#redemption arc of a lifetime | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monzabee · 7 months ago

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the alchemy - cs55

masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where not Carlos, nor you, have the power to fight the alchemy.

Pairing: dad!carlos sainz x mom!reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: absolute fluff (been a while), possible ovary explosion bc of dad!carlos, cursing (because i use way too many f-bombs in real life too), kids (apparently, it’s a tw for some people), i tried hating charles but it’s not happenning so a cheater redemption arc (kinda, he's trying okay??)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, thank you all so much for the love you showed for part one, i really appreciate it and i'm sorry that this part has been a little delayed, but i just wanted it to be just as drama-filled as the first part whilst still being a bit lighter so i hope i found the right balance for it. while we love dad!carlos, i felt like charles still deserved a chance to redeem himself and come to his senses so we love that redemption arc for him (well, kinda guess?). also, i know we have one more part of this little mini-series to go, a social media au (yay!), but i just wanted to let you all know, once again, that i do not have a taglist, and no i will not be making one!! however, i do appreciate all your support and comments, and please do let me know what you think about this part! thanks to @percervall once again, who had to listen me talk about this part for many many hours and who was kind enough to help me proofread!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It only happened once every few lifetimes.

You honestly did not expect to end up with one of your closest friends – especially not after you told your cheating husband that you were getting a divorce, after he chose his lover over you and your baby; and most definitely not after the said close friend told you that he would step up instead of your cheat of a husband.

But there you are, in the arms of non-other than Carlos Sainz, your boyfriend, having just woken up by the excited pitter patter of feet right outside your bedroom door. “Carlos,” you whisper, nudging him softly to wake him up, “Carlos, wake up.” You watch as he stirs, and then buries his head onto his pillow mumbling all the reasons why he doesn’t want to be awake, but you just chuckle softly as you poke him again. “Carlos, please.”

With a disgruntled grunt, you watch as his eyes open, and with a scratchy voice he whines, “What, amor, I was sleeping.”

Rolling your eyes, you point to the bedroom door, “Listen,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen as realisation sets in at the same time his expression turns into a smiling one. “I think someone is excited for today.”

“You think?” He retorts, snorting lightly as he pulls you closer, “That’s all he’s been able to talk about for weeks, amor.”

“Well, can you blame him?” You nudge him, ignoring the sound of scraping of your son’s step stool outside your door. “He just wants to watch his father win.” Watching the smile on your boyfriend’s face grows as the door handle is jiggling, you point to the pillows with your head, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep, he’ll be happier that way.”

With a deep sigh, the happy kind, he pulls you closer to himself – at the right time too, as you hear the patter of footsteps getting closer. With a tug at the comforter, you hear, “Papa, wake up.” You can hear Carlos, badly, muffling a chuckle by burying his head deeper into your neck, but the little voice beside him is non-relenting. “Papa! You promised me we’d go to the race today!”

“Carlos,” you whisper covertly, “you’re going to make him cry.”

Giving you a look that silently says, No I won’t, he turns towards the little intruder in your bedroom, quickly gathering him in his arms as he puts him on the bed next to you. The sound of laughter coming from two of the most important men in your life bring a sleepy smile to your face as you watch Carlos tickle your son despites his protests for him to stop.

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims, climbing over Carlos to reach you, “Tell Papa to stop! We need to get ready!” His face is flushed with excitement and laughter, a sight that fills your heart with warmth.

“Alright, alright,” you say, giggling as you pull him into a hug, “let’s get ready then. You don’t want to be late for your big day, do you?”

Carlos finally stops his playful assault, sitting up and stretching with a groan. “She’s right, buddy. We should all get up and get going. Lots to do before the race, you still remember our plan for breakfast?” Your son’s eyes light up even more, if that were possible, and he scrambles off the bed, running back to his room to get dressed. You and Carlos exchange a glance, something you seem to do more now than ever.

You wait until Rafael is out of the hearing distance before you tilt your head sideways and narrow your eyes in question, “What plan are you talking about?”

“Nothing for you,” he boops your nose with his pointer finger as he straightens up and gets out of the bed, “to worry your pretty little head about. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but willing to play along. “So, you think I’m pretty?” you ask, batting your eyes at him exaggeratedly as he gently shoves you back into the bed. Getting up and stretching, which you shamelessly take the opportunity to ogle him, you watch him with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen following your son. Getting ready consists of brushing your teeth and hastily throwing on a robe for you, too anxious to see what you son and husband cooking up in the kitchen – literally.

The scene in the kitchen is enough to melt your heart on its own – Rafael is standing on his trusty step stool at the counter, his little hands busy arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate. The concentration on his face is evident by the way his tongue peeks out slightly in that adorable way he does when he’s focused, a habit that he picked up from his father. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is busy with flipping something in a pan, shirtless might you add.

“Oh my God, look at my boys!” You croon, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin. “You even have matching hats and everything!”

“Boys?” Carlos scoffs, turning to Rafael and pointing his finger towards you, “Can you believe her?” He then turns to you as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “We are not boys, amor, we are men.”

You chuckle at his exaggerated display of masculinity, shaking your head as you walk further into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? The two manliest men I know,” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Rafael, picking up on the banter, puffs out his little chest just like his father, mimicking his stance. “Yeah, Mommy! We're strong, right, Papa?”

Carlos grins, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Rafael. “That’s right, we’re the strongest men in the world." He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And we make the best breakfast too. Isn’t that right, Raf?”

“Yes!” Rafael exclaims, beaming with pride as he holds up the plate of perfectly arranged fruit. “Look what I made, Mommy!”

You lean down to inspect his handiwork, smiling softly. “Wow, this looks incredible, sweetheart. You’re so talented!” You give him a big kiss on the cheek, making him giggle.

Carlos steps closer, holding out a fork with a piece of pancake speared on it. “And how about a taste test, amor?” His voice is softer now, the playful tone giving way to something more tender.

You take the fork from him, taking a bite of the pancake. The fluffiness and warmth of it fill your senses, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. “This is amazing, Carlos. You’ve outdone yourself.”

He watches you with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Only the best for you.”

Rafael, not wanting to be left out, grabs a piece of fruit and holds it up to you. “Try mine too, Mommy!”

You take the fruit from him, savouring the sweetness as you chew. “Delicious! You’re both going to spoil me with all this great food.”

Carlos chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I can also spoil you in the other way you like,” his voice drops enough for only you to hear.

You glance up at him, meeting his playful yet heated gaze, and feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Carlos,” you murmur, half-warning, half-inviting, as Rafael happily oblivious to the exchange, chatters away about his breakfast creation. “I would like to still be able to walk by the time we get to the paddock.”

But Carlos just smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Later, amor,” he promises, his voice thick with affection and mischief.

Before you can respond, Rafael tugs at your robe, breaking the spell. “Mommy! Let’s eat now!” His voice is filled with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child can muster, and it instantly brings you back in the present moment.

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Alright, let’s eat. I’m starving.” Carlos gives you one last knowing glance before stepping back to grab the plates. As the three of you settle down at the table, you try to ignore his lingering gaze that makes your heart race just a bit faster, though you’re not exactly that successful.

It would be safe to say that it had been a crazy few years for Carlos Sainz. Or at least, that’s what Charles would say – if, you know, anybody was to ask him his opinion. First, he had lost his seat at Ferrari, and Charles really felt for him at first; after all, he was his teammate. But he was also the man who ended his marriage, so his feelings for Carlos changed for the worse very quickly. The whole situation had him coming to some revelations.

First revelation he came to was the fact that he was wrong for cheating on his wife, however complicated the situation might be. He had tried to justify it to himself, blaming the stress and the strain, but deep down, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done.

Second revelation was that you deserved to be happy, with or without him – he was just being petty because it was with his old teammate. You deserved to be happy, and while Charles could admit that in theory, accepting that your happiness was now tied to Carlos was a bitter pill to swallow.

Third, and probably the biggest, revelation was that he had royally screwed up when he chose the other woman over you and your son, and it was a loss that he mourned every single day. If he thought seeing Carlos thrive after his own life was crumbling down was hurting his ego, seeing Carlos be the father to his son, was a thousand times worse.

Life took an interesting turn for Carlos after that night at the hotel in Monte Carlo. You had no expectations for him, you didn’t expect him to stay true to his words and be there for you and your baby. But that was the thing, because he kept his promise. He was at your door the next morning with a short list of apartments and penthouses in Monte Carlo. Anticipating your need of getting out of the country, he was prepared – he also looked at apartments in New York, houses in LA and townhouses in London (the few apartments he chose in Madrid also didn’t escape you, but it was a conversation you weren’t ready to have yet). So, when you were having, yet another breakdown in front of him, he just stood next to you and held you until you calmed down. He was always next to you, somehow managing his schedule for the racing season and coming out to see you between races. He kept true to his promise as he made waffles for you at midnight, grumbling about how pancakes were superior, and he held your hand when you were in the delivery room even though you were probably close to breaking the poor man’s hand. The bigger shock came when he announced that he would not be racing for the next season – something he had conveniently not told you in the months leading up to your pregnancy. It also led up to your first fight, and your first real confrontation since this unexpected journey began. The news that Carlos wouldn’t be racing the next season blindsided you. It wasn’t just the fact that he had made such a monumental decision without consulting you; it was the realisation that he had chosen you and your child over the sport he loved so deeply.

“What do you mean you’re not racing next season?” you had asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You were standing in the kitchen of the new apartment he had helped you find, your baby—your son—napping peacefully in the next room. Carlos was casually leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as if he had just announced something as mundane as what was for dinner.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you had come to recognize as a sign that he was about to say something serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, his voice calm, and God it drove you insane how calm and rational he was being with a decision so irrational to you. “And after everything that’s happened... I just think it’s the right decision for now.”

“But racing is your life,” you insisted, the weight of his words settling in. “I don’t understand how you can just walk away from it.”

Carlos met your gaze, his brown eyes steady and full of determination. “It’s not about walking away,” he explained. “It’s about priorities. You and Rafael... you’re my priority now. I want to be here for you both, not halfway across the world, missing out on everything.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. For so long, you had been used to being let down, to promises that were made and then broken. But here was Carlos, standing in front of you, willing to give up something he loved more than anything for you and your son.

“That’s not fair to you,” you whispered, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams.”

Carlos stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not taking anything away from me,” he assured you. “You’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed. I’m choosing this, because I want to. I want to be here for you, to be the father Rafael deserves. I want us to be a family.”

His words broke through the wall you had been holding up, and you let the tears fall. It wasn’t just about the sacrifice he was making; it was about the fact that he was doing it willingly, without hesitation, because he wanted to be with you and Rafael. It was a love that was deeper than anything you had ever known, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with hope.

“But what if you regret it?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears.

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “I know what I want. And if I ever go back to racing, it’ll be when we’re ready. When we both decide it’s the right time. But for now, this is where I need to be.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but there was none. He was as serious as ever, and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about him making a choice— it was about him choosing you, over and over again, in a way no one ever had before.

The argument you had anticipated fizzled out before it could even begin. There was nothing left to fight about, not when he had laid his heart bare for you. All you could do was fall into his arms, holding onto him tightly as you let the weight of his decision sink in. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone loved you that much, that they would uproot their entire world just to be by your side.

So, yeah, Carlos Sainz had not raced for the 2025 season. If it were up to him, he would stay with the two of you for the 2026 season as well, but you and Carlos Sainz Sr managed to convince him to get back to the real world, no matter how much he was enjoying being a stay-at-home dad. But the biggest shock for the world, and Charles, wasn’t that Carlos was returning to the F1 grid – no, the biggest shock was that he was returning to the F1 grid in one of the most coveted seats; right next to Max Verstappen. The reaction to the news had been mixed. Some were thrilled to see him back, eager to see what he could do in a car as competitive as the Red Bull. Others were skeptical, wondering if a year away from the sport had dulled his edge. For Charles, the news was a bitter pill to swallow. Carlos wasn’t just returning to the grid—he was stepping into one of the most sought-after seats in F1. But more than that, it was the reminder that Carlos had taken something else from him, something far more personal and painful. Watching Carlos step into his new role at Red Bull, knowing that he was now part of your life and Rafael’s life in a way Charles never could be, was a constant, aching reminder of everything he had lost.

And so began the Leclerc-Sainz rivalry – which although sounds riveting, is probably the reason why you had to visit your cardiologist more times than necessary within the last couple of years. On the surface, it was the perfect storyline: two former teammates, now on opposing sides, battling it out on the track in some of the most intense and thrilling races the sport had ever seen. But for you, it was far from entertainment. Each race weekend became a new source of anxiety, and Carlos knew how much it affected you, so he tried his best to keep the rivalry on the track. He would reassure you, telling you that whatever happened during the race, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you or Rafael. But even he couldn’t deny that the tension between him and Charles was personal. It was more than just racing—it was about proving something, not just to the world, but to themselves and each other. And so, race after race, you found yourself on an emotional rollercoaster. The thrill of seeing Carlos perform at his best was always accompanied by the fear of what might happen if things went wrong. The rivalry wasn’t just a storyline for the media—it was a real, living thing that had a profound impact on your life.

So, when Rafael told you that he wanted to watch his father race live, you were hesitant to agree. The thought of bringing your son into that world—where emotions ran high, and the stakes were even higher—filled you with dread. The last thing you wanted was for Rafael to witness the intensity of the rivalry that had consumed not just Carlos and Charles, but your entire life.

Carlos, however, was adamant. He knew how much it meant to Rafael to see him race, to be a part of something that had been such a significant part of Carlos’s life before Rafael was born. “He needs to see it,” Carlos told you one evening as you sat together, discussing Rafael’s request. “He needs to know what I do, why it’s important to me, and why I went back to racing in the first place.”

You couldn’t deny that Carlos had a point. Rafael idolized his father and seeing him in action would only strengthen the bond between them. But the idea of watching the race unfold, of seeing Carlos and Charles go head-to-head while your son was there, was almost too much to bear. The days leading up to the race were a blur of preparation and anxiety. Carlos did his best to reassure you, but the tension was palpable. He understood your fears and promised to keep things professional, but you both knew that once the lights went out, everything would be on the line. So, you weren’t exactly surprised that your boyfriend spent the entire morning buttering you up and getting you to relax as much as possible about the day ahead of you.

And to be perfectly fair, he was right for the most part. It had been fine from the moment you made it into the paddock, which somehow worked wonders on your anxiety. As you made your way to the circuit, Rafael’s excitement was infectious. He was practically bouncing in his seat, his little face pressed against the window as he took in the sights. You couldn’t help but smile, his joy momentarily easing the knot of anxiety that had been tightening in your chest since the moment you agreed to come to the paddock in the first place.

Seeing him so happy and in his element, you know instantly that the paddock, no matter in which country, is going to become his safe place. Rafael keeps asking Carlos questions about everything from how they manage to keep the cars so clean to what would happen if they didn’t wear helmets. And Carlos is patient as he answers all his questions, no matter how childish or obvious they might seem. So, when he told Rafael that maybe, just maybe, he might end up in one of the cars he admires so much one day, you know your son won’t miss the beat. “Can I?” He asks you, eyes widened with a pleading look as he clasps his hands together under his chin, “Please, Mommy, I promise I’ll be very careful.”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head, mind immediately starting to think about all the things that could go wrong, “it’s so dangerous! Just think about how afraid you’d be of the speed.”

Rafael scoffs, arms crossed on his chest as he pleads through the pout he has on his face, “I’m not afraid of the speed! Papa, tell her I’m not afraid of the speed!”

Carlos reaches over Rafael’s head as he takes off his cap and ruffles his hair, which manages to get a series of giggles from the little boy, and he affirms, “You are not afraid of the speed, but your mother is right.” You have to hold in your laughter when you see the indignant look on Rafael’s face, but Carlos continues talking as he signals for his son to listen, “We can talk about it when you are older, but for right now you are my lead strategist, capisce?”

Rafael steers his pout towards you, and you shrug innocently in response, which gets a resigning sigh from him. “That’s fine, I guess.” He mumbles, and points to the garage door behind the table the three of you are sitting, “Can I look at your car again?”

“Be careful, and make sure you tell Caco where you are.” Carlos reminds him, as Rafael excitedly scurries off toward the garage, leaving you and Carlos to share a quiet moment.

Carlos leaned back in his chair, a content smile playing on his lips as he watched Rafael dart off. “He’s got the bug,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

You sigh, shaking your head playfully. “I know. He’s already got the attitude. I don’t think I’m ready for him to jump in a kart and never look back.”

Carlos reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you. “We’ll keep him safe,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure he’s ready, and we’ll protect him from the worst of it.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, trusting him like you always have. As you sit together, watching Rafael’s excitement fill the garage, the sweet moment is interrupted by a voice both of you know very well. “Seriously? You’re using him to get to me on a race day now?”

Your fingers nearly crush your poor boyfriend’s hand as you look at the intruder, your heart immediately racing. You turn to see Charles standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes flicker from Carlos to you, then toward the garage where Rafael had just run off. “Excuse me?” You manage to get out, your voice sharp with surprise. The audacity of his accusation stings more than you expected. Charles' gaze hardens as he steps closer, clearly not backing down.

“You heard me,” Charles says, his tone edged with bitterness. “Bringing Rafael here, right in the middle of everything... it’s not a coincidence. You’re just trying to—”

“To what?” Carlos cuts in, his voice calm but firm. His protective instincts kick in as he stands, placing himself between you and Charles. “To have a good day with our son? To let him enjoy the race?”

Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not your son, he’s mine. Stop fooling yourself into thinking you’re his father just because you’re here.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Carlos' expression tightens, but he doesn’t move, his body still a shield between you and Charles. You feel your breath catch in your throat, the weight of Charles’ words hanging heavy in the air. “I know who his father is, Charles,” Carlos says, his voice calm but steely. “And considering the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist, I’d say me being here is more than proof that I am his father.”

Charles' jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker with something raw—pain, jealousy, frustration, all mixed together. “You think you can just step in and take my place? Be the dad, play happy family with my son?”

“Cabrón,” Carlos warns, and though you’ve heard him use that nickname for his friends countless of times, this voice is devoid of all affection, “you lost all right to call yourself Rafael’s father when you decided to choose whatever flavour of the month you were with at the time.” You feel your heart race, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment and the murderous look on Carlos’ face. Carlos steps forward, his voice low but terse. “You think being a father is about biology? About showing up when it’s convenient for you? Rafael doesn’t even know who you are because you’ve never been there for him. I have. I’ve been the one tucking him in, I've been there when he was sick and crying, and I’m the one showing him love every single day.”

Charles flinches, the sting of the truth evident in his expression. For a moment, the fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something else— regret, perhaps. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he straightens his posture, trying to regain control of the situation. “I made mistakes,” Charles says, his voice quiet but defiant. “But you can’t just erase me from his life. He has a right to know who his real father is.”

Carlos’ gaze doesn’t waver, his protective instincts blazing. “Rafael knows who his real father is. He may not understand all the details yet, but he knows who’s been there for him. And when the time comes, when he’s ready, we’ll tell him the truth. But that decision isn’t yours to make anymore, Charles. You gave up that right a long time ago.”

“You’re just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?” Charles hisses, turning towards you in an attempt to find sympathy. His eyes are pleading, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything that has been left unsaid between the three of you for so long. You take a deep breath, your voice soft but firm when you finally respond. “It’s time to let go, Charles.” Charles' face falls at your words, the weight of their finality hitting him hard. His lips part slightly as if he wants to argue, but no words come. The tension in the air is suffocating, each second stretching out painfully. Carlos remains silent, standing tall beside you, his hand subtly resting on your back for support. He knows this conversation is yours to finish. “It’s not about erasing you from Rafael’s life,” you continue, your voice steady though your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s about doing what’s best for him. And right now, that means protecting him from the confusion and hurt that the fact that you were too much of a coward to choose him.”

Charles takes a step back, the anger in his expression dimming into something more fragile. His eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a trace of the bond you once shared, but it’s clear that things have changed too much. Too much time has passed. “I’m not trying to hurt him,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I apologised countless of times, what more do you want from me? I am sorry, okay?”

“Are you quite done?” Charles flinches at your sharp tone, the weight of your words settling heavily between the three of you. His gaze drops to the ground as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes. Carlos stands steady beside you, his presence strong, comforting, even. “I am sorry, too, about it all.”

You can feel Carlos’ confused stare on you, and Charles looks at you with the same expression as he asks, “You... do?”

“I’m sorry that you were cheating on me from the start, I’m sorry you were too weak to stay faithful to me after we got married,” you continue, the words heavy but resolute as they fall from your lips. Charles' expression shifts, a mixture of guilt and pain crossing his face. Carlos’ hand tightens slightly on your back, offering silent support as you finally lay bare what you’ve held inside for so long. “I’m sorry I ignored it for as long as I did, and I’m sorry that I ever found out.” Charles’ face hardens, his eyes clouded with guilt and perhaps a hint of defensiveness as your words hit him. The weight of what you're saying seems to pull him down, and he takes a deep breath as if trying to absorb the impact. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, not willing to let this moment slip away before you say everything that’s been weighing on your heart. “I’m sorry I ever found out about the lies, but most of all, I’m sorry for Rafael. He deserved better, he deserved a father who was present and loved him without conditions,” you say, your eyes locking with Charles’. “You weren’t there, Charles, you weren’t there before Rafael, and you weren’t going to be there after him. So, I suppose what I’m not sorry for is falling in love with a man who was courageous enough to fill that role for both me and him.” Charles’ lips part as if to argue, but no words form. His eyes betray the guilt and regret he’s been carrying, but there’s nothing left for him to say. He knows it. You know it. Even the mechanics and people around you who have stopped what they are doing to watch this whole thing go down know it. “Finally, I’m sorry that you felt the need and audacity to come down here, now not only have you ruined our marriage, but you’ve also ruined my day-off which I intended to spend with my boyfriend, and our son.”

Charles flinches at your final words, his face crumpling under the weight of it all. The sting of your truth, laid bare for everyone to hear, leaves him speechless. His bravado has completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow sense of regret and defeat. He opens his mouth as if to respond but quickly closes it, realizing there’s nothing he can say that will undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted, or the years he lost. His eyes flicker to Carlos, who stands steady, unmoved by Charles’ turmoil. There’s no room for pity here. “I—” Charles begins but stops as Carlos raises his hand.

“I think you’ve said enough,” his voice lacks all sympathy for his old friend, his old teammate, “it’s best you should go before you distress my girlfriend, or my son any further.

Charles’ eyes widen slightly at Carlos’ words, the final blow landing hard. He looks as if he’s been physically struck, his shoulders slumping as any remaining fight drains from him. His gaze flickers between you and Carlos, searching for something—anything—but finding no redemption, no sympathy. There’s nothing left to say.

He swallows hard, his lips pressed into a tight line, before finally nodding in a reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He turns on his heel, walking away with slow, defeated steps. The tension that had gripped the air slowly begins to dissipate as he disappears into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his footsteps behind.

Carlos turns to you, his hand still resting on your back, but now it’s a comforting gesture rather than a protective one. His expression softens as he searches your face. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s just happened, but also a sense of relief. “I think so,” you reply, your voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind you’ve just gone through. “It needed to happen.”

Carlos nods, his thumb brushing soothingly against your back. “He’s not going to ruin this for us. Not today, not ever.”

You smile faintly, grateful for his support. “No, he’s not. He’s gone now, and I’m finally free of it all.”

“We’re free of him,” Carlos adds, a reassuring strength in his voice. “You, me, and Rafael. That’s what matters.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful on the track today,” you plead, chin resting on his chest as you look up to him.

Carlos chuckles softly, his warm smile easing the tension that still lingers. “I promise,” he says, his voice light but sincere. He tilts his head, giving you a playful wink. “But you know me, I can’t drive too carefully. It's in my nature to push the limits a bit.”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, but your heart flutters slightly at the thought of him racing. It’s something you’ve grown used to, but there’s always that edge of worry. "Just... don’t make me regret asking," you tease, though the concern in your voice is real.

Carlos leans down, brushing his lips gently against your forehead, the gesture filled with tenderness. "I’ll come back to you both, safe and sound," he whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. "Always."

You smile, feeling reassured by his words, and you give him a small nod. "Alright. Go show them what you’re made of, then."

As Carlos pulls away, you can see the familiar spark in his eyes, the passion and excitement that he always carries before a race. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning to head toward the car. You watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him—confident, composed, and ready for whatever comes next. Just before he reaches the garage doors, he turns back and flashes you that signature grin that always makes your heart skip a beat. “For you and Rafael,” he calls out. Your smile widens as you watch him go, knowing that no matter what happens on the track today, you’ll always have each other.

It’s not hard for you to find Rafael when you head back to the garage yourself. He’s completely engrossed in conversation with one of Carlos' engineers, pointing out different tools and parts of the car with wide-eyed fascination. His little hands gesture excitedly, and the engineer listens with a warm smile, clearly amused by Rafael’s enthusiasm. Carlos stands off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching his son with a look of pure affection and pride. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the sight of Rafael’s excitement, and there’s a certain softness to his expression that makes your heart swell.

You walk over, standing beside Carlos, who doesn’t take his eyes off Rafael but greets you with a small grin. “He’s already talking like he’s part of the team,” Carlos says quietly, his voice filled with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking over the pit crew in a few years.”

You chuckle softly, watching Rafael explain something animatedly, his little voice echoing through the garage. “He’s got your passion,” you say, leaning into Carlos slightly, feeling the warmth of his presence.

Carlos hums in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. “Maybe,” he says, his tone affectionate, “but the way he talks about everything… that’s all you. He’s got your curiosity, your heart, so, all my favourite parts of you.”

“My boyfriend the charmer,” you mumble as you lightly hit him on his chest.

Carlos chuckles, catching your hand gently against his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just telling the truth,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling as he holds your gaze for a moment longer. “You deserve all the charm in the world.”

You roll your eyes playfully, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re good at this, or I might think you’re just trying to get out of bath time for the next few days.”

Carlos laughs, his warm, deep voice sending a wave of comfort through you. “I’d never do that. Bath time is part of the job.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “But if I do this race right, maybe we can negotiate something.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, but you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he always manages to make you feel light and cared for, even in the most mundane moments. “Alright, we’ll see how you perform today,” you tease back “if you win, I’ll let you put a baby in me, how about that?”

Carlos freezes for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, playful grin spreads across his face. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice filled with both excitement and disbelief.

You nod, biting your lip, unable to hide your own smile. “If you win today, we can start thinking about it.”

Carlos lets out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to process what you just said. “Well, I’ve never been more motivated to win a race in my life,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a new intensity.

You chuckle, your heart racing at the look on his face. "Just make sure you’re focused on the track and not… well, other things."

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” Carlos says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “But now, I’ve got the best reason in the world to win.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “For you, and for giving Rafael a baby sister or a brother.” Your breath catches at the sincerity in his voice, and as he pulls back, he flashes you that charming grin again before heading off toward the car. You watch him go, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness settle in your chest.

Eventually going behind the barriers and watching the race is harder than you’ve expected, you realise. As the laps go by, you keep glancing at Rafael, who’s glued to the action, his eyes wide with admiration for his dad. You smile at the way he clutches his little racing helmet, a miniature version of Carlos’ gear, his excitement evident. It’s clear he’s living every moment of the race through his dad’s performance, just as you are. When Carlos is in the lead, you hold your breath, willing him to stay ahead. When he’s fighting for position, you’re on the edge of your seat, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you have.

As the final laps approach, you glance at the clock and then at Rafael, who’s practically bouncing with excitement. You can tell he’s just as invested in the outcome as you are. You squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a determined nod.

When Carlos crosses the finish line, the roar of the crowd is deafening, and you let out a cheer of your own, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. You look down at Rafael, who’s jumping up and down, his face beaming with pride and excitement. “He did it!” you shout, lifting him up in your arms as you join in the celebration.

Caco and a couple of the mechanics help you and Rafael to get to the barriers, weaving through the throng of celebrating fans and team members. As you approach the barriers, Rafael’s excitement is noticeable. His eyes are wide with wonder, and he clutches his mini helmet tightly, bouncing with every step. Caco, with his warm, reassuring smile, offers a few words of congratulations and gives Rafael a high-five. Carlos comes into view, his car parked in the parc fermé. His grin is infectious, and you can see the joy and relief in his eyes as he looks up at you and Rafael. The moment he gets out of the car, he’s enveloped by his team, but his gaze quickly finds you and Rafael. He finds his way to you after getting weighed and you can see him grab his cap before finally rushing towards you. Carlos scoops Rafael up into his arms, spinning him around as they both laugh, and then turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection.

“Well, looks like we’ve got a baby sister or brother to start thinking about,” Carlos says with a wink, setting Rafael down so he can pull you a in for a kiss.

You smile against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the joy of this moment. When you pull away, you look up at Carlos, your eyes sparkling with love and excitement. “We do, don’t we?” you say softly, your heart full as you take in the sight of your family together in this victorious moment.

Rafael, still buzzing with excitement, tugs on Carlos’ sleeve, his little voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Papa, did you see me cheering? I was so loud!”

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. “I heard you, buddy. You were the loudest cheerleader out there.”

As the celebration continues around you, you feel a profound sense of contentment. The day’s events, the race, the emotions—everything has come together perfectly. You take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of being surrounded by the people you love most.

Carlos pulls you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Rafael. “Thank you for everything today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve made this day even more special.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been an incredible day,” you agree, looking out at the jubilant scene around you. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.”

As you watch him savour the moments with your son before he needs to go for his interview and the podium celebrations, you realise just how lucky you are to have something that only happens every few lifetimes.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #carlos sainz angst

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queers-gambit · 12 days ago

Text

Let The Redeemed Tell Their Story [ pt. 1 ]

part one: Not So Heavenly Surprise

pt. 2: Let the Redeemed Tell Their Story

prompt: reunions are bittersweet. feelings are hard. times are tough, redemption is sought, goodbyes feel impossible; there's blood in the snow, tears in their eyes, and a haunting goodbye in the air.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 9.3k+

note: in my best Tom Segura voice, "get. fucking. ready." -> second 24-27 from this TikTok for reference

second note: broken up into two parts. pt 1: the reunion, pt. 2: the drama and angst

warnings: suicidal ideology / mention as pertains to Joel's story. we talk death and dead bodies, mentions of dead children. cursing, use of Y/N, so many spoilers, reader insert!! pet names for / by all, step parents are REAL parents, forgiveness, heavy redemption arc, canon-level violence!! small comfort, some fluff, established relationship, and then super-sized angst, author wants you to hurt! oh, and fatal main character injury! maturity and caution required! written before season two!

❗️season one, episode six spoilers

Needless to say, Ellie, Joel, and Tess all got off to the wrong start, on the wrong foot, in the wrong direction. It wasn't exactly any of their faults, though.

There had been an ambush; blood, bullets, a knife, battery acid; there being no real friendly way to meet others post Outbreak. And in these trying times amongst the Firefly Rebellion, there was an added extra layer of anxiety to everything - making it hard to come by trust, especially after Joel himself conducted particularly heinous crimes against humanity. He knew what people were capable of, and even though Ellie was smaller and not visibly a threat to him, he wasn't going to let his guard down. That's how you fucked around and found out.

Life felt brittle and unbalanced, no room for new friendships or bonds or trust or camaraderie in this dog-eat-dog world.

Plus Joel aimed a gun at Ellie, she wasn't entirely willing to play nice after that. And Tess was evidently just Joel's lapdog - meaning she had a helluva bite as bad as her bark - so, the older woman wasn't entirely screaming "friendly" either. There was something off about them, but Ellie couldn't identify what it was; knowing she had to trust that if her mother's friend was right, this couple was just a vehicle - a means - to get her west. There were facilities, laboratories, doctors, and researchers conducting life-saving experiments that could see the start and end of this Outbreak in the same lifetime. Ellie was excited to be part of those answers since it was all the 14-year-old could hold onto after losing Riley to the Infection; thinking she wouldn't ever have to endure that twist of fate again if she went west.

Yet for now, she was saddled with Joel and Tess; the latter of who left the pair at the apartment to gather supplies for their trip into Boston to link with the Firefly transport team. She had to play nice for, what? All of two, maybe three days? Tops? Ellie figured she could do that, she was stronger than anyone wanted to give her credit for. So, when Joel crashed on the couch, she poked around the bleak 'home' out of pure childlike nosiness.

There wasn't anything personal to the naked eye, until she caught sight of the stained-glass butterfly hanging in the window pane; sure to catch the light when the sun was shining. She thought it curiously out of place, yet would not say a word when Tess returned and Joel was instantly lifting to his feet to take it down. He quickly wrapped it in an old shirt and stored it as safely as he could deep in his supply pack, eyes casted downward to miss Tess' glare and head shake of disappointment. Or perhaps, he didn't miss them at all and purposefully avoided the eyes of a jilted lover, offended by a childish decoration.

In fact, interestingly, Ellie noted that Joel was much more caring and considerate with his pack than he was Tess. She never saw them romantically interact, but understood there was some kind of trauma bond between them; feeling something heavy in her chest when witnessing their goodbyes. It was the most emotional Joel had appeared this whole time, and of course, it was in the shadow of losing someone he cared about.

Joel was in denial, even when Tess revealed her bite and compared it to Ellie's - whose skin was scabbing and healing. "When Y/N first - "

"Don't say her name," Joel snapped.

"Fuck you and listen! When Y/N first theorized there would come immunity in younger generations, we both told her she was fucking crazy. She left us, left you, Joel - "

"Don't you fuckin' say that - you don't talk about her like that!"

"We don't have time for you to play this game, Joel! She went in search of a sign - and now, look! This is real," Tess yanked Ellie's arm further into the light. "Joel, she's fucking real, and you haven't heard anything from Y/N in years - not even Tommy's heard from her! Isn't that why we're going - why you're going? So her death isn't in vain?" Joel shook his head, but the attention shifted when Tess' hand started to shake. She released Ellie and tucked her arm out of sight, insisting, "I need you to get her to Bill and Frank's - "

"No."

"They'll take her off your hands - "

"No."

" - they'll handle it from there."

Joel refused at first, but Tess was running out of time and used every tactic at her disposal. She insisted and demanded. Tears filled her eyes, "The past 15 years, all you've wanted was absolution - it's what Y/N wanted, so it became what you wanted - "

"I told you, don't fuckin' talk about her," Joel snarled angrily, but Tess didn't flinch this time... Because there was no time.

"Face it! She's dead, Joel, but she was waiting for anyone like Ellie!"

"You don't know that!"

"I know it's easier to think she's out there, Joel, but this is Y/N we're talking about - she would've sent word! She hated what we did so much, she left to search for anything better! For anything, Joel! You have to do this. This is it, Joel, this is your chance for you and her to set everything right."

It seemed to do the trick and Ellie wondered who you could've been since your very name set Joel on edge. Yet there was no time to question either of them because a wave of Infected was on their way to them after the chain network of fungi called them to their newest prey. There was panic permeating the air as they had about a minute or two to get gone, arm themselves, or fruitlessly hide before the Infected would reach them.

Tess began overturning gallons of gasoline onto the floor, devising a quick plan; tossing several explosives to the ground with the intention that they would all catch. "Joel," Tess hushed, approaching him, "it's what she would want... If Y/N was here, in my position, she'd be telling you the same thing... If not for me, do it for her. Save who you can save."

Joel only hesitated a moment before turning from Tess and grabbing Ellie, yanking her out of the building after him despite her profane protests. Tess sacrificed herself for their escape, firm in her belief that a cure was possible after witnessing the impossible herself; evident the adults were still living in the past, stuck on what was and all that they lost.

Ellie was deeply motivated by Tess' display, curious if there ever was something to 'return' to, making the newly independent pair quiet on their journey through the suburbs beyond the city.

At Bill and Frank's, they were greeted by only more death. There was nothing out here for them; completely alone, only with each other to rely on. So, Joel and Ellie formed a sort of pact to travel together west in search of the Fireflies and Tommy, Joel's brother - entire reason for his mission trip. Yet still, she felt this mystery woman haunting Joel; it was in nearly everything he said or did, evident there was harbored history he refused to acknowledge. Ellie never had the opportunity to vocalize her question who you were, it was never natural, no bridge, no Segway or reason to ever bring your name up; and after seeing the way Joel snapped at Tess, she wasn't entirely eager to endure a similar reaction.

So she didn't ask that question.

And they kept going.

After Kansas City, Ellie wasn't too excited for answers anymore, especially since she failed to save Sam; in fact, she began to dread their destination the further they got. She was unsure what waited for her and let the anxiety of the unknown drag her down; something Joel took acute note of, but didn't directly address. The obvious turmoil and the way he was haunted by the very mention of his estranged wife's name contributed to the heaviness growing in his chest.

December 11th, 2023 twenty years after Outbreak Day

"Hey, Doc! Doc!"

"Yeah? All right there, Arthur?" You asked pleasantly, trudging up the street leading to the cantina.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, you know me, just my sciatica actin' up again," the older man grunted, waddling in stride beside you. "I done told you this weather was gonna drag me down, see here?"

"Hey now, c'mon, all right, hold onto me, don't need you tippin' over again," you chuckled, keeping the aging elder upright, both shuffling along. "I got what you need, don't you worry, a nice tincture for yah, fresh this morning. All right? Help clear this episode right up - let's get you somethin' warm t'eat, c'mon, there you go, step carefully, all right, now."

"You always spoilin' me," he tisked.

"Us older folk gotta stick together, huh?"

"You're hardly up there," Arthur scoffed, shuffling into the cantina with your assistance. "You're, what? 30? 32?"

"Oh, you ol' charmer," you snickered, waving or nodding at the few citizens that quietly greeted you in passing to the dining room, "you know better than to ask a lady her age!"

"Oh, well, maybe an old timer like me was just tryna hedge his bets."

"Hey? What's that supposed to mean?"

You helped him into a seat across the way from Two Left Lenny as he explained, "Couple o'us got a li'l bet goin' if you're really with that Tommy fella or Maria lady. Can't figure you out, darlin', and you're too pretty t'stay single."

With a snort of amusement, you pushed his seat in, "Now, you wouldn't be tryna set me up with nobody, would'jah? Arthur, I'm tellin' you what, don't do it now."

"Oh, no, never," Arthur sang, hands held in defense.

"Uh-huh, okay, Trouble. Sit tight, I'll grab you somethin'," you patted his shoulder, asked Lenny if he needed anything, then moved towards the buffet line; chuckling to yourself about his little queries. You made up a quick plate with a simple cup of black coffee, chitchatting to the other residents as you went before dropping the meal at the table. "Now, you're gonna eat all them eggs, huh? They're good protein, you need it," you mused, reaching for your usual crossbody canvas tote to rummage around before producing a tincture bottle. "All right, here you go - use moderately. The grove I harvest them cloves at is dryin' up. I gotta replant - "

Before you could continue, a chair shrilly scraped against the floor and someone cried your name. Only... This was a familiar Southern drawl you knew originated from one place.

Whipping around towards the sound, you only needed a moment before Joel's figure was clear as day; stood from his seat in shell shock. He had tears in his wide eyes.

"Joel?" You breathed, and without another thought, rushed for him. "Holy shit, that you? That really you? Oh, my good God, how the fuck - what're you - c'mere!"

The clash of your bodies thudded across the cantina; blissful, unfiltered laughter filling the hearts of any with the ability to hear. Arms clung like cling wrap to each other, rubbing in shock and disbelief as if to reassure the feeling of one another - alive and real, physically here right now. You felt his chest heaving, mouth at your ear hushing, thick with emotion, "I thought you dead, baby; oh, my God. Thought you was gone, I had t'come a'lookin' - you said - you said if I ain't hear from you - "

"Oh, sweetheart, I know, hey, hey," you sighed, petting the back of his head; fingers loosely raking in salted locks. "I'm so sorry I couldn't send word, but I'm right here, honey, I'm right here... Shhh, 's all right, I gotcha, 'M here. Just focus on that."

And just like that, it was as if not a day had passed; as if there was no bad blood or past transgressions, only the here and now: sheer relief.

"Baby, I-I gotta - "

"I gotcha, you're okay," you hushed with your eyes squeezing shut upon feeling yourself dampen with his tears.

"I can't believe it's really you," he whispered. "Shit," with one last squeeze, he pulled back first but kept your cheeks caressed in both hands, "lemme a look at yah. You still you? You hurt?"

"Man," you tisked, smacking his bicep to make him flinch back in amusement, "what the fuck are you doin' all the way out here? How the hell are you even here? Thought I left you in Boston?"

"It's a bit of a long story."

You nodded, "Yeah, yeah, it always is, innit? Go on, sit, go, you were eating, c'mon." You both moved back for his side of the table; reaching out to position his chair and wait for him to reclaim it. "Tommy? You got somethin' to do with this?"

"Apparently," he mused, smirk ever present as you clapped Joel's shoulder and took note of the girl sitting beside him - who eyed you with mistrust. "Oh, uh, Y/N, this is Joel's... uh, Ellie. Ellie, this is our town's physician, Dr. Y/N Miller."

"Nice t'meet yah," you smiled, offering the girl your hand not resting on Joel's shoulder, "Ellie."

"No shit," she breathed, ignoring your hand to stand. "You're her? You're her - you're the Doctor. You're who Marlene told me about."

"Marlene?" You and Joel asked as the same time, but in very different pitches. Ellie noticed the natural way your hand caressed the back of his neck in silent restraint; a motion so practiced from years of marriage. "No shit, how's she doin'? She's not been on the radio lately, I haven't heard from her, God, maybe in years," You mused.

"Now you know how that feels," Joel easily quipped, putting a smile on Tommy's face to realize how identical this scene had once been in another life... But with Sarah.

"Hear that?" Tommy whispered to Maria behind his hand with a smirk. "Family."

"Good, last I knew," Ellie shrugged. "She's in Boston, but, uh, I hear you been lookin' for someone like me - "

"Ellie," Joel interrupted, the girl reading his face and silencing herself.

Your head cocked before a coy smile tugged on your lips as you eyed her up and down. "Uh-huh. Well, all right, honey, I just didn't know what was comin' my way." You tisked your teeth, encouraging, "Go on, sweetie, sit down, eat, enjoy. We'll get t'chattin' later, huh?"

"All right, yeah," Ellie smiled, sitting again. "What?" She asked Joel, who was shooting her an incredulous look. "I know some people, too."

"Uh-huh," he grunted, both going back to their meals. Your trio watched the two tuck in, Dina tapping your shoulder nervously, presenting your usual cup of coffee.

"Oh, thank you, darlin'. Hey, can I introduce - Oh, no, no, that's okay," you smiled when the girl turned and scurried away mid-sentence. "Listen, I gotta get back t'work - "

"Nah, c'mon, stay for a while, you're always moving, honey bee, c'mon," Tommy encouraged, tears slowly collecting in your eyes.

"Duty calls," you eased, sending Maria a pointed look.

"We'll find you later," she agreed, subtly nudging Tommy's foot under the table; watching you squeeze Joel's shoulder and nod at Ellie.

"Nice t'meet yah," you winked.

"Wait," Joel panicked, reaching to grab your hand to prevent your escape, "you really leavin'?"

"I've got some work to get done," you nodded softly.

"We just got here," he stood from his seat again, "I just found you again, doll, please."

You offered a half smile, "You'll be all right, Joel, promise. I'm never too far."

"Nah, no, darlin', hang on, 'cause last time I let you walk away, I ain't see you for fuckin' years - "

"No, hey, Joel, take a breath, baby. I'm not goin' too far, I'm right here in Jackson, all right? You're okay, y'all are safe - I just gotta wrap some shit up but I'll find you after, all right? Sure we got plenty t'catch up on, huh?"

"Yeah," Tommy scoffed without thought, "tends t'happen after two decades, right?" You and Joel pinned Tommy with an identical look of reprimand, making him laugh, "Wow - ain't seen that look in forever, huh?"

"Shut it, Tommy," you laughed, squeezing Joel's arm. "Sit, I'll find yah. Promise."

You sought solace in the medical office, distracting yourself through the waves of emotions you were being slandered with; but with rangers returning, there was thankfully no room for your emotional turmoil.

"No waaay!" Ellie beamed when she saw the foal poking her head over the stall door. Cavernous nostrils flared in greeting, the baby beast excited to greet another youngling.

"I see you've met our newest addition," you mused as you came up behind the group; starling Joel and Ellie. They physically flinched, but Tommy and Maria were far too used to your lithe movements. With a fraction of guilt, your hands went up in defense, "Sorry, sorry, bit light-footed."

Joel didn't deflate, but Ellie smiled, "What's her name?"

"That's Shimmer, just a few months old," you introduced, moving to lean on the stall's outer wall. "Go on, pet 'er if you'd like," you encouraged softly.

Ellie approached the filly, greeting, "Shimmer, you're so beautiful."

"Ever ride a horse before?"

"Nah, never... I'd like to learn, though."

"I'm sure we can make that happen," you nodded, looking at your estranged husband; mind whirling with the memories of teaching Sarah to horseback ride. Judging by the look on his face, he was lost in the same thoughts. So you tried to bring him back to reality by asking, "That is, if it's all right with you, Joel?"

"Hm?" He perked up.

"Ellie, learnin' t'ride?"

"Oh, uh... We'll see," he alluded, shifting his weight and looking away; hands wringing together.

"Well," Maria sighed, "I'm sure they'd like a shower, some new clothes. Doc, you got room for them or should we set them up in the house across the way?"

"They can stay at mine," you pushed off the wall, assuring the weary travelers, "plenty of room, decent place. I haven't really touched it so it might not feel much like home, but it's got heat and water. Could do worse."

"Oh, trust me, we have been," Ellie teased, alluding to the rough conditions they traveled through. You smirked in agreement, understanding first hand how difficult the trip from Boston to Jackson was.

But the child's comment made Joel snip, "We've been doin' fine."

You watched Ellie's face fall in confusion, as if she didn't understand Joel's defensiveness. Yet you did, nodding at Joel to try to assure him that you knew he did all he could in the given circumstances. He didn't need to feel inadequate since Jackson only had certain amenities of privilege because it was one of a kind. He looked down - hardly the man you knew, making your concern spike momentarily; realizing you'd have to relearn about the man you married 20some years ago; where for 5 or so years, you were a ruthless barbarian, then spent 15 years rectifying your wrongdoings, too many of which you've been gone from his side.

"Well, Doc can take Ellie over if you two wanna catch up?" Maria offered; Tommy looking to his brother for an answer.

"Yeah... Okay," Joel accepted after a moment of thought.

Tommy moved to lead the way, Ellie quietly hissing, "Joel."

"You'll be fine," he promised the girl, pointing at you, "trust her with my life, hand t'God."

Ellie noted that seemed to be a common theme; first with Marlene relaying her trust in Doc, now Joel. She watched him walk away with his brother, a strange feeling of abandonment brewing in her belly; hating how seemingly the moment he found his brother, he left her. You nodded to Maria, who left the pair of you to go about her daily chores; asking Ellie, "Shall we, honey?"

"Uh, yeah," she agreed, still watching the two men before almost forcing herself to follow you.

"If it's any comfort, we only leave the property for necessity. They're just headin' inta town. Won't be too far at any given point."

"Right."

"Ever had your own bedroom?"

"Uh, kinda?" She offered, now keeping pace with you. "I had a roommate, but... She joined the Fireflies, left me alone in our dorm..."

"You were FEDRA?"

"Yeah, in their orphanage."

You frowned, striding towards your house across from Maria and Tommy's., "Fuckin' brutal. Bet you're glad to be outta there."

"You have no idea."

"Oh, I got some - hence why I left," you snickered, nudging her playfully. "All right, here we go," you pushed open the front door, "so, real simple, right? Living room," you gestured, "kitchen's through there - backdoor, too," you pointed. "Right, so, up the stairs," you jogged up, hearing her follow, "got my bedroom right here." You bullied your shoulder into the bedroom she could use, "Right, then, sorry 'bout the dust and shit; I like cleaning for my anxiety, but it's no secret this part of the house don't get much use. Here," you showed her the bathroom, "can get a shower - I'll grab you a towel and some soaps. And some new clothes, all right?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, okay..."

You nodded, "Meet downstairs when you're done?"

"Cool."

After supplying her with the necessities, you left Ellie in the bathroom to quickly tidy up the room, deposit a new set of clothes and a DivaCup to the bed, then hustling out the backdoor towards your neighbor, Donna, who owed you from a couple favors. She provided the new winter coat you requested and gave you some of her homemade cookies before you left.

Reentering through the kitchen, you discovered Ellie in the living room, staring at the memorial you erected for your daughters on the mantel over a roaring fire. "Oh, good, you're out," you smiled in greeting, setting the cookies to the table. "I just grabbed you this," you held up the coat, "should help with the bitterness out here. Tellin' yah, kid, the wind out here is murderous." After handing it over, you encouraged, "Well, go on, try it on, lemme see."

"Why'd you do this...?"

"Ah, not used to people just being kind, huh?"

"No. Everyone has ulterior motives."

"Go through what I've been through, kid, and trust me, you get tired of being so pessimistic. Weighs on the soul in the worst ways and I don't have time or capability for that anymore. Just wanna do some good - no matter how small an act." You gestured at the jacket, watching her swing it on before adding, "Plus, you're Joel's kid, and that matters to me. Good?"

"It's, uh, super fuckin' purple."

"Eh, I'd say it's more eggplant," you tugged on the lapels and sleeves, nodding. "It fits?"

"Yeah - "

"Shoe's aren't too big?"

"Uh, no. Where's my other stuff?"

"Rag pile. Get the thing I left you?"

"Yeah. Weirdest gift ever."

"Trust me, it's useful," you snorted with amusement. "Figured period health wasn't exactly top of Joel's list, but - "

"He's not my father," she snipped, "and I can take care of myself."

"All right, then," you kept the relief out of your tone, remaining aloof. "You, uh, you want a haircut? Just to trim the ends, promise."

"I mean, I guess?"

"Who's been doin' it?"

"World-class salons," she deadpanned.

But you weren't phased, only smirking, "Should get your money back for that hack job, huh?" She looked ready to retort, but you were quick, "C'mon, honey, in the kitchen; just a trim, I'll grab my scissors."

So lead into about 10 minutes of silence as you wet Ellie's hair, brushed it, and then began inspecting how much of a cut would be needed. You figured about an inch or so.

"So..." Ellie broke the silence after finishing one of the cookies, "was this, like, your job back then or somethin'?"

"Nah," you mused, "never cut hair professionally, just more of a hobby. I've always liked doin' it, though, but..." You shrugged, "Maybe it was a mom thing." The silence turned poignant. "Saw yah lookin' at my li'l memorial...?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm-I'm sorry about your kids."

"Thank you," you sighed. "Delilah was just a few months old, Sarah wasn't much older than you are now."

"Could I ask what happened? Don't have to tell me if it's - "

"It's all right," you cut her off, "'s been 20 years, but ain't nothin' to really tell." You paused to snip another section of hair, aware that Joel would've told her is he wanted her to know. "The night of the Outbreak, there was so much chaos, my family was forced to split up. My sister had been holdin' Delilah, so she and Tommy had to go a different route than Joel, Sarah, and I - "

"Wait, Joel and Tommy?" Ellie asked swiftly.

"Yeah?"

"You were together that night? I-I mean," she realized the implication was too blatant, trying to cover, "you all knew each other back then?"

You snickered, "Uh-huh, knew each other reeeaaaal well. They ain't tell yah?"

"Nobody's told me anything. I can't tell if it's because they think I'm too young to handle it, or they simply can't stand to relive those memories."

"Probably the latter, darlin', everyone lost everything. It's hard to think back on that day 'cause nobody was untouched, you know? It... It fucked all survivors up."

"Right, yeah, I bet. So you guys, uh, split up?"

"Mhm." Your voice turned somber, the sounds of snipping scissors filling the background, "We lost Sarah first... Then my sister, Katie, well she got bit at some point when on the run with Tommy, so, uh, it was a mercy killin'... And last was Delilah - see, her li'l body was too weak for the Infection, so it killed her, didn't turn her."

Ellie sighed deeply as another section of hair was cut. "Holy shit... I-I'm sorry... That's... That's fucking terrible."

"Ain't nothin' but the past now, darlin'."

Ellie nodded in agreement, trying to break the tension by asking, "Soooooo, you and Tommy...?"

"Oh, fuck no!" You snickered, seeing her jolt in repressed amusement. "He's my brother-in-law; Joel and I were married, or I guess we technically still are, since divorce ain't a thing in the apocalypse."

Ellie went rigid, your scissors slowing when you noticed. Before you could question it, she asked, "They were Joel's kids?"

You wanted to blurt out that, no, Delilah wasn't Joel's after he rejected her before she was even born. Yet it was obvious this child had an attachment to him and you didn't wish to taint the man she knew by exposing the man he once was. There was no use hanging onto the past now, so you answered, "Sure was. Sarah wasn't biologically mine, though; you see, I was her stepmama. Though it often never felt like that - I was all she knew."

"She was your kid, too," Ellie validated.

"Uh, you know what? I'm sorry, honey, I shouldn't have said all that, it's Joel's business to tell."

"It's equally yours. But I appreciate knowing, guess it explains him a little."

"Mh," you hummed, "listen, kid, there's obviously some things you don't know 'bout him, but I reckon you've seen other things. Listen, I don't need to know what happened - but let me justify so you understand, he was so angry for years after losing our daughters in such a brutal way that he resorted to barbarity to filter his emotions. Loss like that... Changes a person to their core. Makes them do things never imaginable - "

"Oh, like killing people? Just like your beloved Tommy used to do, too?" Ellie quipped, "Yeah, I know about that."

"Mhm," you considered.

"He doesn't do that anymore."

"I ain't say nothin'."

"I felt you judging."

"How can I judge what I, too, have done, kid?" It was quiet save from the snip of the scissors. "Yeah, darlin', I know what Tommy and I did - we were followin' Joel. Inna way, we always did. He's magnetic that way, always had the right head on his shoulders so we didn't think too much, figured he knew right from wrong, and our best chances of survival was under him. Joel did everything possible to keep us alive and together."

Ellie scoffed, "And now you're worried I'm gonna do the same?"

"I - "

"Ever occur to you, I might be smarter than you and Tommy? No offense."

You sighed and dropped her hair, swiping the towel from around her shoulders a little roughly. Ellie's head snapped up to watch you round the front of her, taking the single seat at the table she was sat before. Tossing the scissors and towel aside, you sighed, "Listen to me, kid, and listen well. I'm not worried 'bout'cha. You've obviously got a helluva head about you - and yeah, very well might be smarter than me. Reckon you are smarter than Tommy, would've made a damn fine lawyer." A faint smirk tugged on the side of her mouth. It fell as your tone turned serious, "But don't for a second think you know more than I do, been around a helluva lot longer than you've even been a thought. There's a whole lot you're not tellin' me - and that's good. We all got our secrets - you, me, Tommy, Joel, Marlene. Everyone." You watched Ellie's eyes advert, sighing, "You hear me?"

"Mhm."

"I'm not tryna scare you, darlin', not tryna deter you from puttin' any kinda faith in Joel. Truthfully... Joel Miller was the best man I knew. He's a good guy to trust, would put his life on the line for those he cares for without a second thought."

"Then what are you trying to tell me? What?" She scoffed, "You think Joel's gonna do whatever he did to you, to me?"

"Well, therein lies my point - you be fuckin' careful who you put your faith in. The only people who can betray us... Are the ones we trust."

Ellie's eyes lit up with understanding. "How did he betray you?"

"That's not - "

"You can't give me all that cryptic crap and not explain. Nobody fuckin' explains to me anything!"

You chuckled, "Yeah, you're definitely smart, but for now, I'm smarter, hey? Now, c'mon, grab your super fuckin' eggplant coat."

"Where're we going?"

"The movies," you smirked. "Take some cookies, too."

You walked Ellie to the cantina, where a community movie night was underway. The pair of you asked simple questions: where were you from, what each other's favorite color was, how the hell you made it out to Jackson in one piece. During that walk, you decided you liked Ellie; she was a sarcastic little spitfire, but that kind of energy was few and far between these days. You liked the child's razzle-dazzle.

On the way into the cantina, you saw Tommy and Maria exchanging a hushed conversation; so, after seeing Ellie inside, you doubled back. "Hey," you greeted, the couple silencing themselves, "uh, everything all right?"

Maria sighed with a nod, "Fine. I'm gonna head in, keep an eye. You two should probably talk."

You watched your friend walk away, turning to Tommy with an inquisitive stare and a perched brow. Before you could question the tension, Tommy held up a pair of boots and requested, "Actually, babygirl, you mind taking these to the work shed?"

"Sure, but, uh - "

"They're for Joel."

"Right - but is there a reason you don't wanna deliver 'em yourself?" When his eyes adverted, you questioned, "Tommy? Somethin' happen between y'all?"

Tommy shook his head, "Can't hide shit from you. No, it's not - it's just - you know how brothers are. How he gets."

Your eyes narrowed, "Tell me the truth."

"It's not so bad..."

"What. Happened?"

Tommy lowered his voice, "I told him 'bout Maria and I becomin' parents and he... He didn't... He didn't have the best reaction. I might've said something t'him, like... How just 'cause his life stopped, doesn't mean the rest of ours did, too. I know I was outta line - "

"What was his reaction to you bein' a dad?"

"I told him I thought I'd be a good dad and he said, 'I guess we'll find out.'"

You counted to five in your head, inhaling the bitter cold and exhaling. "You know that's his trauma talkin'. You were the best fuckin' uncle to our girls, you're gonna be the best damn daddy, I know it. Joel's just not in his right mind, Tommy."

Tommy took a long breath in, huffing as his hands shoved to his jacket pockets. "Listen, uh, I was... I was gonna go talk to him, but I think you might get farther than me."

"Yeah, I don't know - "

"He's might still be a little prickly, babygirl, but c'mon, you guys can talk on a clean, fresh slate. Maybe he'll be a li'l more willin' talkin' to yah, I mean, he always was."

"That was before."

"Not like that kinda love changes."

"Tommy, don't make it weird," you groaned.

"C'mon," he insisted, "I traded those boots for Joel; he's in the shed, probably tryna glue the soles of his back together."

"Nah, you're comin' with me, y'all gotta kiss and make up."

"Hang on, Y/N," Tommy halted you, glancing around before lowering his voice. "Joel said he's gotta take Ellie to the university t'meet with the Fireflies. She's apparently some muck's daughter, but I don't know if he was tellin' the truth."

"Well, she told me clearly he's not her daddy. He say why they needed down there?"

"Somethin' with Marlene, he wasn't too specific, darlin'."

You frowned and lead the way around the building, crunching through the snow. When you entered the work shed, Joel was sitting on a lone stool with a few tools spread around him; an abandoned boot left to the side. He perked up as if a deer in headlights when he saw you, lips pulling in a small, reassuring smile as you neared the work bench to set the new boots down. "Tommy said I'd find yah here," you mentioned softly, gesturing to his brother by the door. "Here, figured you'd wanna toss them ol' things out so Tommy saved you the trouble and traded for these."

Joel sighed through his nose and nodded silently, going back to his work; hating how effortless and comfortable you seemed to be, hating that there was tension with him and you, him and Tommy; wanting so desperately to go back to how everything once was. Joel just wanted his family back, but he understood, things would never go back to how they were. No matter how much he wished it, no matter how hard he tried, no matter who he prayed to.

"I'll just - leave you two to it," you tried to back out, motioning your brother-in-law forward.

"Nah, babygirl, stay," Tommy prevented your escape, finally facing his brother; who wouldn't admit the flood of relief he felt hearing your old nickname. "Look, I shouldn't have said what I said. I don't even believe it. I know you're happy for me, it's just... It's complicated for you. Both of you," he looked at you as you leaned on a separate workbench, "and I'm sorry." Joel couldn't look Tommy in the eye, opting down at his folded hands; picking at a few callouses.

"Joel?" You asked softly, but his head did not lift.

"This ride to the university, is it a suicide mission?"

You straighten up, crossed your arms, and dropped your head as your lips rolled between your teeth. That word... That word triggered a barrage of thoughts you'd suppressed decades ago. Behind your eyelids, you had flashes of memory to just a few days post Outbreak...

Survivors had been rounded up into triage tent cities, and that day, you had limped into your tent just in time to see a gun pointed at Joel's temple. You remember screaming his name, which in turn made him flinch, but the trigger had already been pulled. You had dropped to your knees at his side, sobbing uselessly, whipping off your dirty shirt to press to the weeping wound on his temple.

You hated those memories.

You hated that the pain he endured was so raw and tangible that he thought that was his only option.

You hated that he never bothered to say goodbye.

You hated him for (almost) doing that - but only for a time. After the initial anger passed, you understood better than anyone why he felt the need to "opt out", never trying to hold it against him whilst trying to cope with him never trusting you with those thoughts or feelings. But the fact remained: he was willing to off himself without a single word to you or Tommy. It was hard to get over something like that, especially after losing your daughters in such a violent, back-to-back manner.

"No," Tommy answered Joel's query. "It's dangerous, but it's nothing you can't handle. Just prepare and do what you do."

"You've had people go that way and come back?" Joel asked.

"All of 'em - "

"Don't lie t'him, Tommy," you spoke stoically, staring at your feet as both Miller brothers looked over at you. "Goin' down t'the university ain't all easy, Joel," you lamented, meeting his teary gaze, "and even some of our rangers don't make it back - there's Infected, sure, but out here, the people are much more dangerous. They're righteously savage... Even a few rumors of cannibal factions. Might not be a total suicide mission, but it's not really worth the risk, especially now with winter set in. Desperate times create desperate people."

Joel dropped his head, "Thanks f'the truth, doll."

"But hey," you tried to cover your tracks under Tommy's pointed stare, "when you have experienced rangers like Tommy or I go, there's never been any issue. We come back without a single scratch, often without seein' a single livin' thing. Yeah?"

"That's right," Tommy agreed, but you both couldn't look away from the dejected shell that was Joel Miller.

Your head cocked with furrowed brows, sharing a look with Tommy when Joel just remained silent. "Joel? Why do you need t'get t'the university? This have anythin' t'do with Ellie and Marlene?" Joel looked like he wanted to answer, but the swelling in his throat stopped him. You encouraged softly, "C'mon, darlin', 's just Tommy and I - you can tell us the truth. What's goin' on?"

A pause.

"She's immune," Joel admitted, stopping time; staring up at his brother with a silent plea before turning his sights on you.

"Say again?" You asked breathlessly.

"Ellie," He explained, watching you nod. "She got Infected but she didn't get sick."

You scoffed, "Yeah, all right, so we're chasin' ghost stories now? C'mon, baby, we don't - "

"It's not a ghost story, Y/N, it's real, it's fucking real - like you always said," he insisted, watching you and Tommy exchange unsure looks. "Tommy, Y/N," he tried to rein in your attention, but his brother was staring out the door's window as if to judge how quick he could get to the cantina to save his wife and unborn child from a potential Infected child. "Tommy," he spoke a little gruffer, earning his brother's attention again, "I saw her get bit myself. That was months ago... Months."

You chuckled, shaking your head, "Nah, 'cause that can't be, all right? There's no such thing as - "

"She's immune," Joel emphasized.

"She can't be," you still refused, "it's not a real thing. I searched, Joel, I tired - "

"Hang on," Tommy sighed at you, rounding around the tables to pull out a stool and take his seat. "Let's just hear him out, babygirl. Gotta be worth at least that much, right? He came all this way - and Marlene told Ellie 'bout you. You've been searchin' for a cure - "

"I gave that up," you scoffed.

"Still - let's hear him out."

You just stared at Joel for a long moment, then hoisted yourself to sit on top of the workbench. "All right. All right, fine, yeah, I guess I've heard some pretty hard-to-believe things in my life, why not add another?"

"That's the spirit," Tommy encouraged, readjusting in his seat, gesturing at his brother to go on.

"From the beginning, Joel, and don't skip a Goddamn detail," you frowned at your estranged husband.

"It was Marlene," Joel started. "She hired us to smuggle Ellie to some Fireflies. It went bad. Tess got bit... She made me swear to take the kid. It was her dyin' wish, even said... Said I had to - sayin' I owed that much." A tear fell as he told you, "Said it was a way towards absolution, like we wanted, doll. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

You saw the struggle in his eyes and heard the tremble in his voice, nodding slowly as if to validate his decision. Joel sniffled, continuing, "We made it as far as K.C., and then..."

"And then?" You asked softly, hanging off every word.

"You know, she saved my life there from another kid. Five years ago, I would've destroyed him. But she had to shoot him to save me." Both you and Tommy bowed your heads at this, reminded of your own years in the wild. "14-years-old. Because I was too slow and too fuckin' deaf to hear him comin'... And I saw," he paused, shaking his head to clear the thoughts away, "I saw a man kill his own brother to save her, while I just watched. And today, I thought that dog was gonna tear her apart because it smelled somethin' on her," his voice wobbled, tears in his eyes mounting; emotion clawing at his chest. "And all I did was stand there. I couldn't move. I couldn't think of anythin' to say. I just... I was so afraid," Joel admitted tearfully. Tommy readjusted again, his eyes locked with yours as if having a telepathic conversation - which you might as well have been. You both believed Joel. "You think I can still handle things, but... I'm not who I was. I'm weak." And your heart shattered at the words directed at your husband's little brother. "Lately, there are these moments where the fear comes up outta nowhere and... My heart... Feels like it's stopped."

You wanted to open your mouth and scream at him how wrong he was, that he was the strongest man you had known, but the truth was... You didn't know Joel anymore. When you left years ago, you had just barely settled in Boston after years wondering the wilderness; years of slaughter, years of savagery, years of ruthlessness. Years of betraying your fellow man in the wake of this Infection - turning against rational logic and becoming that which haunted your waking and dreaming moments.

You had been ashamed of what you did. Who your anger turned you into. What your husband did - and encouraged others to do as well. Those who followed your group turned to a life of murdering and pillaging and rampaging. They did as Joel did; did as you and Tommy had done, but you seemingly wisened up first.

So, you left, and in turn, inspired others to break away, too. Tommy turned to the Fireflies, but Joel and Tess turned to a life of smuggling. It seemed the only thing left to boost their morale, gave them some kind of purpose in the Boston QZ.

"And I have dreams," Joel continued, shaking you from memories of the past. "Every night."

"What kinda dreams?" Tommy asked his brother.

"I don't know. I can't remember. I just know that when I wake up, I've lost somethin'," now, the tears strangled him. "I'm failin' in my sleep, it's all I do. It's all I've ever done - just look at what I did to you, Y/N, what I did to you and our girls," tears rapidly broke his waterline, "our gorgeous, innocent girls - I failed you and then I failed them. And now all I ever do is fail her, again and again."

"You want us to take her," Tommy realized first.

"I'm just gonna get her killed, I know it. I know it. I have to leave her."

"Yeah? You 'have' to leave?" You found your voice, sounding angry, but when Joel looked at you, he found tears in your eyes as well. "You thought you had t'leave us, too, and how well did that work? Joel - "

"It's why you left, right, baby? It's why you both took off on me, right? To make up for the things we did?" With a shake of your head, you looked away, Joel focusing on his brother, "Well, here's your chance to bring your kid into a better world. You're younger than me. You're still strong, you said it yourself, you'll come back. You have to take her. And Y/N, you left in search of redemption, of absolution - I'm giving that to you after I took so much of your innocence. Forced you into a world of hurt, right? I need you t'do this, it's all you've wanted, please, let me give this to you."

Except, Tommy looked distraught for a long moment; throat swollen as his eyes found yours. You reached out to pet the back of his head, sighing, "Tommy can't take her, Joel. He's got too much t'lose now, but, uh... I-I can. I can go, I can take her."

"Babygirl's made the most trips out of all of us," Tommy explained. "She always comes back... She should go, Ellie would be safest with her."

You nodded and Joel rushed, "But you can't tell anyone, not even Maria." Tommy looked ready to argue, but Joel told you two, "Tommy, Y/N, you two are the only ones I trust, if anyone else sees those bite marks on her, what's under her skin, they'll shoot her."

Joel could almost see the way your mind reeled back 20 years prior to when Sarah had been shot; dying right in front of you both with her blood staining your skin. How neither of her parents were able to save her.

"It's the last thing I'll ever ask of you - either of you," Joel rushed. "I swear."

You sighed, looking down at Tommy, but he was already looking at you. "You're not goin', Tommy," you decided, "gotta stay here with Maria. But, uh... Yeah," you told Joel, "yeah, all right, I'll take her out at dawn. But on one condition."

"Anything."

"You tell that girl the truth. She doesn't deserve no type of lie or half-assed answers. Tell her the truth, Joel."

"I will," he whimpered.

"Tommy, give us a minute, would yah, babe?" You whispered, patting your brother-in-law on the shoulder.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go on, can catch the end of the movie," you encouraged.

"You know, I can go with y'all - "

"Not a chance in hell," you smirked, "Maria would have my hide. Go on now, git," you shooed, waiting until he was out of the shed before sitting in his vacant stool. "Now, Joel..."

"I know it's insane, I know how it all sounds - "

"That's not it," you cut him off with a frown. "I'm concerned about you, honey. You say you have these dreams every night, but I know that's a lie - just look at yah! Look as if you haven't known sleep in fuckin' months."

"I guess, I haven't? Maybe even in 15 years..."

"Mhm," you hummed before sighing and bowing your head. "Look," you decided, "I'll do what needs done - I'll do whatever you ask of me. You know I will. But I think you and I need t'clear the air, get some truths between us."

"Okay. Like what?"

"Like why the hell you really came all the way out here?"

He stared at you for a moment, shrugging, "T'find Tommy."

"Mhm, why'd you wait until now?"

"I wasn't - we didn't have a car battery until Bill and Frank's."

"Right, and then?"

"Got attacked in K.C.. Been on foot since then."

You sighed, "And Tess? She gonna pop up out here, too? Lookin' for you? The way we stay safe, Joel, is bein' smart - "

"She's dead, remember? Got bit..."

"Well, with this whole immune thing, just thought I'd clarify." There was a suspended silence for several heartbeats. "You all right? I know she was special to yah."

Joel shrugged, "Hurt more when you left..."

"Don't try t'flatter me now, I'm already takin' the kid - "

"I'm serious, baby, please," he insisted. "Yeah, fuckin' hurt when Tess got bit, but nothin' hurt like what happened to us. To our family."

You nodded, "Listen, about that..."

"What?"

You sighed deeply, rubbing your hands together before admitting, "I've had a lot of time t'think about all that went down. And for any and all parts I played, I am sorry." His eyes filled with tears again. "I knew you were struggling after," you paused, swallowing harshly, "you know, a-after Sarah and Delilah, and instead of us tryna figure shit out together, we let our anger take control."

"Not like we had any other option."

"We did," you nodded. "Bein' out here? Helpin' build this place? Meetin' all these people? Yeah," you scoffed, "there were other options, but our anger made us blind. Ain't all our fault... But for what we did? Joel - "

"I know," he rushed, wiping his cheeks. "I know, it was fucked."

"More than fucked. We murdered people, Joel."

"I remember."

"I'm haunted by it, I keep - fuck's sake," you laughed ruefully. "I keep tryna make up for it all. You know? Out here, I'm alive, I'm able and capable, but at night, yeah, darlin', I'm haunted, too. No amount of good I put into this world is ever gonna make up for the horrors we committed."

"And now?"

You nodded and huffed, "Now, it looks like I get one last shot at redemption. This girl, this... Ellie. She really immune?"

"Hand to God, I swear she is. She got bit when Tess did, and while Tess' wound turned dark and started to fester - her's was clean. Just barely a mark by then."

"Jesus," you considered. "It's what we've all been waiting for, huh?"

"It's what you've been searchin' for," he agreed.

"No shit. All right, well, how 'bout that?" You cleared your throat, asking, "Why the university?"

"Firefly doctors and shit - thinkin' they can, I don't even know, like..."

"Like, what? Find a-a cure? Ain't no curin' this shit - I mean, at most, it'd be like a vaccination."

"Then that's what it is. Listen, sugar, you sure about this? Taking her, I mean?"

"Joel," you half-smiled, "I've been unsure of a lot of things since we lost our girls, but the idea that I can give other parents - like Tommy and Maria - more time with their kids? That's a risk I gotta take. For Sarah and Delilah, right?"

"For Sarah and Delilah," he agreed, the tears cracking his stony exterior again. You stood swiftly and opened your arms as you stepped into him; Joel shooting out of his seat to meet you. He latched his arms around your waist, sobbing into your neck and shoulder. "I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so fuckin' sorry. F-For fuckin' everything - "

"Shhh," you shushed him, tears of your own surfacing to stream down your cheeks. "Hey, 's all right. You're here now, you're here, finally with me, it's all right, Joel. You're okay."

"I'm so sorry, so fuckin' sorry. For how I was when you were pregnant and after, I never should've - and-and now, we don't get the chance t'be with them and it's my fault for wasting that time - "

Your heart felt lighter as you admitted, "I forgave you a long time ago, baby. It's okay."

Joel held on all the tighter. He didn't deserve forgiveness, but God, did he crave it. He wanted absolution, to be absolved of his past; even before the Outbreak, he wasn't perfect. But to hear you forgive him shattered him into fragments he'd never glue back together. Because he knew, deep in his soul, he didn't deserve it.

Perhaps, maybe you knew he didn't deserve forgiveness, too. But you had no place to judge, that wasn't your job; so, you did the only thing you could and forgave him. How could you move forward if still stuck in the past? Look at Joel now: haunted, depressed, panicked. He still dwelled in a time that would never come again, but you didn't want to turn out like that, so you welcomed forgiveness.

It made you feel lighter. Brighter.

So, whether it was selfish of you or not, whether he deserved it or not, you forgave him.

And in that tool shed, for at least another hour, you stood there, crying, petting the other's hair in soothing motions; rambling about moving forward now that he was finally with you again. Joel hated to admit it, but a small part of him felt happy... Elated... Excited for whatever was to come - because he had you back.

For years, he thought you were dead. For years, he grieved. For years, he let his self-hatred grow and fester; in turn, hurting those around him because the concept of forgiving himself was impossible.

And now, 21 years of turmoil was buried in the snow as you sobbed how much you missed each other. How life would look different from here out. How this mission with Ellie would be your last - the final step towards redeeming yourselves for the hateful, savage behavior of your pasts. Joel never thought he'd feel this feeling again, but here you were, in his arms, hand thread through his greying curls; promising that you would stay by him if he stayed by you.

A vow renewal of sorts.

Joel had to bite his tongue to stop from scolding you that you shouldn't cave this easily - but he understood, it wasn't easy. 15 years since you saw him, 21 since you've been a real couple; this decision wasn't easily made, and he could acknowledge that.

"C'mon," you mused, lacing your hand with his, "you've got some explainin' t'do t'the kid and I've gotta pack. And then, you're gonna get a shower with hot water and soap, and then you're gonna crawl in bed with me, and we're gonna sleep."

"Sounds too good t'be true, darlin'."

"What? A shower and a bed is farfetched but immunity isn't?" You teased, tugging his hand to lead him out.

"No... Bein' with you again just doesn't feel real."

"Well, believe it, baby. Aht! Boots!"

For the first time in possibly 21 years, Joel actually laughed. He let you discard his old, worn-out, falling-apart boots and laced his brand new ones on; once more taking your hand, and heading into the night. He glanced around the courtyard, musing, "So, where'd you get the Christmas shit?"

"Carefully," you teased. "But the kids make most of the wreaths."

"Art projects?"

"Yeah. It's a sliver of normalcy - not that they ever know it. Honestly, most of the decorations are for the adults, it reminds them of what once was. It's nostalgic, comforting."

"Yeah... Yeah, somethin' like that. Oh, uh, speaking of decor bein' for the adults, I, uh, I brought you somethin'."

"You... You brought me a present?" You scoffed. "You didn't even know I was out here - that I was alive!"

"I-I guess I brought it for me, but now that you're here, I want you to have it. To remind us of our girls... If that's okay?"

"Well, you know me, darlin' - I never say no to presents," you teased with a grin, squeezing his hand.

[ pt. 2: read here ]

[ part one: Not So Heavenly Surprise: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

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mage-ical-character-person · 1 year ago

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He’s an insecure little robot who is very stupid and probably doesn’t understand the concept of children in the first place.

So he thinks it’s acceptable to mock the science projects of dead children. I guess. Children that if they somehow survived the initial incident probably died under his care later because he can’t be bothered to properly care for the smelly humans.

stupid insecurity ball says well I could be better at science than. A baby. And convinces himself that’s a legitimate accomplishment.

one thing that completely and utterly baffles me is how people can play through the bring your daughter to work day but and still delude themselves into thinking that wheatley is nice. like okay maybe i can understand the lack of media comprehension anywhere else bc he backtracks a lot. but he does not say ONE nice thing about those childrens science projects at ALL. and find every way to belittle them. like come onnnnn. you have to see that right? right?? whats the excuse??

#My first instinctive thought when I see him is still: friend!! :D!! And I can’t stop myself from responding that way to him #but he’s a little jerk who does not consider the consequences of his actions #Like on some level I can relate to sometimes saying things that sound mean out loud but not in my head. But seriously #I don’t think he’s intentionally malicious most of the time? But he is very selfish. And doesn’t consider the feelings of others #like at all #We got GLaDOS redemption arc sorta (still mean but less murdery. Not that I blame her for the murder given the circumstances.)#Wheatley redemption that also avoids over-villainizing the other characters and acknowledges WHY he needs a redemption when #like GLaDOS and Chell got some kind of closure. GLaDOS also got over her fear of birds in favor of weaponizing them #which is additional something?#and Wheatley and the other cores get nothing. Like I get that they’re secondary characters.#But Wheatley. Little Wheatley. He got the wake-up call of a lifetime and then what?#Companion cube got more closure than Wheatley #wheatley #portal

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brunchable · 6 months ago

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POV: You're sucked into your Fanfic - Part Three

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Writer!fReader Themes/Warning: Comedy - Chaotic Duo (mainly y/n), breaking 4th wall. Fanfic Bucky meets his writer. Swearing. Summary: So you got kicked out of your own fanfic and know you have to go to work and face real life problems. . . or so you thought. A/N: Listen, don't expect this fanfic to be well organized because it's not supposed to be. I don't know where I am going with this yet, do enjoy this chaotic fanfic with me for now lmfao.

tags: @winterslove1917 @zeeader @iamdedsthingz @hzdhrtss @almosttoopizza

@yiiiikesmish @literaryavenger @aquabrie @ramp-it-up @nash-dara

@winchestert101

You leap out of your car like a bat out of hell, convinced that you’re finally back to normal life. No more fanfic shenanigans, no more redemption arcs gone wrong. Just a regular, boring job where I definitely won’t have to deal with anything weird.

As you stumble into the elevator, trying to untangle yourself from your coat and shove a half-eaten granola bar into your mouth, you breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. Back to real life.

You slap the “Close Door” button repeatedly, desperate to get moving. The elevator hums, the doors sliding halfway shut. But just as they’re about to close completely, they flicker—a sudden, sharp flicker of the lights overhead—and the entire elevator rumbles like it’s having a midlife crisis.

Your eyes widen as the lights dim and flicker again, the walls creaking.

“Uh... what the hell?”

You press the button frantically, but the flickering intensifies for a brief moment, making the whole thing feel more like the start of a horror movie than an office elevator ride.

Weird. Really weird. But then, just as quickly as it started, the flickering stops, the lights stabilize, and the doors begin to glide open again.

The doors glide back open, and in walks CEO Bucky Barnes, striding into the elevator like he owns not only the building but the entire damn planet. And the universe beyond that. He’s dressed in a sleek, tailored suit, the kind that screams: I make more money in an hour than you’ll see in a lifetime.

Your granola bar nearly falls out of your mouth as you press yourself against the elevator wall like a frightened mouse, eyes wide.

“Oh, come on.”

Bucky glances at you, arching an eyebrow as he steps inside, completely unbothered. He casually hits the close button, taking a bite out of the apple he’s holding, and then gives you a look, as if your entire existence is mildly amusing.

Oh, no. When I said I want to go back I meant in my other fanfic, NOT THIS. You swallow hard, gripping the railing in the elevator. Is this another one of those fanfics I wrote and abandoned?

You glance at him again, suddenly realizing the flickering, the rumbling, the tailored suit, and the attitude. This is definitely not the action Bucky from before. Nope, this is CEO Bucky, and apparently, he has zero patience for your existence.

Great.

You groan internally, wishing you could rewind the last five minutes of your life.

He’s holding an apple—eating it, actually—like some kind of smug Greek god. The crunch echoes in the small space of the elevator, and with every bite, you can practically hear your sanity cracking.

You backup more—if it’s even possible—against the corner of the elevator, eyes wide, heart pounding.

“Oh my God. Oh no, no, no—” you mutter to yourself, eyes darting around like you might find an emergency escape hatch.

Bucky side-eyes you, not missing a beat as he takes another crunch of his apple. He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your sudden and very visible panic attack.

“You’re late,” he says casually, as if pointing out the weather. The way he speaks, smooth and lazy, is enough to send a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t even look fully at you—just a quick glance that screams you are insignificant in my kingdom.

Your eyes dart around the elevator, fully cornered now.

“Wh— I—Late? What—no, I’m not late!” You tug at your coat, flustered, hands shaking as you clutch your bag like it’s a lifeline. “I mean—yes, I’m late, but also... what are you doing here?”

CEO Bucky pauses mid-bite, looking at you as if you’ve just sprouted two heads. He finally turns fully toward you, taking another slow, calculated bite of his apple.

“What am I doing here? I own this building.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like you should already be bowing down to him or, at the very least, shining his shoes. His eyebrow arches higher, and his lips quirk up at the corner into the slightest smirk. A smirk that makes you want to scream and faint simultaneously.

You sputter, pressing yourself further into the elevator corner like you’re trying to melt into the walls.

“Right. Of course. You’re the CEO. That’s... that’s normal. Completely normal. You just... randomly show up in elevators eating apples and ruining people’s lives.”

“You always this chaotic first thing in the morning?” He shakes his head slowly, clearly unimpressed with your rambling.

“What—excuse me? Chaotic?” You blink, momentarily thrown off.

He takes one last bite of his apple before tossing it in the trash bin in the corner with a smooth flick of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to face the elevator doors as they slide shut. “Usually you’re nice and quiet”

You gape at him, jaw practically on the floor. “Nice and quiet?!”

The elevator starts to move again, and you just stare at the back of his head, blinking rapidly. This can’t be real. This CAN’T be real. You glance up at the ceiling, half expecting the universe to laugh in your face.

“Right, okay,” you mutter to yourself. “Cool. I’m in a scrapped fanfic where CEO Bucky Barnes exists and I’m... late for something. That’s fine. Totally fine.”

The elevator dings as it reaches another floor, and you brace yourself for whatever happens next.

Bucky side-eyes you again, folding his arms, his suit jacket stretching over his broad shoulders in a way that is entirely too distracting.

“Try not to make this a habit,” he says coolly, his voice dripping with condescension.

You blink. “What—what habit?”

He shrugs casually. “Being late. And whatever this is,” he gestures to you, still cornered and clearly flustered, “your whole... thing.”

“My whole thing?” You’re so flustered you don’t even know what to say. “This isn’t even a thing! I don’t have a thing! This is just... my life, okay?”

Bucky smirks, his gaze sliding over you like he’s assessing whether or not you’ll survive the next five minutes.

“Yeah,” he mutters, stepping out as the elevator doors open again. “Totally, your thing.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded, staring at the empty space where he was just seconds ago.

The elevator doors close again, and you let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I hate this fanfic already.”

× × × ×

You sit at your desk, your fingers tapping anxiously on the keyboard, but your brain is doing everything but work. It’s going a million miles a minute, trying to piece together what exactly happened to land you in this ridiculous situation.

You glance down at the stack of papers on your desk, all labeled with the company’s sleek logo, and let out a long, tortured groan.

Then it hits you like a freight train: You’re Bucky Barnes’ assistant. This is what you wrote months ago before you rage-quit the whole story.

Your head drops into your hands. Fuuuuck.

“What was this about again?!” you mutter under your breath, trying to dig through the mental files of your abandoned fanfic plot.

You remember vaguely setting this story up to be some kind of CEO!AU where Bucky was... what? Brooding and powerful? Sexy, for sure. In control of everything? Definitely. You were supposed to be some mild-mannered assistant who totally had her life together.

But that was so not you either. You had given up on this story for a reason—writer problems. Why did I even scrap this plot again? Oh right. Because it got so cringey you couldn't even finish it.

You try to think back to why this fanfic had hit the writer’s block wall. It was something to do with the plot going absolutely nowhere. You had no idea where to take it, so naturally, you abandoned it like a badly cooked lasagna and moved on to the next story with more action and less... corporate nonsense.

And now, here I am, stuck in the very fanfic I gave up on because I couldn’t figure out what would happen next. Fantastic.

You sigh dramatically, rubbing your temples. Great. I’m in an unfinished fanfic where I don’t even know the plot. Awesome. Totally normal day.

Just as you’re contemplating throwing yourself out the window—or at least hiding in the bathroom for the next eight hours—you decide to take a break. Maybe you can sneak out for five minutes and regroup. Get your chaotic brain together before CEO Bucky calls you for something ridiculous like filing his taxes or fetching his tenth coffee of the day.

You push away from your desk and stand up, trying to be stealthy. But just as you make your way toward the door—

“Hey, you.”

You freeze mid-step. Oh for fuck sake.

Slowly, like a guilty child caught sneaking out of class, you turn around. There’s CEO Bucky, leaning against his office doorframe, arms crossed like some kind of modern-day Greek god. His suit is perfectly tailored, every inch of him screams I own this place, and of course, he’s got that little smirk that makes your brain short-circuit.

He gestures with two fingers, that damn lazy motion that makes you feel like you’ve been summoned by royalty.

“Come here.”

Your eye twitches.

“I have a name, you know,” you say before you can stop yourself, crossing your arms defensively. It’s completely out of character for the version of yourself that you wrote into this fanfic, but your chaotic brain can’t help it.

Bucky pauses, clearly not expecting you to talk back. His eyebrows lift slightly, and then that smirk grows even wider, like you’ve just amused him.

“Do you now?”

You groan internally. Oh crap.

But now you’re stuck, because CEO Bucky Barnes, in all his smug glory, is eyeing you like a predator who’s just found something interesting to toy with.

“Yeah, last I checked,” you say, now fully committed to the chaos as you shuffle closer, arms still crossed like you’re trying to shield yourself from the intense vibes he’s putting off. “It’s not ‘hey you,’ it’s Y/N.”

He chuckles softly, leaning back slightly and watching you approach. “Y/N, huh? Interesting.”

You squint at him, already regretting your entire life. “Why is that interesting?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I don’t know. I like ‘hey you.’ It fits you.”

You resist the urge to scream into the void. “Well, I’m taking a break, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Break?” He interrupts, his smirk not fading. “You’ve been here what... five minutes?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the way he’s looking at you—like he knows exactly how to push your buttons—makes your brain scramble.

“I need to regroup. You know... organize my thoughts. Get my head in the game.”

His smirk widens as he watches you try to squirm out of the conversation. “Right. Organize your thoughts. Good luck with that.”

You blink at him, genuinely baffled by how this man manages to look so smug while saying so little.

“This is why I scrapped this fanfic,” you mutter, too quiet for him to hear. “Why did I write him like this? All smirky and... and haughty and... ugh.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing your muttering, but chooses not to comment.

“You’re really something,” you grumble under your breath as you turn and make a beeline for the door, desperate for some air.

You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, and just before you leave the room, you hear him chuckle again.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Don’t get lost on your... regrouping.”

You grit your teeth, giving him a tight smile as you exit the office. “Sure. I’ll be regrouping. Totally.”

The moment you’re out of his sight, you let out a groan, practically melting against the hallway wall. How do I survive this fanfic?

And then, like a jolt of lightning, you remember why you gave up on this fanfic. Because Bucky Barnes as a smug, controlling CEO is TOO MUCH!

You smack your forehead, slumping down the wall. “I am so screwed.”

× × × ×

You return to your desk, a glass of water in hand, mentally cursing your decision to ever write CEO Bucky Barnes the way you did. Smug, intense, and probably the reason for my inevitable breakdown. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down as you plop into your chair.

I can do this. I survived getting my ass beat up by action Bucky. I just have to survive the day. No more weirdness.

But, of course, life—or rather, your fanfic—has other plans.

As you sit down and try to focus, you hear the sound of high heels clicking against the floor, getting closer. You glance up, and there she is: Bucky’s soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. The character you completely forgot about when you abandoned this fanfic. She turns on her heel, clearly satisfied with her silent insult, but something inside you snaps.

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out in a deep, gangster voice, “Da fuCK you lookin’ at, Discount Cruella?”

She freezes mid-step, as if you’ve just slapped her with a fish. Her head turns slowly, like she can’t quite believe you just called her that. You add a taunting little eyebrow raise, tipping your chin up like you’re daring her to respond.

What the hell just came out of my mouth? You blink, stunned by your own voice, but you don’t back down. Commit, commit!

She glares, her jaw tightening. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you heard me,” you say, leaning back in your chair, sipping your water. “You struttin’ around like some budget Bond villain? What, you think I’m intimidated by your off-brand designer knock-offs? Please. I’ve seen scarier outfits at Walmart.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. Instead, she turns with a dramatic huff and stalks off, her heels clicking furiously against the floor.

You lean back even further, casually waving after her. “Yeah, you better walk away, Dollar shop Donatella!”

She disappears down the hallway, leaving you feeling victorious, if not a little surprised at your own audacity.

You take another sip of water and mutter to yourself, “I swear, this fanfic is making me brave... or stupid. Probably stupid.”

As you’re mentally patting yourself on the back for that little victory, you hear footsteps approaching again. You look up, expecting it to be her again, but nope—it’s Bucky.

“Hey, you,” he says, that smooth, infuriating voice drawing your attention.

You roll your eyes but try to act casual. “Yeah, what now, boss?”

Before he can answer, you take a sip of water—probably the worst-timed sip of your life.

Bucky’s just about to say something, but the sight of him leaning casually against your desk, all brooding and smug and tall and sexy, makes you choke on your water. You try to hold it in, but before you can stop it—

PFFFFTTTTT!!!

You spit your water all over him. Like, right in his face.

Time freezes. Bucky blinks, water dripping from his face and his perfectly styled hair. He looks stunned, as if this is the first time in his entire smug CEO existence that someone has dared to water-blast him.

You freeze, your eyes wide in horror. “Oh. My. God.”

Bucky wipes his face with the back of his hand, his expression unreadable as he stares at you. You panic, leaping out of your chair and rushing over to him, grabbing the nearest paper towel in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I am so, so sorry!” you babble, dabbing furiously at his face, then his shirt, then—oh no, his chest. Holy crap, his chest.

You keep muttering in a frantic whisper. “Oh my God, his muscles. I’m touching the muscles—holy crap, I am such a perv. This is inappropriate workplace behavior—so much muscle—why did I write him this way?”

You write every Bucky character this way.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and confusion as you continue to pat him down like he’s a spilled drink.

“Are you... okay?”

You blink up at him, paper towel still in hand, your brain short-circuiting.

“I—uh—what? Yeah! Totally fine. Just, you know, touching muscles—I mean—patting you down! Because of the water! That I... spat in your face. Oh my God, I spat water in your face.”

Bucky chuckles, his smirk back in full force. “Well, this is definitely a first.”

“I’m going to die of embarrassment now. Please, just... let me dissolve into the floor.” You groan, backing away from him with the soaked paper towel in hand.

Bucky, now completely unfazed by the whole situation, shrugs and gives you a half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just water.”

You stare at him, still mortified, and mutter under your breath, “I hate this fanfic.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Instead of heading back to his office, though, he leans in slightly, his gaze flicking down to your water glass and then back to your face.

You freeze. Oh God, why is he leaning in? Your brain is already preparing to short-circuit again. What now? Is he about to call me out on my water-spitting habits? Does he smell fear?!

“Actually…” Bucky says, his voice dropping, his smirk now in full dangerous levels of smirkiness mode. “There was something else.”

Your heart skips a beat. Oh no. Oh no, not again.

“Yeah?” you squeak, gripping your water glass like it’s your last hope of survival. “What’s that?”

He leans in a fraction closer, his eyes practically dancing with mischief.

“I was going to ask you for the Henderson file, but now I’m thinking...” He pauses dramatically, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Maybe you should get me a towel first.”

Your jaw drops. “A towel?!��

“Yeah,” Bucky says, not missing a beat, “since you’re so keen on throwing water at people.”

You blink at him, utterly mortified. “I didn’t throw it! I just—ugh, fine! I’ll get you a towel.”

He grins wider. “Good. And then... you can grab the Henderson file.”

“I’m not your assistant and your personal dry cleaner!” You groan, turning to leave, but of course, you have to get in one last grumble.

Bucky watches you, highly amused. “You sure? You seemed pretty eager to pat me down a minute ago.”

You freeze mid-step, spinning around with wide eyes.

“Oh my God, I—I wasn’t—I was just trying to—you know what? Never mind!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m getting the damn towel!”

You rush off toward the break room, muttering under your breath the entire way. “This fanfic is literally out to humiliate me. Why did I write him like this? Why, past me, WHY?”

Behind you, you swear you hear Bucky chuckle softly, and it only makes you walk faster.

× × × ×

Y/N, now on a mission to redeem herself after the whole spitting water fiasco, rushes back to her desk with the Henderson file in one hand and a towel in the other. No more screw-ups, you tell yourself. No more embarrassing moments. I’m going to act like a professional human being for once.

You take a deep breath before stepping into Bucky’s office. He’s seated behind his desk, looking as composed as ever, typing away on his computer. Cool, calm, collected, you remind yourself. You carefully place the file on his desk, and then with way too much flourish, dramatically whip out the towel.

“Your towel, sir!” you announce like you’re a butler in an old movie, bowing slightly for extra effect.

Bucky glances up from his computer, one eyebrow raised. “Thanks... I think?”

You nod seriously, trying to keep a straight face.

“Only the finest hand towels for the World’s Wettest CEO,” you add, clearly not able to stop yourself from clowning.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s definitely a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, usually assistants don’t mock their boss right after spitting water on them.”

Before you can fire back with something clever, he stands up and—without breaking eye contact—starts stripping off his jacket.

Your eyes widen to saucer-size. Oh SHIT. Look at those biceps, I bet he could crack an egg with those.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you blurt, taking a cautious step back. Your eyes dart to the door, your brain immediately thinking of the worst possible scenario.

Bucky casually shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto his chair, and takes a slow step toward you. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to show off those forearms—and, holy hell, is it getting hotter in here?

You gulp, stumbling back another step. “Why are you coming closer? What—no, don’t come any closer!”

But he doesn’t stop. In fact, he smirks as he undoes the top button of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves even higher as if he’s about to give you some kind of private show.

Your brain completely short-circuits.

“I will call the police!” you shout dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at him. “Don’t make me do it! I have a phone!”

Bucky takes another step, clearly enjoying watching you unravel.

“Stop!” you squeak, backing up so fast that you almost trip over your own feet. “I swear, if you come any closer—Please! I’m a virgin!”

Wait. WHAT? Did that actually just come out of my mouth?

Bucky stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing in pure confusion. His smirk falters, and he blinks at you like you’ve lost your mind—which, honestly, you might have.

“Wait, what?”

You slap your hands over your mouth.

“Not... not really!” you blurt, mortified, feeling your face turn a thousand shades of red. “I just—what—I mean, I don’t know why I said that! Forget I said that! WHY DID I SAY THAT?”

Bucky stares at you, clearly torn between laughing and being genuinely confused by your outburst.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You point at him again, eyes still wide. “You were stripping! I thought—I don’t know what I thought! I thought you were about to—look, can you just—stop doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“I was just getting comfortable. You’re the one making this weird.” He finally gives in and lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“I’M MAKING THIS WEIRD?!” you shout, nearly flailing in disbelief. “You just started stripping in your office like we’re in some kind of romance novel!” Well. . .technically. . .

Bucky shrugs, clearly amused by your total meltdown. “I wasn’t even halfway through, and you’re already threatening to call the cops.”

“I panicked!” you cry, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “What do you expect when you come at me like some... some walking smirk with biceps?”

“Relax, hey you, I’m not gonna bite.” He takes one more step toward you, the grin on his face infuriatingly smug.

“Right... okay... great. But, uh, no more sudden movements, okay? I don’t think my dignity can take another hit today.” You’re still staring at him, pulse racing, trying to get your heart back to normal.

Bucky, still smirking, unbuttons his shirt completely, slipping it off and tossing it aside as if the entire interaction hasn’t completely short-circuited your brain. Now, he’s shirtless, and your brain is screaming

NOPE, NOPE, yes NOPE.

But he doesn’t stop there. Bucky takes another step closer, clearly enjoying the absolute chaos unfolding on your face. He gestures toward the towel still clutched in your hand.

"Since you’re so eager to help, why don’t you pat me dry?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?!”

He tilts his head, completely unfazed by your reaction. “You spat water on me. Now it’s only fair you clean up the mess.”

You clutch the towel tighter, staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Do you not have arms? You seem perfectly capable of drying yourself off with all these...” you gesture wildly to his bare chest, your voice rising in pitch, “...muscles!”

“I’m not saying I can’t. I just thought you might want to.” Bucky chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your face is practically on fire at this point. “Oh, I’m sure you’re more than qualified to handle it yourself!” you say, thrusting the towel toward him. “I’ll just—uh—get you some new clothes! Right?”

Bucky shrugs, clearly still enjoying your mortification. “Sure. Or you can keep patting me down. Your call.”

“I WILL NOT BE PATTING ANYTHING,” you declare, your voice an octave too high as you spin around and dash toward the door. “I’ll get your clothes!”

“Take your time.” As you stumble out of the office, you can hear Bucky’s soft chuckle behind you.

You groan internally, your face still burning as you make your escape.

“This is getting worse and worse,” you mutter under your breath, gripping the door handle a little too tight. “I miss action Bucky. At least he wasn’t... shirtless and smug! God, why is this happening to me?”

You rush out the door, praying for some kind of divine intervention—or at least for your brain to stop short-circuiting every time you’re within ten feet of his ridiculous muscles.

You blink, and suddenly the world shifts beneath your feet. One second you’re in the office, still mentally head-slamming yourself for your awkward slip-up, and the next, you’re standing in front of two massive, intimidating double doors.

You blink again, confused. “Wha—What the—Wait... where the hell am I?”

Your eyes scan your surroundings, and it finally hits you—you’re in some fancy penthouse building, way too expensive-looking to be anywhere near your normal, boring life. And then, just as you’re about to piece things together, glowing words flash above your head:

Business Proposal, Part 4: Sick Leave

You stare up at the words in disbelief, slowly lowering your water bottle. It went up to Part Four?!

“That’s new,” you mutter, looking around as if someone’s watching you. “Why does this feel like some kind of twisted game show?”

Before you can contemplate further, a voice—loud, deep, dramatic, and all-knowing (totally not Bucky’s voice)— suddenly echoes around you, narrating your life like it’s the season finale of a telenovela.

“It’s been a few days since Bucky’s break-up with Yasmine, and Y/N has been very worried—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut off the voice, raising your hand like you’re silencing an annoying ad.

The narrator pauses, then comes back, clearly annoyed. “Yes, you are.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Nope. Not worried. Zero percent concerned. I barely even remember her name—Yasmine, was it? See? Forgettable.”

There’s an exasperated sigh from the unseen narrator.

“Yes. You are. Bucky’s been distant, and you can’t help but wonder if this is affecting him more than he’s letting on—”

“Oh my God, I literally do not care,” you interrupt again, dramatically rolling your eyes toward the sky, wondering if you could just teleport out of this madness. “Can I at least care about something that doesn’t sound like a rejected soap opera plot?”

“You do care,” the voice insists, the irritation building. “You’ve been wracking your brain about how to comfort him, wondering if now is the right time to—"

You wave both hands in the air like you’re directing traffic. “Nope. Absolutely not. I’m not showing him anything. If anything, I need a vacation. A spa day. A break from all this fanfic insanity.”

There’s a very heavy pause, like the narrator’s deciding whether to keep talking or just yeet themselves into the void to escape you.

Then, with maximum exasperation, the voice finally asks, “Do you ever just shut up?”

You gasp, clutching your chest in mock horror. “Wow! Rude! Is that how you treat all your characters? Is this why all my stories keep getting abandoned halfway through? Is this your fault?”

There’s a very, very tired sigh. “You do know this is your story, right?”

You blink, then scratch your head. “Oh yeah...”

You can practically feel the narrator rolling their eyes, probably contemplating retirement.

“Fine,” the narrator says, now with the exhausted tone of someone who just ran a marathon through an obstacle course of idiocy. “You’re not worried. But you are here at Bucky’s penthouse, and he’s expecting you. And deep down—”

“I literally do not care!” you yell, flailing your arms like a cartoon character.

The narrator groans again, even louder this time. “Why do I even bother?”

“Honestly? I’ve been wondering the same thing,” you mutter, finally stepping forward to push open the ridiculously huge doors. “Let’s just get this over with. What’s next? Is Bucky going to burst into song? Or is this the part where I accidentally knock over some expensive art?”

“For the love of—Just get your ass inside!” the narrator snaps, sounding like they’re one sarcastic comment away from quitting entirely.

You pause, your hand hovering over the doorknob, and then snort. “Wow. Testy, aren’t we? Someone needs a narrator spa day.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh that echoes in the hallway, clearly done with your antics.

“I’m just saying,” you add with a shrug, “I’ve been through a lot today. I feel like a little sass is warranted.” You push open the door with an exaggerated flourish, muttering, “I swear, if Bucky’s standing there with some dramatic lighting or a tragic backstory about Yasmine, I’m out.”

The narrator doesn’t respond, probably because they’re off somewhere wishing they had another job. You step through the doors, bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous fanfic nonsense is about to hit you next.

You step through the doors, fully expecting some serious businessman vibes from Bucky. Maybe sitting behind a giant mahogany desk, brooding over paperwork, casually looking out at the city skyline like the high-powered CEO you wrote him to be.

But no. Instead, you find Bucky on the couch, wrapped in what can only be described as the world's most excessive blanket burrito.

His hair’s a mess, his nose is red, and—oh my God—he’s holding a mug like it’s the last ounce of warmth in the universe. Surrounding him? A small fortress of tissues and cold medicine.

This is not CEO behavior!

His head slowly turns toward you, his eyes slightly puffy, and you swear there’s a pitiful sparkle in them. He sniffs dramatically, like a rom-com hero in his darkest hour.

“Y/N?”

Your brain stutters. “I—uh—what?”

“I think... I’m dying,” he whispers hoarsely.

You blink at him, completely dumbfounded. Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s the “sick love interest” trope. Your life has officially hit peak cliché.

“Dying?” you repeat, hands on your hips. “Aren’t you, like, a super soldier? And a CEO? You manage hostile takeovers and boardroom battles, and now you’re... this?”

Bucky sniffles again, managing to look both miserable and somehow, annoyingly attractive. He shifts under the mountain of blankets and croaks out.

“I’ve never been this sick in my life.”

“You have a cold. A cold.” You cross your arms, staring down at the pathetic excuse of a man swaddled like a sad burrito.

He coughs dramatically, like the very act is draining his soul.

“It feels like... more than that.” His eyes meet yours, shining with exaggerated sorrow. “Can you... can you make me some tea?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man is running an entire company, and right now, I’m supposed to be... what? His nanny?

“You’re serious?” you ask, incredulous.

Bucky nods weakly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“With honey. And lemon,” he rasps, voice full of the weight of his tragic illness. “Please.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes so hard you might strain something, and head to the kitchen.

“What happened to you, man? You’re supposed to be intimidating! A force to be reckoned with! What is this?”

He sneezes loudly from the couch, followed by a pitiful groan. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

You pause mid-step. “You’re emotionally compromised... because you have a cold?”

Another tragic sniffle. “It’s more than a cold. It’s the end.”

You fill the kettle, trying not to laugh. “The end? Of what? Your dignity?”

From the couch, Bucky coughs again—this time sounding even more over-the-top dramatic, like he’s trying out for a role in a period drama.

“I think it’s... fatal.”

“Oh my God, you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, pouring the hot water into a mug, stirring in honey and lemon. “How are you the same guy who intimidates boardrooms? This is embarrassing.”

Carrying the tea back to him, you set it on the table in front of him with a flourish. “Here’s your tea, Mr. CEO. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You’re... my hero.” He takes the mug with both hands, looking up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

You deadpan at him. “If you expect me to wipe your nose, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Bucky takes a sip of the tea, then stares at you like you just saved his entire existence.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sigh, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, staring at him like a tired parent. “Is this what rich people do? Get over-the-top colds and drag innocent assistants into their melodrama?”

“It’s not just a cold. I’m suffering.” He pouts, snuggling deeper into his blanket cocoon, clearly loving every second of the attention.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m suffering too, buddy.”

Bucky coughs again, though you notice it’s less dramatic this time. “You’d do this for me, though... right?”

“Do what? Be your unpaid nursemaid?”

“Would you?” Bucky flashes a smirk, though it’s weak and slightly pathetic due to his current burrito state.

You sigh, feeling like you’ve officially reached rock bottom. “Sure, why not. What’s next? Should I bring you soup and read you a bedtime story?”

His eyes light up. “Could you bring me soup?”

You throw your hands in the air, standing up in mock surrender. “Oh my God, I walked right into that one.”

From the couch, Bucky manages to look even more pitiful. “Please?”

“I swear, if this turns into a romantic montage, I’m jumping out the window.” You groan dramatically, heading back to the kitchen.

Somewhere, the narrator’s voice hums, clearly enjoying this too much. "And so, Y/N found herself drawn into a reluctant role of caretaker, tending to Bucky's every need—"

“OH MY GOD, NO!” you shout to the ceiling. “Not this trope! Why is this happening?!”

Bucky, now fully alert, blinks at you. "Who... are you shouting at?”

The narrator sighs dramatically. “You’re really ruining the ambiance.”

Bucky's eyes narrow, looking around the room as if someone's going to pop out of the walls. "Seriously, who are you talking to?”

“GOOD,” you snap, ladling soup into a bowl. “Ambiance is overrated.”

Bucky frowns, staring at you like you've completely lost it. "You're... really freaking me out right now."

You mutter under your breath, "Join the club, pal.”

As you return with the soup, you place it in front of Bucky, who looks up at you with the sad puppy eyes again. “Thanks for taking care of me, Y/N.”

“This is my life now, isn’t it? Fanfic sick-nurse tropes and soup.” You groan, staring at the ceiling.

The narrator hums again. “Exactly.”

You dramatically flop down on the couch next to Bucky. “Next time, just write me into an action scene. I miss action Bucky.”

“Action Bucky’s tired. Let CEO Bucky have his moment.”

You groan again, burying your face in a pillow. This fanfic is literally trying to kill me.

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