m reading and writing poetry. Looking at the books I’ve recommended above, a lot of them share feelings of separateness or alienation—from others, from oneself, from one’s country, from language—that breed strange, private modes of expression. That tends to be what I’m drawn to personally, and that’s some of what Kaminsky talks about.

Sorry of the length of this—I hope it's useful as a jumping-off point! And if you or anyone ends up exploring any of these poets, let me know what you think! If folks wanna reply with recommendations themselves too that'd be great :)

#ask #not a poll #i originally was going to link to previews of the books directly on this post but for some reason I suddenly feel very paranoid about #copyright LMAO. ik this blog is already like copyright infringement central but I feel like I can at least make an argument for the polls #being fair use lol. in the way that i could not for the pdf previews I made. (i also have a full pdf of hardly war if anyone wants lol)#and i know it's not entirely rational bc this is tumblr and nobody looks on tumblr. but i'm not used to having this many followers lol so i #admittedly just getting anxious about silly things #but please please feel free to DM me! or send an ask off anon #discussion

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lias-writings · 1 year

Text

Interviews and bruises

pairing: bella x costar!gn!reader

summary: reader plays ellie’s love interest (fem!oc let’s name her max) in the new show the last of us, reader’s character is one of the main three so they are often in interviews with bella and pedro. bella and reader are in a secret relationship but even a blind person would see the chemistry between them. in one of the many interviews the couple has done the interviewer notices a bruise on reader’s neck.

warnings: hickeys, established relationship, pet name (love)

a/n: this has been in my drafts for like 2 months and I finally managed to finish it it’s kinda short and I still don’t really like it, might delete it later but I wanted to post something so enjoy!!

masterlist<3

“How am I supposed to cover this up?” You asked him worried while looking in the mirror at your bruised neck.

“Oh my god, im sorry love” Bella just chuckled at your worried face expression while you sent them a death stare through the mirror.

“Yeah very funny.” You rolled your eyes at her and continued your work with concealer, makeup and a lot of other makeup tools even tho you already knew it was useless.

“Maybe we could ask Maria to help you out? I mean we are supposed to met with her before the interview” Bella suggested.

“Yea yea whatever we’re kinda late so we have to go anyway.” You said in a hurry while looking for your shoes.

time skip

You, Pedro and Bella were currently sitting in comfortable chairs, answering all the questions about the show you all are in. Most of them were like “What do you liked the most about your character” or “Your favorite scene to shoot”.

Pedro Pascal, your costar was just answering on one of those questions while you turned your head to look at Bella, who was already staring at you. You couldn’t help it but slightly blushed under their sight, there was just something about his eyes that made you become a blushing mess. Bella aware of her ability continued their previous action.

You two would probably continue to stare at each other with heart eyes if you weren’t cut be the interviewer.

“Oh my god y/n what happened to your neck, were you injured or something?” He asked with a slightly worried expression on his face.

Pedro turned his head towards you and his jaw almost hit the floor before he bursted out laughing. Bella had to chuckle a little and you just froze and didn’t know what to say.

#bella ramsey x reader #ellie williams x reader #bella ramsey #pedro pascal #the last of us #hbo the last of us #beldro ramscal #bella ramsey fluff #lia writes 🌷🛍️

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simp4pedropascal75 · 11 months

Text

“I love you” (Joel Miller x Reader)

words: 2.6k

trigger warnings: A LOT OF ANGST, death, sui!cide attempt, it has a “happy ending?”m fluff, reader in his 20s and Joel in his late 40s

summary: you go on a misson with joel, tommy and maria, but things doesn’t go as planned.

s/n: hey guys, i have been inactive for a while now because of school:/, but i hope you like this ff, tell me if it's too dramatic or too much and if i made any spelling mistakes or anything, i'm happy about feedback:)

Enjoy<3

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Joel and you knew each other a long time now. You’re happily married, and you never thought this all will happen, but here you are, laying naked in Joels arms. He’s still asleep, and you just watch him.

He’s so beautiful…, you think.

You don’t get the chance to watch him sleep often. Your eyes wander from his fluffy and messy hair to his bushy eyebrows. Then to his beautiful eyes, which peacefully rest. You look at his nose.

God, his nose.

You bite your lip while remembering last night: you sitting on his face while his nose is buried into your pussy and his tongue-

Okay, stop it.

You chuckle quietly while your eyes travel to his soft lips.

His lips…

You remember feeling these lips for the first time on yours.

-----------------------------------------------------

You and Joel first met when he came to Jackson with Ellie. Since you’ve been good friends with Tommy, you quickly got to meet him and oh my god, he was cold as fuck.

You two didn’t got along for the first time and he was mean, to be honest. But since you needed to go on missions and patrols together, you had to deal with each other.

That you and Ellie got along well didn’t made it easier for you.

But after some weeks, you caught yourself staring at him, wanting to know where he is, how he is and feeling a big desire of having him near you.

God, how you hated this feeling. The feeling of being in love with someone, who doesn’t love you back.

That’s what you thought, without knowing Joel already loved you way before you started to get feelings. He was just good at pretending. Ellie definitely noticed it and she teased him. Oh, and how she did.

But Joel and you got closer. And one time when you two were on a mission, where you two almost died. And in this moment you two realized that life is too short for not confessing the love for each other.

And that’s when he pulled you into his arms and kissed you with all his feelings, he had for you. It was raining, and it just was like in a movie.

After that you began to date, you remember how people judged you because of the age difference, but you didn’t give a shit. And thankfully the people didn’t care after a while too.

After 2 years he proposed to you and two months later you married.

Now it’s already been four months since your wedding and you actually try getting pregnant. You always dreamed of being a mother, but you knew Joels story and expected that he doesn’t want a second child, and to addition, you had Ellie. But one day on your honeymoon, he said that he would try it, for you. And since then, you tried, but with no success. But you don’t give up, and I mean, you can’t complain. Having sex with Joel Miller is…

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“You’re staring at me?”, you hear a raspy voice. It’s Joel and he rips you out of your thoughts. “Well, I had to use my chance, you know”, you smile.

“Pervert…”, Joel mumbles joking while he pulls you into a kiss. You directly feel what his intention is. “No!”, you break the kiss. “We have a busy day today.”, you say seriously while getting up. Joel sighs and you just feel his eyes directly staring through you. “Now you’re staring, old man!”, you laugh and get dressed. “I can’t help myself…”, he mumbles and stands up. You feel his hands on your waist.

Fuck, he’s still naked.

“Joel…”, you warn him while he places kisses on your neck. You almost fall for his touch, almost…

“We promised Tommy and Maria to help them out on their mission, so… nice try.”, you free yourself out of his grip and go into the bathroom. “Get ready now!”, you shout out of the bathroom, and you just hear his annoyed sigh.

Joel’s POV

I’m leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to come down and ready to go. And then she comes down, with a big smile on her face and she just seems so god damn happy out of sudden. “So happy to see me?”, I chuckle confused while raising my eyebrows. She laughs.

How much I love her laugh…

“Well, no, not particularly about that.”, she answers, grabbing her backpack and walking towards me. “Ouch”, I chuckle, and she places a kiss on my cheek. “I will tell you when we come back.”

Y/N’s POV

Before you go, you take a look into Ellie’s room, where she’s sleeping peacefully. You smile and slowly approach her. “We’ll go now”, you whisper softly while caressing her hand. “Hmh...”, she mumbles sleepy. “Don’t make too much trouble while we’re away, love you…”. Ellie doesn’t reply, she’s asleep again.

We walk hand in hand to the gate, where we meet Tommy and Maria. “Hey there”, Tommy says to me with a smile and hugs me.

“Did you sleep well?”, he teases, knowing you didn’t sleep at all and looks at Joel with a smirk.

“Shut up, Tommy”, Joel says while rolling his eyes and then they greet each other. Maria comes towards you.

“You seem very happy today”, Maria notices and hugs you.

“Well, I am…”, I give her a soft smile.

“Everyone’s ready?”, Tommy asks, and we walk to our horses.

“Always”, you reply, and you feel Joel’s mouth at your ear: “You know, we could stay home and…”

“Joel, no.”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck.

“When we get back home, we can do whatever we want…”, you whisper and start kissing him. You don’t realize how long you actually stay there and make out with him until Tommy clears his throat.

“You’re done?”, he asks, and you chuckle.

-----------------------------------------------------

You’re already two days on your way to the hospital to get new medical recourses.

“Okay, how about a race?”, you suggest randomly. “No.”, Joel replies seriously.

“Well-“, Maria wants to answer but you’re already gallop away with your horse.

“Dammit- Y/N!”, you hear Joel shouting and you laugh. You always loved riding, especially with your horse. You feel the wind blowing through your hair and when you see the big, abandoned hospital in front of you, you stop. Joel comes straight after you, followed by Maria and Tommy.

“What were you think-“, you hear Joel upset, but you interrupt him.

“Well, here we are.”, you say out of breath and turn to the others. You feel Joel watching you, but you can’t look at him right now, too distracting.

-----------------------------------------------------

We go through the entrance of the hospital. “Let’s split up”, Tommy suggests. “Or we’re here for an eternity”.

We all agree, and Joel and you get going. You’re walking through a hallway, going into different rooms to search for medical stuff.

“Mad?”, you ask while opening some drawers.

“Kind of”, Joel answers with his rough voice and making sure everything’s safe.

“Gonna’ make it up to you, don’t worry”, you smirk, and you just hear a chuckle from him.

You two search in every stage of the hospital on the left side and thankfully found some stuff. You didn’t meet any clickers on your way, which was kind of confusing and suspicious, but the better for you. You two are on your way back to meet up with Tommy and Maria again.

“How about Ethan?”, Joel suddenly says.

“What?”, you ask confused, looking at him.

“Ethan, a name for the baby when you get pregnant sometime.”, Joel explains, and a slight smile appears on his face.

You heart melts. “Ethan is beautiful”, you answer while placing your hands on his shoulders.

“I love you…”, you whisper and looking directly into his beautiful hazel eyes.

“I love you too, princess”, he caresses your cheek, wanting to kiss you, but suddenly the wall above you begins to shake. “Watch out!”, he says while grabbing your hand and running with you some meters away. The wall breaks down and makes a big hole in the floor.

A hole to the lowest stage of the hospital.

You hear steps, very fast steps and they get louder.

“Runners.”, Joel quickly realizes, grabs your hand, and starts running. A whole wave of runners and also clickers come out of the hole, where the basement of the hospital was and chase you.

You quickly run to the entrance again, where Tommy and Maria are already waiting.

“Watch out!”, you yell and grab your gun while turning around and start shooting.

Everyone starts shooting, but it seems there are just coming more. It doesn’t take long that you all realize that your ammunition gets low.

“They’re too many!”, Maria shouts.

A clicker runs directly towards you, you wanted to shoot but you don’t have any ammo anymore. He jumps onto you. “Fuck off!”, you yell, grab your knife, and directly stab into the clickers head.

“Y/N! You’re okay?”, Joel asks you worried and helps you standing up. “I’m fine.”, you answer.

You’re not.

“Let’s get out of here!”, Tommy shouts and you all run out, to your horses and ride away.

After you’re out of danger, everyone gets off and takes a deep breath.

“Is everyone okay?”, Tommy asks, and everybody looks after each other. You get off the horse, pressing your hand on your arm.

“Guys…”, you mumble quietly. Joel turns around, so do Tommy and Maria. You look them directly into their eyes.

“Oh no…”, Maria realizes and gulps. Tommy doesn’t get a word out of his mouth.

“What?”, Joel is confused and not understanding anything. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t want to.

You show remove your hand from your arm.

You got bitten.

“What… no…”, Joel stutters and walks towards you. “No!”, he yells and takes your arm to stare at your wound. You start to feel dizzy and sit down, leaning against the tree. Joel kneels to you, taking a bandage and pressing it on your arm.

“Y-You’re going to be fine, don’t worry, darling.”, he stammers. You look at him and a tear runs down your cheek.

“Joel…”, you whisper, but he doesn’t want to hear it. “I’m going to bandage you and then we’re going to Jackson, where you get helped…”. He’s denying it. He can’t see it. He can’t accept it.

“Joel…”, you whisper again. “No, don’t worry, everything’s going to be fi-“.

“Joel!”, you shout, and he got quiet. Now he sees it. You see tears in his eyes. Tommy and Maria do too.

It’s quiet. It’s quiet for a long time.

You’re arm begins to shake. You take your gun and realize it only has one bullet left. You look up to Joel, your eyes meet. He directly knows what you mean.

“No, you’re not going to do that”, he says seriously and rips the gun out of your hand. “Come on, you’re strong, we’re gonna make it to Jackson!”, he tries to deny it again. He wants to lift you up.

“Joel, we cant help her”, Tommy mutters.

“Please Joel, I don’t want to turn in one of these monsters…”, you cry, and you feel you slowly how you lose control over your mind. “Please…”, you lay your hand on his cheek.

“I can’t live without you… Please, I can’t do this…”, he begs while tears are running down his cheek.

“You need to take care of Ellie… People need you…”, you whisper.

“But I need you-… No, I can’t!-“, you grab his hand in which he holds your gun.

“Please Joel.”, you whisper and wipe his tears away. “I love you so much, joel…”, you smile in tears.

Joel pulls you into a hug. A long one. You feel the warmth of his body for the last time, and so does he. He places a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you…”, he stands up and raises the gun at you. His hand begins to shake.

“It’s okay…”, you smile softly while a tear runs down your wet cheek.

He stares at you. He sees your smile for the last time. He takes a deep breath and…

He pulls the trigger.

-----------------------------------------------------

Joels POV

I walk into our house while I feel how my lungs begin to tighten. I can’t get Ellies cry out of my head when she saw me carrying Y/N’s body. I try to breath but everywhere I look, it reminds me of her. I try to walk up the stairs and go to the bathroom, thinking I’m going to throw up. I fall on my knees in front of the toilet. My vision starts to get blurry, but then I suddenly see something on the edge of the bathtub and I remember the morning before we went on the misson.

-----------------------------------------------------

How much I love her laugh…

“Well, no, not particularly about that.”, she answers, grabbing after backpack and walking towards me. “Ouch”, I chuckle, and she places a kiss on my cheek. “I will tell you when we come back.”

-----------------------------------------------------

I grab after it, but I don’t recognize what is it, but when my visions starts to get clearer again, my heart stops.

It’s a positive pregnancy test.

One months later

I’m sitting on the edge of the mountain, watching the moon. It was our favorite place.

But the moon doesn’t seem very round, I’m drunk. I drink my whole beer and place it to the side, then I take my gun, looking at it.

I think of her, every fucking second. I see her smile, I hear her laughs, I feel her touch and I feel her presence. But everything is just in my head. She’s gone. If I stayed with her in Jackson, everything wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have lost my love… and my baby.

I place the gun towards me, and my hand begins to shake, again.

I pull the trigger, but suddenly everything freezes. Like the time has stopped.

“Don’t”, you say and take a sit next to me. I look to my side and you’re there.

“Joel, you’re needed here. You still have a purpose to fulfill here. Think of Ellie. She couldn’t handle losing two of the people she loves.”, I hear your voice saying to me and feel your hand on mine. “We’ll see each other again, but not now. I love you.”

I flinch. The bullet directly passes my ear. I flinched, again. Just like I did when I lost Sarah..

Some years later

“Joel, get up…”, I hear Ellie. “Joel fucking get up!”. I can’t reply.

“Please stop… Please don’t do this!”, she shouts.

“Joel please get up!”, that’s the last thing I hear and then everything goes black.

I slowly wake up, feeling grass under me. I slowly get up, confused, but feeling no pain. I look around, I’m in a field and in a distance, I see a house with a sheep ranch. “Hey there, old man.”, you say, and I turn around. You run into my arms, and finally, I feel you again. “I missed you…”, I mumble while taking your face into my hands. “I missed you too…”, you reply and then our lips meet.

“Come…”, you smile at me and take my hand, walking through the field towards the ranch. In the distance I see Sarah, she’s waving me. “Come on dad!”, she shouts from the distance, and I smile.

I stop walking, taking a deep breath and then looking at you.

“I love you.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #angst #ff #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie the last of us #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #the last of us joel miller #fyp

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