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dxmurewrites · 3 days ago

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Where We Remain

Part Two to We Were Always Here, an anon requested two shot series that can also be apart of my nurse x paddy universe.

pairing: Paddy Mayne x Nurse!Reader

summary: You're gone, and so was he.

Part One can be found here.

unedited, my bad it’s 6am.

warnings: established relationship! little canon divergence to fit in the plot, coarse language, war themes, mentions of character deaths, guns, blood, separation, angst, depression, regret, death, violence, season 2 spoilers ish, mentions to smut - nudity, unprotected sex (p in v), soft sex, breast touching, body worship.

tl: @monty-bluebird @rizaazxx @bridgertonbee1814

Let me know what you think! Anon I hope this was okay!

Rain had soaked the earth beneath their boots, a stark difference to the sand dunes they had spent so long in.

Paddy barely noticed now.

Mud, sand, blood, poems or memory - it all smeared together, clouding his mind.

It had been months since Cairo.

Since Eoin.

Since his father.

Since you.

The war didn't wait for grief, didn't have the patience for it by any means, and neither did he.

They had set up camp somewhere in the hills, waiting in some ruins for more information about the resistance in Termoli. Some of the lads were asleep, others on watch or eating whatever tins they had managed to find.

Paddy sat by a radio, the headphones around his neck, the mic resting by his thigh, long since turned off. It was dark, a breeze picking around him, but the only heat in the Irishman's body was from the many swigs of his beer.

He knew he should take it easy.

Tomorrow they would be intercepting the town, and this very well could be his last night alive. But he didn't care anymore.

War wasn't comfortable.

It came for everyone in the end, one way or another.

Instead, his shaky hand slips into his front pocket, brushing against a cold metal he hadn't dared to look at since you were taken from him.

Your gift, his pocket watch.

His last birthday in the desert. Polished silver and simple in design. Not flashy by any means, but it was something you had gone out of your way to buy, and it was something he kept close to his heart - literally and figuratively.

He takes it out, turning it over in his hand and presses the button on top reluctantly. The photograph inside had faded ever so slightly, the black and white still of you two laughing. Two drunken grins, eyes not looking at the camera, your arms wrapped around his neck.

It hit him harder than anything before.

Paddy stared at it, his blistered thumb running over your face slowly - not for the first time nor the last. There were nights he contemplated throwing it into the sea, contemplating burying it in some garden here in Italy - the closest thing to a funeral.

He spoke softly, words carried into the night.

“You deserved better than me.”

When they first docked in Sicily, he had fought the urge to leave the watch on the rail of the docks, thinking with one little push it would fall to an ocean grave. But he couldn't.

He was far from soft, but he knew that trying to forget you was the real death. Letting your face fade from his already scattered memory, your joy, the crinkle in your eye as you laughed.

Forgetting you felt like treason.

That would mean you were well and truly gone.

You deserved a better than funeral than what he could offer. Hell, like Eoin, there was no body to even bury. Paddy and his men had left man made crosses in the desert for you and their other fallen comrades. Your little grave, already reclaimed in sand, was left with a flower and a piece of poetry.

He knew you would curse at him, call him a sap for even leaving you loving words, but it was all he could offer.

He thought of your humour, your voice, the way you patched him up after every little reckless stunt. The smell of antiseptic and desert wind.

The way you kissed him, the way he'd kiss you.

Christ, Paddy felt he had been too rough with you.

Rough hands, rough kisses, rough sex.

He'd never been gentle, not in the way you deserved.

It hadn’t been cold by any means, how he showed his love for you. But it had been hard, blunt, unspoken. A hand on your back in a warzone. Quick, hungry kisses between tents, always rushed, always like it might be the last. Even his embraces felt poor.

And when he'd take you to bed, it was never soft. He'd leave bruises on your hips and thighs, bite marks in your skin. He'd never just be slow and tender, like he knew he should've been.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the watch still resting in one hand. He raises it, pressing the watch to his forehead, his eyes closed.

Silence again.

When he finally opened his eyes, there was no dramatic revelation. No tears. Just that same ache, it felt hollow and permanent, like a wound that wouldn’t scab. Out of all the scars on his body, you left the deepest.

Paddy snaps the watch closed and tucks it away again before anyone could comment, sniffing just ever so slightly. He straightens his back, focused on the task.

The radio communication between the SAS now 'SRS' and the partisans had turned rocky. It was brief, and Paddy had lost contact with Pat just a few days prior.

He assumed the rat had been dealt with and that tomorrows take over was still a go, but he struggled with his thoughts more than ever.

With every bated breath, every order barked through gritted teeth, every fire of his rifle.

The moon hung low behind a herd of clouds, casting more shadow than light. Hiding behind the trees, the town of Termoli slept under Nazi authority, unaware that Paddy and his men were coming for them at dawn.

Paddy went to sleep that night with you on his mind and his pocket watch in his hand, just as he had done every night since the day you left. Around him, the others murmured low, close to sleep or pretending to be.

The grief was in all of them, but it hung heaviest on him, the man in charge. He wondered if there was anything else this war could take from him.

He carried you everywhere, whether he liked to acknowledge it or not.

The town was bruised but standing. Locals tended to broken windows and damaged walls while his men and the partisans settled into exhaustion.

The square, once filled with noise and gunfire, had fallen quiet. The celebrating had dulled to murmured conversations, low laughter, and the clink of bottles between survivors who didn’t know what else to do with the stillness.

Smoke still hung over the rooftops, low and pungent, clinging to the broken shutters and stone.

The battle for Termoli was over. The last Germans had either been killed, captured, or driven out.

Now the town was alive again, albeit in that fractured, post-battle kind of way. Children ran through the square with makeshift flags. Old women passed out food. A cracked accordion wheezed in the corner. The locals were celebrating.

Yet the air reeked of gunpowder.

The fighting had finished for now, casualties on both sides.

The last German machine gun nest had been silenced by the SAS this after noon. Resistance fighters and SAS now moved freely through the bustling streets, checking over bodies, hauling supplies, and pining into the strange, unfamiliar rhythm of peace.

Paddy stood off to one side, nursing a chipped cup filled with something red and sharp-tasting. He wasn’t much for wine, but it was offered by a towns woman who wept when his boys freed them from the occupying nazis.

He watches over everyone intently, his eyes scanning over the busy street. The atmosphere immediately felt livelier, his men having found their own drinks and ways to relax.

Reg was stuck talking to a small boy, Jim who had rejoined his men with eagerness was sitting with some partisans, all had found something to do.

"I have teams returning soon," A woman's voice breaks Paddy out of his thoughts, one of the resistance fighters. "Try make sure your men don't shoot them, yes?"

"Why weren't they here getting their hands dirty with us then?" Paddy retorts, his eyebrow raised as he takes a sip of his wine.

The Italian just stares blankly at him, her hand on her hip, the other holding a rifle. "They were getting dirty blowing up bridges," she points her finger at his chest. "Making sure no more got in, seems to me they did good hm? Haven’t actually seen them for a few months now."

Paddy nods along, silently agreeing. He himself had sent a team north to blow some bridges, so he was more than surprised to hear the resistance sent allies south.

An hour passed, and the team all sat around a large table when trucks could be heard in the distance. The partisans all stood quickly, sharp grins on their faces as they begin running in the direction of the vehicles.

Paddy looks up, seeing an Italian partisan waving his cap in the air from the passenger seat, smiling from ear to ear. A few of his comrades followed suit, speaking rapidly in a mix of Italian.

The truck stops and men jump out, all rushing to hug their friends. Some look over Paddy's way, eyeing the boys with confused glances. More words are exchanged in Italian, some fingers pointed your way and others behind the now parked truck.

One of the men runs over, his smile never wavering. "My friend," he exhales, taking off his hat and scrunching it in his hand. "He says there are more trucks coming, one truck has uh," the man thinks his words over in his head, his English coming out broken. "Truck has soldiers on it, yours."

This immediately piked everyones interest, heads turning and eyebrows raising as the man spoke. Paddy tilts his head, his knees bouncing under the table. "Mine?"

"Si si," The man nods eagerly. "They have uh - have helped our fighters, good men."

Paddy blinks. Once. Twice. His heartbeat shifted in his ears, not faster, not yet. Just harder.

The others were already murmuring, excited. The idea of seeing old faces, maybe even names they thought lost was a spark thrown into dry grass.

Then, someone shouted from the east wall.

“More inbound!”

Paddy stands as more vehicles drive through the rocky streets, his men following suit. He moves through the crowd that had already formed, past civilians and soldiers alike until he reached the new additions.

Paddy's shoulders were squared, his face unreadable.

The boys fell into step beside him, their expressions ranging from hopefulness to caution. They knew better than to get their hopes up

They expected maybe one soldier from the UK.

That is, until they saw them. Figures emerged from the back of the trucks, shadowed from the dying sun. Shouts of joy could be heard echoing through the square, a hoard of soldiers running towards Paddy and the others, crushing their friends in tight embraces.

Men clapped backs, smacked wet kisses against their cheeks much to their dismay, swears leaving their lips. Some wipes at their faces, commenting on the dust in their eyes.

Paddy hung back in disbelief before greeting his men with the same embraces. They were some of the men who'd been sent with you, and it struck him deep seeing them alive and somewhat well.

The partisans were still filtering in from the other trucks with more soldiers and civilians. A few wounded. He counted them automatically in his head, wondering just how many needed help.

More familiar shapes emerged through the smoke-hazed street, a few ragged soldiers in battered uniforms.

More of his men.

Christ. they looked thinner. Paler. But alive. The lads surging forward again to greet them with more embraces and rough slaps on the back.

He was happy, more than he had been in awhile, but he couldn't help the way his blue eyes searched every vehicle, every soldier that jumped off the backs.

He felt like he was looking for ghosts.

His name was called, one of his men who had been presumed dead bringing him into a hug, commenting on Paddy's new title with a battered salute. The Irishman had scoffed, pushing his friends shoulder playfully before sending him on his way with Pat.

Some more tried speaking to him but were whisked away before they could, some shouting Paddy's name in urgency as they were carried by their friends and into town.

He just chuckled lowly, knowing how excited everyone was.

He thought he was holding onto smoke, chasing something he could never catch, so when Reggie elbows him, offering him another drink, he takes it with haste.

It didn’t happen dramatically. No heavenly light. No hush falling over the crowd.

You had seen his back before anything else, Paddy taking a large gulp of wine with his head tilted back. It was Reggie who saw you first, dropping his drink almost instantly as he smacked at Paddy's arm.

He turned just in time to see you be helped out of the back of a truck. Just you, walking through the crowd, shoulders bumping into people as your eyes stayed on him, lips moving with words he couldn’t hear.

Gone was the uniform you left in, now sporting the same clothes the partisans wore, the only difference was the medical banner tied around your arm and the rifle strapped to your back.

Here. Breathing. Alive.

Everything around him went still. The laughter, the music, the clatter of boots on cobblestones.

Your breathing felt laboured, as did his and you both blinked, like you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You kept moving and eventually he snapped out of his shock, handing Reggie his cup roughly as he began moving.

Half the squad had turned now, watching silently with mouths agape. He could just make out some 'I tried to say something!' before someone shut them up.

When you finally reached him, it was like time caught up all at once.

Neither of you spoke at first.

You looked exhausted, blood stained to your skin and dirt strewn across your face. There was more muscle in your arms and no doubt under your uniform, enough for Paddy to notice. A scar was across your cheek, and his mouth opens, but no words escape.

Paddy looked even more wrecked. The bags under his eyes were large, his hands slightly shaking, hell he had even shaved and cut his hair in your time apart.

For a moment, Paddy was adamant that his mind had finally turned on him. That it was some cruel punishment conjured out of grief and guilt.

You were here.

You were alive.

You remember the sound first.

Gunfire. Sharp, so close that it made your ears ring. It had cut through the trees like lightning. Metal against metal. Metal in flesh.

Boots that tore through the dirt and men who screamed in a language you couldn't understand. The air reeked of blood, of oil and something else.

Your team had met at a rendezvous point, swapping trucks and joining another allied unit in an attempt to get to a town that called for aid. It was supposed to be clear - at least it's what you and the boys had been told.

You remembered shouts from your side.

After that, mayhem.

Some in your unit were killed on impact. Others returned fire instinctively. Your lads, brave, fearless and stupid all in one. You weren't armed at first, but someone had handed you a sidearm the moment you had bounced up and dodged the bullets coming your way.

The ridge was held for what felt like hours.

But the other side pushed what was left of your unit into a small town. It was a small village, low stone walls and shuttered windows, an unfortunate shelter caught between life and death.

And death felt near.

Ammo had run out a while ago, you weren't even sure if any of your shots had landed. Hell, firing the gun felt like you were going against everything you had learnt in nursing. It didn't matter, as long as the shots kept them back.

There had been no backup, no way out.

The partisans were heaven sent.

They didn't announce their arrival - they didn't need to.

The gunfire had shifted, followed by more languages you didn't speak. Then quiet. Or at least, quiet enough to feel like you could breathe again.

The Italians had been watching, waiting for a break in the fight to strike. Unfortunately for them, your unit had unknowingly dragged Hell itself to their doorstep for them on a silver platter.

They took you in, helped bury your dead, and for once - someone stitched up a wound on your skin. At some point during the ambush, your cheek had been cut from jawline to temple. It wasn't deep to cause a serious issue, but it was enough to need attention.

Paddy had been on your mind the entire time.

The partisans asked for nothing in return - only that you aid them in laying low.

Seeing as it was too risky without radio communication - you couldn't contact anyone from your side either. Someone had ratted out your teams route, and now trust ran thin within allies.

So you stayed, you and the other survivors.

There were a handful left from the original unit. All bruised and battered, all in varying stages of shock. You had mended what you could, helped carry who wasn't heavy when others struggled. Stitched wounds like someone had done for you.

You even learnt how to curse in Italian and how to aim properly.

You stopped being just a nurse that day.

War wasn't comfortable.

War didn't care about who you were before, only who you could be now.

The units moved often, hiding in the mountains and liberating villages. Burning bridges, literally and figuratively. The Italians trusted your boys, but not enough to send word out of your status.

Not to Paddy.

But god, you tried.

And tried and tried.

Begged to send even just a word. A name. A message of life. But they wouldn't risk it - they had come so far, they had seen what happened to groups that had their transmissions heard.

So you were left with silence.

You had been walking around, scarred and angry for months. Days blurred, more bridges were burned, eventually you stopped counting.

There was no choice but to keep going, for the lads, for your country, for the people you saved.

For him.

For Paddy.

You had gotten word that Termoli was being reclaimed today, and your unit had been tasked with blowing up two entry points the nazis had been using.

And for once, things had gone smoothly. Word had gotten out that the town was taken back, and you and everyone in your truck breathed a little easier.

You were in the last convoy, resting your head against the shoulder of one of your men. The sun was setting, and the sounds of celebration greeted you all in now time.

Shouts of joy echoed around the stone walls, both in English and Italian. Familiar voices and accents yelled a bit louder than others, and the moment your truck had parked, you were already off the back and standing on your tiptoes in an effort to see the culprits.

Your eyes widened, seeing the familiar faces of SAS, the many soldiers you had left in the desert just months ago. They brought your comrades into their arms, shouts of delight and swears alike.

But your eyes were trained elsewhere despite the happy feeling building in your chest. You spot Jim and Pat talking with some other partisans you had met briefly.

Your gaze landed on a familiar tattooed soldier standing at the highpoint of the stone road, his taller frame dwarfing that of the Irishman next to him.

Paddy's head was thrown back as he drunk from a glass, and Reggie had smacked at his arm roughly, his eyes wide as he stared at a ghost.

You.

Paddy turned around, his now clean shaven face finding you almost instantly.

Here. Alive. Breathing.

He was here.

He was okay.

You pushed through the crowd as politely as you could manage, your shoulders aching from the heavy rifle that was strung across your back. 'Excuse me's' in both Italian and English left your lips as you stepped closer towards him.

Neither of you spoke at first.

You reached out with shaky hands, and Paddy immediately grabs a fistful of your shirt, pulling you into a tight embrace. His head buries into your shoulder as your face presses into his chest, fists bunching at the back of his vest as you breathed in his scent.

One of his hands reaches up, taking the gun from your back dropping it carefully to the floor before he embraces you again - impossibly tighter.

You both smelt like sweat and blood, a mix you had come to know so well, and his hand reaches up again, pressing into the back of your hair, cradling you like he was afraid it was a dream.

Paddy kept you in his arms for the remainder of the afternoon, having you seated in his lap whilst everyone now reunited swapped stories. It had been a lot, hearing from both sides the wins and losses.

His hands rest against your stomach, keeping your back pressed to his chest as your head lay against his shoulder, lips quirking every now then at every little joke and jab thrown your way.

It felt unusual in a way, yearning for something that was once again right in front of you, or more-so, behind you. Like a dream you were refusing to wake from, stubborn to the end.

He found himself whispering in your ear every now and then, just low murmurs of your name so he could hear your little 'hm?' in reply, or his own name on your lips. Maybe he had died during the siege and he was in heaven.

No.

You were here, living and you were breathing against him. If he was in heaven, there would be no way he would be seeing anything but you.

He had taken you to a small bedroom he had deemed his, a quiet place abandoned above an old store, windows stuck shut. It was lit by a few candles, the room cast in a golden glow.

Neither of you said much on the way up, just little whispers and murmurs along the lines of 'watch your step' and 'up here'.

The silence however wasn't empty, it was full, loud. Full of everything neither of you knew how to say yet. There was only so much you two could say when surrounded by everyone tonight, and so you both kept it for when the time for bed called.

Others protested, demanding you both stay awake and celebrate longer, but you had left with quiet waves before they could realise you were gone.

Paddy's hand rest against the small of your back as he guides you to the bed. It was bigger than you were both used too, and he brings you down gently. You thought he'd take the spot next to you, but instead he kneels by your feet, huffing softly as his knees protested.

Your eyebrows furrow, hands reaching out for his shoulders when he moved quicker. Paddy shakes his head, a silent way of telling you to give him a moment before he slowly rests his head in your lap, arms tucked around your legs as he breathes in deeply.

His eyes close as your heart jumps in your chest.

He looked so... scared like this, almost childlike in a way. Scared that you weren't real. Scared that you were going to get up and disappear like you had so many times in his nightmares.

You waited, giving him time, hands finding their way into his hair and running your fingers gently through the shortened strands.

His eyes were closed so tightly, his arms tightening just ever so slightly, afraid you would vanish. Like he would open his eyes to find you gone again.

And when he finally did look at you, really look, his breath caught audibly.

You were heaven sent, an angel in the candlelight. Scarred and war hardened, just like him, and yet you smiled down at him so softly, hands moving from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the skin.

“I thought I’d buried ye in my head,” His voice was hushed, his hands sliding up your legs before they rest on the side of the bed by your thighs. "Tried to do it - god I tried, but I couldn't."

He swallows hard, and for a moment you thought he might turn away, shut it down like he used to do when things got too confusing.

But he didn’t.

He stands slowly,

His throat worked around a knot of something thick - disbelief, grief, love. Paddy's hands wound up and over your shoulders, gliding over the fabric of your shirt until they carefully rest over your cheeks. He turns your head slightly, his gaze sullen as he eyes the healed scar on your cheek.

His touch was tender, more tender than you had ever experienced in your time together. It was as if you were glass, seconds from shattering if he made the wrong move.

Like he was afraid you’d break in his arms.

Paddy takes the spot beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He brings your head to his, forehead pressing to yours. His hands cupped the sides of your face, thumbs trembling slightly against your cheeks. Trembling against all the new marks on your skin.

His blue eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorise every new mark, every blink, every breath.

He was scared.

"I'm sorry.” He whispered.

“What for?”

“For being too much, you deserved more that what I gave you."

“Oh Paddy," You shake your head, rubbing your nose against his. "You stop that right now, did I ever complain?"

His chest rose with a shaky inhale and he finally, finally let himself hold you properly with no audience. Arms pulling you fully into him, pressing you close until there was no space between your bodies and you were practically back in his lap.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply, like he didn’t trust his own senses.

"No - No, ye didn't have too, I was always too rough, too fuckin' in me own head," His voice came out muffled, his hands resting on the small of your back. "Never held ye properly, not like this, never like this. Our last time together I hurt you and I-"

"Hey," You bring his head back to look you in the eyes, lips quirking just a little. "You held me just as I wanted, loved me right and just how I asked - what are you worrying about? I'm here, we're here."

He shakes his head. "Ye were gone, dead, all I could do was think if it was my punishment, my p-"

"No," You cut him off, grabbing his right hand and resting it over your stained uniform. His own eyebrows furrow once again, feeling your breast before anything else.

You would've rolled your eyes had he not realised almost instantly, his hand sliding under the buttons, flesh to flesh as he feels your heart beating under his palm. "I'm here Paddy, here, you can feel it,"

He nods slowly, letting the room quieten as he presses his hand firmer, feeling your heart beat even more, your skin warm against his.

Intimate didn't even come to the feeling.

"It hasn't stopped beating just yet," You murmur, bringing your hands back this jaw as he looked down in his lap, too focused on your heartbeat. "We're still going, for you."

His jaw tightens beneath your grasp, his eyes closing sharply before he nods, looking back to you.

"Sap."

For what felt like centuries, your laughter rings out, filling the room. Paddy threw your words back at you like he had been holding onto them forever. He slowly cracks a grin as your head throws back, arms wrapping around his neck as he brings you further into his lap with his free hand.

God, he had missed that sound.

Missed you more than anything.

Your chest rises with each chuckle, Paddy withdrawing his hand from your under your shirt as he looks at you like life itself.

You hadn’t moved in some time.

His jacket was now gone, as were your shoes - scattered somewhere around the room.

Paddy still held you, his arms loose around your waist now, like he was afraid to let go completely. You were both sitting back against the headboard now, legs tangled, bodies close, your breath mingling in the quiet between sentences.

Outside, Termoli was sleeping off it's wounds, the occasional laugh and broken bottle echoing from those who remained awake.

Inside, it was just you and him.

Time you didn’t think you’d ever get back.

Your fingers traced the scars on his hand, the veins. He didn’t stop you. Had no desire too. He just watched, eyes soft in the candlelight, quieter than you’d ever seen him.

“I dreamed of you,” he murmured. “Every night.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his. He wasn’t wearing any of his usual armour.

No smirk. No deflection.

Just Paddy.

“And?” You whispered.

"I like this more," He murmurs. “Looking at me like you never left.”

You reached up and gently touched his cheek. “I love you Paddy.”

"I love you too."

You leaned back enough to look at him. His hair was a mess from your hands. His vest slightly torn - no doubt from today. There was dried blood on his skin. He looked tired and older and somehow more himself than ever.

"You shaved." You say almost in a questionable tone.

Paddy chuckles, head tilting to the side. "Ye just noticed?"

"Well no," you scoffed playfully. "Just, almost feels weird to see you without the dead ox on your face."

"Ye didn't complain about the beard when I was betwe-"

Your hand clasps over his mouth before he can finish, his eyebrow raised as you shook your head at him.

God, you had missed him.

He chuckles again beneath your palm, and you lean forward, moving your hand away as you press your lips to his.

Your eyes feel heavy as he returns the kiss. Your lips curling as one of his hands cups the back of your head. Just the feel of Paddy against you felt unreal, as if a small part of you was convinced that you were never going feel him again.

"Paddy."

Your breath hitches, palms pressed to his shoulders as he hums. You hear him say something, words you miss - and so you pull away slightly. "What was that?”

"Let me take care of you,' He says softly, his words spoken so quickly against your lips that you nearly missed it again. "Please."

Your heart beats like a drum in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. It was as if he was nervous, familiarising himself with your touch.

Paddy's hands comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing the skin gently, tilting his head when you hadn't replied to his words.

His eyes searched yours for a long, breathless moment - like he was looking for permission. For peace.

You nod with a smile, and he once again leans in, slowly, to kiss you.

Not hungrily.

Not fiercely.

Tenderly.

His lips moved with patience, reverence - as though he was learning you all over again, letting the kiss say what his words had longed to for the past few months. He didn’t grip you. He just held you. One hand now on your waist, the other feather light against your cheek.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Let me be gentle,” He whispers. “Just this once... Or every night - if you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer right away, you didn’t need to. You would have him for the rest of your life and Paddy knew that. Your hands slid down to the bottom of his vest, fingers slowly sliding down his chest and stomach as you did so, never breaking eye contact.

His breath comes out sharply as your nails dragged over the skin of his stomach, and he nods, his arms moving as you lift the vest up and over his head, throwing it to the floor.

You bite your lip as he returns the favour, his fingers unbuttoning your uniform one by one, sliding the fabric off your shoulders. You climb off his lap, and the two of you use the time apart to take off your pants. Your bra follows suit, and you smile to yourself as you hear Paddy inhale sharply.

Paddy's hands were shaky as he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving your body as you get comfortable on the bed. He curses under his breath, feeling himself harden at the sight of you.

"Missed ye so fuckin' much," His voice sounded raspy, his hands taking off his trousers and kicking them away. He stops as he kneels on the bed, his hand reaching out to rest against your thigh as he exhales. "We - We don't have to do anythin', we can just sleep if ye want."

“I do,” You whisper, nodding as you reach out for him, fingers resting against his bare shoulder. "I want this - want you."

Paddy's eyes close, as if he was collecting himself. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, the quietness of where he was finally hitting him. His voice is hoarse as he says your name, Irish accent thick and strong. “I need ye so bad, I've needed ye so bad."

You rest your head against the pillow as Paddy adjusts the way he was kneeling, spreading your thighs apart with one hand as he rests in between them.

You arch into him, gasping as you feel the familiar press of him through his briefs, rubbing against your soaked underwear.

"Paddy-"

“I know love,” He whispers, looking down to where he rubs against you. Your skin felt like it was on fire, like Paddy had ignited every little nerve in your body once again. "I got ye."

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as the hand not holding his weight slides down your neck to your breast, his tough tender as his thumbs swipes over a nipple, the action causing you to shudder against him.

He looks down again, eyes locked onto the wetness on your panties, the fabric clinging to your skin. Paddy's head tilts, an internal battle in his mind.

He wanted to bury his head between your thighs, bring you to the edge with his tongue like he had so many times before - but as his gaze tilted up, seeing your loving gaze, he knew he had to be inside of you.

His thumb returns to your cheek, the digit tracing over your bottom lip as you preen under his touch. You were safe, loved, here and looking up at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

"Love," He murmurs, his embrace, big and warm, causes you to spread your thighs further, and Paddy turns your head for you, causing your eyes to lock onto his. "Can I take 'em off?"

He nods towards your underwear, and you nod breathlessly. He sits up, resting against the haunches of his legs as he reaches down, sliding the pair down your legs. His heart felt like it was jumping out of his chest, his gaze dark as it locks onto your pretty pussy for what felt like the first time in centuries.

He groans, low and deep.

“God,” He breathes, eyes dazed and soft. “There she is.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his words, and Paddy grins, eyes crinkling as he slides his hands up and down your thighs.

His chest was heaving. There were scars on your skin, some small and others jagged, additions that weren't there before you were separated. You matched him now in a way. "A beauty,”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. Like he’s savouring every second. "My beauty," he corrects himself, more breath than anything. His lips trace the edge of your jaw, moving up an inch to trail a kiss to the scar on your cheek. "My heart.”

Your hips lift, tilting up, chasing the weight of him as Paddy grinds lightly between your thighs.

“Paddy,” You whisper again. “Please.”

You weren't used to this. Used to gentle.

Paddy was always quick to undress you, quick to have his lips on you or his cock in you. One way or another, he had never taken the time to just feel you.

It was easier to blame your environment back when you were in Cairo, knowing that you didn't exactly have privacy on your side. But now, you had four walls and a bed far bigger than you were used to.

Paddy groans low in his throat, pushing down his briefs to his thighs. His cock was flushed, already leaking, and you looked down, lip quivering. It had been so long, and as he lined himself up, sliding himself in between your folds - you whined, thighs resting on his hips as he shudders.

“Christ,” He whispers, resting his forehead against yours as he rocks his hips forward just ever so slightly, teasing you with the head of his cock as he drags it through the slick. "So wet - missed this, missed you."

He nudges in slowly, and his name leaves your lips. The stretch was slow and steady, both of your breathing coming out laboured as you feel each other. The stretch was so familiar, and yet you still whimpered so softly at the feeling of Paddy inside of you.

His jaw tenses, fighting the urge to just thrust hard and deep. "Are ye alright?"

“Mm hm,” You breathe out, biting your lip. “I'm okay."

He moves inch by inch, whispering your name as he slides further into you. He presses a kiss to your cheek again, his hand gripping onto the back of your leg to wrap around his waist.

"Fuck." He groans, feeling himself buried deep, bottoming out. He utters more and more words you can't hear as you just cling to him, hands pressed against his shoulders as he kisses you once more.

He groans deeply into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest as you tighten your legs, your walls tightening around him. His pelvis presses flush against the hair between your legs, the breath in your throat hitching at the fullness you feel.

You tilt your hips, a silent invite, and Paddy nods, starting to thrust. It was slow at first, like he was being careful, but it was deep, and his gaze remained trained on you, maintaining eye contact with every move of his hips. His lips part as his eyebrows furrow, a groan leaving his throat again.

His cock slides in and out of your weeping cunt in a steady rhythm, your thighs now slick with the mix of both your wetness and his precum.

It was an ache, a burn, a feeling you had missed so much coiling in your belly with every thrust. Paddy's teeth grit, and jaw tensing, the hand holding onto you tightening. Another thrust. This one even slower, his hips grinding deliciously into yours as your head falls back into the pillow with his name on your lips.

You can feel that you're not going to last long, as does he - both of you going so long without each others embrace. You had been longing for this for months, waiting, wanting, wondering if you'd ever get to experience the feel of Paddy's hips pressed into yours again, the weight of his body filling you.

Every thrust pulls a grunt from him, a hiccup of words being muffled in pleasure. He leans down again as he presses kiss after kiss to your cheek, your jaw, your lips in a feverish daze.

He could feel you tightening around him, his own orgasm building. He felt almost embarrassed at coming undone so quickly - but he knew now that you were back in his arms, that he had more than enough time to show just how much he had missed you.

His hips stuttered, every little sound leaving your lips causing him to teeter on the edge, but he held back, determined to feel you come first. His hand travels down, his thumb gently moving in half circles over your clit, causing you to cry out - your body shaking with pleasure.

"C'mon darlin'," He moans in your ear, pressing a kiss to the skin just below. "Let me feel it, please, c’mon now."

You clench around him at his voice, at his words, your cries filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Paddy could've sworn then and there that he was well and truly gone.

The feel of you tightening around him, your thighs shaking, his name leaving your lips, all of it was enough for him to follow.

He knew you could feel it, and your eyes open in a daze to look up at him, your body still shaking as he thrusts deeper into you, prolonging your orgasm. You felt so sensitive, so hot and loved all at once, and you moaned a little louder.

"I - fuck -" He didn't have to ask.

Your thighs tightened around him, nodding over and over.

"It's okay," You whisper, urging him on. "Please Paddy."

He knew he should pull out. He had never cum inside you before, but in this moment, all he could feel, all he could see, was you.

Soft, perfect, his. Paddy buried himself deeper with a final thrust of his hips, his cock throbbing as he cums hard inside of you.

Your name leaves his lips with a shudder and a moan, his hips jerking with each shiver. He keeps grinding into you softly, letting you milk him for everything he had as he almost whined at the feeling.

You felt numb with pleasure - floating, and Paddy falls into your arms, chest to chest as you both quiver. His head rests in the crook of your neck, one of your hands resting on his lower back as the other reaches up, gliding into his hair.

It was a surprising feeling, being so full of him in more ways than one, and you feel Paddy press a kiss to your shoulder as he slowly pulls out, causing you to whine.

He mutters an apology, pressing another kiss to your lips as he guides your head towards him. You can feel the remnants of your lovemaking seep out, and he looks down, eyebrow raised before he looks back to you.

The first thing you became aware of was the weight around you the next morning.

Not heavy. Secure. Warm, unapologetically him.

Then the slow rise and fall of his bare chest pressed against your back. One of Paddy’s arms was tucked beneath your head, curled beneath your pillow. The other lay draped across your waist, his hand resting flat against your stomach like a quiet claim. His breath stirred the loose strands of your hair, slow and steady.

You couldn't believe it was real, that he was real.

You hadn't imagined everything.

You’d fallen asleep wrapped in his embrace, and he’d never let go.

The room was quiet, now alive with sunlight. The town, too. There were faint sounds in the distance, pots clanging, the early stirring of soldiers from both sides, townsfolk reclaiming what they could - but in here, it was just you two.

You didn’t want to move at all.

But eventually you shifted, just enough to look over your shoulder, seeing that Paddy was already awake.

His blue eyes met yours instantly, soft and tired, full of something you couldn't believe you were seeing after so long apart.

Like the sadness that he had drowned himself in for so long had finally loosened it's grip on him overnight.

"Good morning." You whispered, and Paddy's arm lifted, just enough for you to roll over and face him.

His arm slides comfortably around your back, pulling you in until your nose brushes against his. "Mornin',"

War wasn't comfortable, but for just a brief moment, the two of you could forget about what was outside and live for what was right in front of you. For the first time in too long, the day ahead didn’t feel like a sentence for either of you, it felt like a brand new beginning.

"You're here," He continues, words soft, said to himself if anything. You nod as you rest your hand to his chest, over his heart. "Really here."

"I was always here," You nod, pressing your palm deeper against his warm skin. "And I'll remain here, always."

His eyes close at your words as he nods, his lips pulling into a soft smile.

"Whose doin' poetry now?"

You both laugh, cheeks hurting at how much you're grinning from ear to ear, and Paddy pulls you into his arms, rolling onto his back with you in his grip.

"Fuckin' love ye darlin'.

#AAAAAH #THIS TOOK AGES #paddy mayne smut #paddy mayne x reader #paddy mayne fic #paddy mayne fanfiction #dxmurewrites #anon request

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dxmurewrites · 6 days ago

Text

Devoted

Chapter One

pairing: Sir Jimmy Crystal x Reader

summary: Born during the first few years of the Rage Virus outbreak, you grew up in a brutal world where survival trumped compassion. In the remains of society, your community saw youth as a liability. Weak, disposable, and easily replaced. You were treated like nothing, sent beyond the gates to scavenge through infected ruins while the lazy and powerful 'overseers' stayed behind. It was all you ever knew, normal really, until the day you crossed paths with a strange bunch of folks wearing wigs, bright colours and eager defiance.

They were weirdos, loud and intimidating. So was he really, but they were one thing you longed for - free.

wc: 8.2k

Edited, shocking I know.

warnings: post apocalypse, future dark!romance I guess? seeing as it's Jimmy, cult dynamics, power dynamics, manipulation, religious themes, coarse language, abusive tactics from your former group, mentioned mistreatment/starvation from former group, intimidation, mentiond of alcohol, trauma bonding, power imbalance(?), blood, gore.

I'm trying to get better at world building, please let me know what you think!

Home was safe.

Home was all you needed.

It was a fortress of pine wood mixed with steel, tucked deep into the highland forests of Scotland's outskirts. Thick fences were woven in barbed wire, encompassing the entire compound. It had rusted with age, being trapped in ivy and other various plants.

Home had sharpened stakes pointing out to the unknown, a line of buses and old camper vans with flattened tires welded as a form of blockade from the infected.

There was only one way in and one way out, which always confused you. But you knew better than to voice your concerns.

Regardless, it was safe and had been standing for over 25 years - if the infected were going to cause an issue with the walls, it would've happened by now.

At least, that's what you would tell yourself to help you sleep at night.

Inside, woodsmoke paired with dampened earth surrounded you, just enough to mask the sweat of those working on their chores.

Everything smelt like woodsmoke here. It clung to everything and everyone like a second skin. The frail clothes on your back, the machete by your hip, even the breath in your lungs. The trees were shield. They hid you all from what lay outside in the dark. The infected, the weather, from whoever remained in what was left of the UK.

The fences and the trees were the only consistent things in your life. You'd never known anything else, nothing that stayed for very long at least.

Home was a compound where an old hydroelectric station used to run, having closed down long before the Rage virus took over. It didn't work, having long since corroded before your group found it - but it was enough. Shipping containers and broken down vans were used as homes, stacked and connected by rope bridges.

Those in the council lived in the turbine room, concrete and without holes, a luxury most dreamed of. The forest canopy hung above, various branches littered with lanterns and jar lights that had to be manually lit every night.

Most of the residents of Home were older, early forties and well past. All hardened survivors who could remember what the world used to be like before the infection started. They would reminisce of electricity, of working cars, hell, some even said they missed working their jobs pre infection.

Now, everything smelt of blood, of mildew and nature. They would mention mundane things like birthday parties and shopping malls, how much they missed grocery shopping and going to bars.

You didn't. You were born after the virus took over, just a few years later. There wasn't anything you remembered that you should miss, just your dad.

Your mother had passed during your birth, the community not wanting to spare what already short supply of medicine they had on someone who willingly got themselves pregnant.

Your father passed just shy of your twelfth birthday, having not returned from a supply hunt.

You missed people you never met and someone you could barely remember. There weren't any photos. No reminders of their voices. Just two expendable members of Home that meant two less mouths to feed.

They didn't let you mourn - they didn't see a point. Gatherers were considered expendable, and the ultimate 'gotcha' of such a tedious job was being killed whilst outside the Home.

It was funny in a way to those inside when someone didn't return, often placing bets on whether it was an infected, suicide or a runaway.

You knew your dad would never have willingly left you behind, so you prayed to whoever would listen that his death was swift and painless - something that he deserved after all of his hard work protecting a community that wouldn't return the favour.

But you knew that wouldn't have been the case.

From what little memory you had - your dad was kind, protective, teaching you how to read and how to protective yourself with little tips and tricks of the outside.

Where traps should be placed, where people would hide even the most small but useful supplies. It was these lessons that stopped the council from throwing you out after he didn't return.

As disposable as you were, useful you are.

You were in your twenties now, and you well and truly knew your place. They made you a gatherer just weeks after your dads death, twelve and out into the world.

The compound wasn't exactly a democracy.

The Council were made up of the survivors who had initially found the place. It was a mixture of ex-military, ex-police, ex-anything that gave them some sense of superiority over those who came later to the station.

The ones who actually ordered everyone around were called the overseers, strutting around and barking orders like the war hadn't been lost years ago, leaving the infected to rule the earth.

There weren't many young people your age around either, actually, you were considered one of the youngest in the compound. The council didn't allow newcomers unless they could benefit the group, and those with children were never considered. Their belongings would be confiscated, and they'd be sent on their way to their deaths.

The very few people around your age didn't gather or scavenge either. They didn't hunt - nor did they know how to even hold a weapon. Didn't do anything really. They were higher up in the hierarchy - council children.

They weren't allowed to get their hands dirty, they were the future after all.

Being insulted daily, made to feel small and stupid. When your supply finds were small, or your hunts weren't up to their high standards - you were punished.

Starved of rations you had found. Starved of game you had hunted. Made to sleep outside the walls if you stepped out of line, or if they deemed your findings insulting, branded.

It was normal, it was Home.

There were only a few other gatherers in their forties, but they wanted next to nothing to do with you. To them, you were considered a liability as both a young woman and 'inexperienced' to the new world.

When they sent you out alone at twelve, you had begged and cried to be let back in, scratching at the metal gates until your fingernails bled.

The world was dark, it was chilling, and infected certainly didn't care if you were a child. The world would grip you in it's claws, sinking it's teeth in until nothing but blood remained.

But it wasn't the infected who hurt you.

It was a human who first inflicted pain, your first ever punishment for not listening and following orders.

The scar on your hip was a clear reminder that if you stood out line again, someone would be there with a blade to set you straight.

No one was kind, and you forgot what the word even meant. You were a stain to these people - just another mouth to feed.

You didn't care anymore.

You learned then and there that survival didn’t care about fairness. You worked hard. You pulled your weight until your feet were blistered. You shut your mouth and kept your head down.

And that’s what you did every day since, day in day out. This routine kept you inside the gates of Home for now, and after awhile, it became normal.

You did what you had to in order to keep a roof over your head.

This is what life was supposed to be.

You were already dressed and halfway to the gate when someone calls your name from behind, roughly grabbing at your backpack.

"Ye didn't sign out," A gruff voice startles you, and you turn slowly, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. It was one of the overseers, Russ. His beard had gone mostly white with age, and he walked like he owned the place.

Which - technically he did. Still, he hated you all the same, and you wondered if it was because - much to his dismay, you survived more gatherings than anyone else. "Where d'ye think yer going with that bag?"

"It's mine, my last pack was ripped off by an infected sir," You reply flatly, gripping the straps of your backpack tightly. "S'all I have."

"So ye just took it? And without signing out?" His wrinkled hand reaches out, gripping your chin roughly and forcing your head up to look him in the eye.

He wore gold rings across his middle and pinky finger, one engraved with the word 'king', the other a cross. The metal felt cold against your skin. "Is that what I'm hearing?" "No - No, I bought it with my rations," You say quickly before tilting your head towards one of the watchtowers, seeing two figures looking back. "I have signed out, already wrote in with Pete and Colin... Sir."

His eyes narrow, and you know deep down he believed you. He just wanted to find a problem, wanted to have a reason to scold you in front of everyone.

Russ' boots crunch in the gravel as he shifts on his feet and he reluctantly lets you go, making sure to send your head back roughly as he does so.

He steps forward just a little, hunching down to your level with narrowed eyes. "Y'know, all that lip and attitude will get ye in trouble one of these days," he mutters, his voice thick with threat. "We don't want a repeat of last time, do we now hen?"

You stare at him, your jaw aching from how tightly you clench it. Last time still left a slight ringing in your left ear.

This was already your fourth run this week, having brought back a stag just two days prior, having nearly got your shoulder torn into by an infected doing so.

But you kept your mouth shut. Instead tightening the straps of your bag and nodding. "Sorry sir," you matched him with a more quieter tone. "May I go now please?"

"Mmh, Michael said he wants to see ye when yer back," He starts to back away from you. "Think he wants something' from ye."

You didn't reply, just giving him a sharp nod.

The gates had started opening behind you with a rusty and deafening groan, and Russ nods once, telling you to go be useful.

The Watchers didn't like opening the doors out of sheer laziness, having to pull the levees with muscle they clearly lacked.

There were no ceremonies, no well wishes or even a mutter of 'be careful'. Just eyes watching you, bows and arrows in their hands, ready to mark you down as a no return if you don't show up in the morning.

It was better this way. No one could hurt you and get away with it out here.

You decided to venture further out than usual, keeping moving like you always did. Quietly and with intention, knowing the weight of other people's survival depended on you. It pressed into your spine like a steel capped boot, weighing on you with every step.

The forest stretched on forever, endless greenery and damp soil. Eventually, you had walked far enough to no longer hear Home, and it gave you some relief.

The trees started to whisper with each gust of wind, the sound of nature and birds providing you with some reassurance of there being no nearby infected.

It was the kind of vast wilderness that swallowed everything whole, and you had realised when you were younger that it was part of the reason that not many infected nor non infected had found the compound.

A broken tree marked the start of a new venture, it's trunk having been splintered by lightening many years ago. Past it, you had never journeyed before, and an arrow was already notched, ready for anything that may step your way - whether it be an animal or an infected.

The land felt different out here, the trees especially.

Older, taller, and more to your acknowledgment, none cut down for any nearby shelters. You had never walked this trail before, and you were sure no other gatherer had either.

It was considered high risk on the map the gatherers before you had made, the terrain too uneven, too close to packs of infected and far from any safe spaces.

High risk was good.

It meant more chances of returning Home with a packed back. The stag hadn't been enough last run despite feeding everyone and then some, not that you were allowed seconds. Russ and the other overseers had just stared at you with those scornful frowns, urging you to do better, to be better.

The council children, despite being in your age group, just snickered at you, hiding behind their parents.

You’d bitten your tongue until you were adamant it bled, until you could taste iron. And now you were here, walking deeper into the unknown than anyone from Home had before.

Because at the end of the day, it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

You were born having to prove yourself.

Over and over again.

After hours of walking - you came across a stream, taking the time to rest and refill your water canister. Your thighs burned slightly as you sat on a rock and you looked around, taking in the sights.

It was beautiful all things considered, that is if you ignored the whole lingering threat of death at every corner.

Your breath appeared in front of you with every exhale, a reminder of just how cold and sharp the morning was. Your clothes weren't exactly suited for the climate either, but you had to choose with your rations whether to buy new clothing or a backpack, and so you sat by the waters edge, rips and tears in your shirt and trousers.

Your shoes were one hard run from falling apart, and so you walked with caution, taking notice of the rocks and roots that hid in the mist.

Every step was calculated after you left the stream. Bow in hand, machete at your hip. Every click, you would pause, waiting to hear any telltale signs of infected, for the rustle of birds, anything.

Bloaters, runners, alphas... anything.

But there was nothing.

And that was almost worse.

It was past midday when you found an old trail. Nature had well and truly taken it back, but there was no mistaking it had once been walked on in the past.

It took you past what used to be an old farmhouse, long collapsed with it's roof eaten by rot. Beside it lay another trail, a narrow break in the underbrush.

You hesitated, wondering whether to stay on your chosen beaten path or opt for the new, albeit more edged out path. If supplies were out there, they'd be hidden in places like this.

Hidden in the earth.

Forgotten about.

Places that others, not just from your group, would fear to follow.

You adjust the straps on your back, double checking the machete on your hip before gripping the bow in your hand tighter. The air was colder the more you walked, and every now and then, you would spot the remains of fences, something once man made hiding beneath.

There would even be literal remains, skeletal figures lying in and amongst the tall grass, having been killed during the early days.

When you were a kid, the idea of death would scare you, naturally, but now it gave you something to think about.

You would often wonder if any of the many bones you'd find belonged to your dad. Or about who they might've been before they met their end.

You were envious in a way, jealous of their peace.

Most of the houses you found were one hard fart away from collapsing, and so you kept on with a steady pace. Eventually, you came across a low set house that didn't appear on your map.

It was stone built, half of it being swallowed by the earth. Ivy strangled it's windows, reminding you of the rusted fences back Home. The roof however, much to your shock, was mostly intact.

You circled it a few times, bow raised as you peered into any window that wasn't smashed or glazed over. The door was locked, or more so blocked by something inside.

It didn't budge as you shoved your shoulder against it, and you sighed, making the decision to climb through the closest window that wasn't littered with shards of glass.

The air beneath your feet had swirled around you as you landed on the ground with a huff. It was stale, reeking of something once forgotten, but to your delight - no stench of death, no stench of infected.

You moved quick, having swapped your bow for your machete. Items were strewn across the hallway as you walked, a sign whoever had left here was in a hurry.

It reminded you of what your dad had once said - that a lot of people didn't have time to prepare when the virus started. Many had escaped, or tried too, with just the clothes on their backs.

In what used to be the kitchen, you found drawers that hadn't been opened in a long time. Two packets of pasta, a bag of what looked like white rice, a roll of wire. You bagged them all, heart thudding at such rare finds.

It still shocked you that some things could last this long without expiring. In what used to be a bedroom, you found what probably would make every overseer cheer, whiskey.

Dusty and it's label well and truly worn, it was unopened, and you wondered if its original owner had been waiting for something special to drink it. It weighed your bag down, but you ignored the strain, pressing on.

They might even praise you for the find, might even let you have a sip of the luxurious drink. But deep down, you knew better - you had found plenty of fancy drink in your time gathering, and not once were you allowed to try.

You weren't sure what was so special about it, but you knew that when the overseers and other council members had a lot of it - they were nicer. They didn't yell as much, call you names.

Not useless this time, you thought. They’ll have to admit that, at least.

You couldn't help but smile - they might even thank me.

You'd never been thanked for anything before.

Upon finding some more various items that could be traded with, gloves, a scarf and even a pocket knife - you left, climbing out of the same window you arrived in.

It was mid afternoon now, and you knew you would have to find some shelter soon. The house was honestly your best bet, but with still a few hours of daylight left, you wanted to keep gathering.

You made note of it on your map before venturing out once more, your pack noticeably heavier now.

Every step felt quieter now. More careful and concise. Your map read that were was a village ahead, or what would've once been a village, but you moved around it.

It was marked with a clear red X.

It belonged to the infected.

So you stuck to the beaten track like before, the light dimming through the trees. It would've been a few hours before sunset when you heard it.

Or stopped hearing if anything.

The birds had stopped their singing, even the wind felt different.

You didn’t trust the quiet. Quiet brought bad.

Your path opened to the remnants of an old road, swallowed by ferns and weeds. You followed it hesitantly, knowing that eventually it would bring you to some more man made buildings.

Your stomach dropped as something darted in front of you, a blur of ginger and white, and you relaxed just a little, watching as the fox scurried off further down the road. You waited with your arrow notched, pointing to the ground.

No growls. No shrieks. No twitching infected.

Still, a running animal always left you on edge.

Another hour passed. Maybe two, you recklessly stopped keeping track, wanting nothing more than to try and find more for the compound.

You had found a small shack buried beneath broken beams. It was dangerous but you had left with a lighter and a box of bandaids. You stood in front of it's broken door, zipping up your bag when something caught your eye.

Another blur of colour in the trees, but this time, it was vibrant.

Red.

You blinked, and it was gone.

But there was no denying that something, someone had been watching you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you quickly threw your bag back onto your back, once again lifting your bow. Your eyes scanned the tree line, not finding anything.

It was an infected, you would've heard them, hell, you would've been attacked by now.

You should’ve turned back. You knew that. But something about the carelessness of it all pulled at you.

You moved slower now. Quieter. Bow in hand.

Following in the direction of the colourful blur, you crouched, looking at the soil. The footsteps were clear, deep and heavy in the dirt and you shivered, knowing you were in fact being watched.

You followed the tracks for what felt like hours, but you knew it would've only been over ten minutes.

Your mind screamed at you to turn around, to find somewhere to sleep and return Home - but that childish part of you, the little part that the compound hadn't completely cut down was jumping at the chance of exploring.

Eventually the tracks disappeared as you came across another stream, almost like a divide between the land. A log lay in the middle, and you looked around, knowing whoever it was had crossed and done so quickly.

The sun was beginning to set, and so you continued, following after them with haste.

You were tracking the footsteps again when a scream sung out.

Snarls followed it. Wet. Gurgling with shrieks.

Infected.

You moved without thinking, swift and quickly, jumping over tangled roots and into trees with each tussle of your backpack. The forest opened above a shallow glade when you noticed them.

Two people, non infected, were surrounded. Except, they weren't screaming in fear like you had thought, instead they were grinning from ear to ear, makeshift weapons in their hands.

The infected had them cornered. The pale, blistered skin of the monsters causing a contrast to the bright clothing of the strangers.

Are those wigs?

They wear wearing blonde wigs.

You blinked, confused and bewildered. Apart of you wondered if the dust you had been inhaling was making you see things - but one of the non infected, a woman in red, screams again in delight, raising her weapon as she strikes the first infected that came too close.

They were wearing tracksuits.

The other, a man in a white, raised his own weapon, taking out another. They both fought against the infected as they ran towards them with their grins never falling, but more infected piled in, and eventually the two were once again pushed back.

You snapped out of whatever daze had taken over you, lining up your arrow with an infected that lunged for the woman.

It fell at her feet, and she looked up with widened eyes, locking onto where you stood in between the trees, even taking the time to wave at you before striking another down.

You kept firing, taking out the bloodied bodies as they continued charging. Shot after shot, they fell down in a heap, arrows lodged in their heads or throats.

They were laughing.

The woman swings a baseball bat around, the man practically dancing between lunges, wielding what looked like a pronged staff. Their wigs whipped around with each swing, tangled and long.

You weren't sure if they were insane or just... confident. Something about the ease of their movements, the way they work side by side. They weren't new to this by any means, and it shocked you, seeing people close to your age outside.

One infected breaks from the little circle they pounced from, fast and silent, heading straight for White's blind side. Your body reacts before your mind catches up, letting another arrow slices through the air and into the infected's eye socket from behind.

It drops mid-sprint, falling into a heap by White's feet. He spins, wild-eyed, then follows the arrow’s direction back to where you're standing.

You’re standing taller now, bow still raised. Your heart hammering in your chest.

You had never done this before.

The most you had ever had to do with strangers was the occasional trading - never putting yourself at risk.

And yet, you just did. Your arrows dwindled in numbers, stuck into the many infected who lay in the dirt.

Red throws her head back and laughs, waving again - this time for you to come down from your little hill. "Hey!" Her breathing was laboured, an attempt to catch her breath as White took out the last runner. "Come on down!"

The two strangers are still catching their breath, though neither seemed shaken or worried. If anything, they’re thrilled. Their eyes flick between you and the dead infected with something close to admiration and familiarity.

"C'mon!" She yells again, not seeming worried about her volume by any means.

You hesitate, not being used to strangers - let alone friendly ones.

The clearing smelt like blood and damp moss. The wind has shifted, colder, and the sun was sliding behind the hills fast, dragging darkness across the glade by the minute.

The area was becoming dangerous by the second, and this many runners usually meant an Alpha wasn't too far away.

But the pairs attitude was careless in away, and so you make your way down, sliding against the grassy hill until you were level with them.

Red tracksuit steps over a corpse, holding out her hand. "Thank you muchly," Her voice was light, but breathless. "Jimmy Ink,"

You eye the hand, not used to to such formalities, nor genuine gratitude. It felt abnormal, foreign in a way, almost undeserving. Maybe she didn't mean to thank you, the words slipping out her mouth by accident.

Slowly, you raise your hand and she takes it, shaking for the both of you. "Where you from? Haven't seen you around these parts."

The man in white wipes his hands on his already stained trousers before taking your hand afterwards, introducing himself before you can speak.

His wig sat crookedly, wispy bangs clinging to his forehead with sweat. "Jimmy Snake, you?"

It confused you to no end, the whole 'Jimmy' schtick, but you knew better than to question people.

You give them your name with a nod, looking around incase any more infected were hiding. "You were watching me up by that house." It wasn't a question, you knew she was.

Ink shrugs with another playful grin. "Guilty."

"Okay... Well - it was nice meeting you two, I'll uh, I'll be off now," You give them an awkward thumbs up, not used to conversing with people outside of the compound. They were incredibly unusual, a stark difference to the people you had grown up with. "I'm just gonna get my arrows and be on my way."

They looked almost upset at your instant dismissal of them, clearly used to people their age being more receptive. It didn't matter. There wasn't time for a back and forth.

"What? Wait - wait, no," Snake says, shaking his head. "You don't live around here yeah? Where are you gonna go?"

"Sun's coming down," Ink matches his concerned tone. "Why not come back with us? We owe you one."

“Aye,” Snake immediately cuts in again, watching as you shake your head, walking around to start collecting your arrows from the dead infected. “It's not far."

"I don't know you guys," you mutter, bending down to pull an arrow that was lodged in someone's skull. Your boot pressed on the naked skin of their back, using them as leverage to free your arrow with a huff. "S'fine, just - you go your way and I'll go mine, y'don't owe me anything."

You take a step back.

Ink is still talking, gesturing to somewhere behind them like they’re pointing to salvation. Snake flashes another lazy, sideways grins like it might be enough to reel you in.

But you’ve heard this pitch before, albeit from other survivors much, much older than you. Clearly ones wanting something more.

The same story.

Safety. Supplies. People.

“No.” You say, flat and final, a tinge of fear lingering beneath your skin at your harsh tone. People were dangerous.

People were more savage than the infected who laid dead at your feet.

Their smiles flicker, eyebrows furrowing.

You adjust your bow on your shoulder and start walking. Not fast. Just enough to say this conversation is over - we are done here. The wind bites at your neck as you move back up the ridge.

You had already turned around, walking away when you hear them muttering amongst themselves - hearing snippets about another 'Jimmy' and 'like the stories'.

“Hey,” Ink calls after you. “We’re serious, you'll love it, we'll even throw a little party."

You don’t respond.

You’d rather take your chances in the dark than deal with strangers who giggle when taking down infected and wear wigs.

It didn't concern you, and so you continued back to the hill when a flock of birds fly overhead causing you to flinch, followed by a stillness in the air.

Like the forest itself had started to hold it's breath in anticipation.

Then the sound comes.

A low, guttural growl, not like the other shrieks that belonged to the infected. Not panicked or feral. Controlled. Deep.

Too deep for a normal human throat. It vibrates through the ground, through your broken boots and into your spine.

Your blood felt like ice.

An Alpha.

The others - runners, they would scream as they charged.

But Alphas - they watched. They waited.

And when they moved, it was never alone. Alpha's were just that, in charge of their packs.

Behind you, you hear someone exhale sharply, Snake.

“Sounds close.”

Ink mutters with him. “Mm hm."

You turn halfway, hands shaking slightly as you swap your bow for your machete - trying to pin point the direction of the feral infected.

You didn't stand chance if one found you - a machete was a fucking paper cut to those large freaks.

The glade grew darker as orange and purple hues peaked through the trees, the dark well and truly lingering around the corner.

You glance over your shoulder, Ink and Snake are still there with almost knowing smiles. They weren't running. Just waiting.

For you.

You stare at them for a moment. The wind tugging at the blond strands of their scratchy wigs. Blood dried on their ridiculous tracksuits, the one thing that echoed your own appearance.

You don’t say anything, looking over at them as you stop moving.

Ink notices first. “Change of mind?”

You turn around, nodding lowly as you grip your machete tighter “At least if you kill me - you won't pull my spine out," you walk towards them as they laugh. "Rather deal with you lot than what's out there."

It was the truth, and they respected it. Any sane person would avoid an Alpha at every opportunity.

Snake grins once again, no smugness present. Just understanding. "You're gonna love it, trust me."

You didn't trust them. You just didn't want to be ripped apart by an overgrown infected, so you ignored his comment.

Ink waves you along with a call of your name, her friend having already turned around and beginning the walk. "C'mon, tracker."

She waits for you with a gentle smile, noticing your hesitancy. But still, you wait, letting her walk head as you follow behind them, scanning the tree line with your machete in your grasp.

The growl echoes again, deeper this time, and you find yourself closer too them before you even realise it.

They don't comment, don't belittle you for already going against your word.

"You been out here for awhile?" Snake asks as you walk, not even seeming phased by the nearby Alpha, eyes locking onto your bow. "You hunt?"

You nod. "I'm a gatherer."

It felt unusual talking to people this close to you in age, not used to proper conversation that didn't follow with an insult or a request for supplies. Ink and Snake walked just a metre in from of you, just enough to give you space, clearly having sensed your uncertainty about them.

You trail behind, machete in hand, eyes constantly peeking around and scanning your surroundings. It worried you how careless they were acting, not even walking with haste.

They move ahead like they've walked this path a hundred times, which clearly they have. Every now and then, one of them would place back, making sure you were still with them.

All three of you walked further into what felt like unknown territory. It was darker, the sun having well and truly set. The Alpha hadn't caught your trail yet, nor had you heard any familiar growls, but that didn't settle the pit in your stomach.

"So where's your camp?" Ink asks, looking over her shoulder.

You didn't answer, just staring at her before looking back to the trees.

Snake fills the silence, giving their friend a knowing glance. "You clearly run back to somewhere."

"Not important," You don't look at them when you finally answer. "It's just Home."

Ink scoffs. "Short 'n sweet, nice."

You keep walking, almost worried that your truthful answer might've upset them. "No it's uh, it's actually called Home, just a compound."

"And they send you out to scavenge? Where's your partner?" she asks.

"Partner?" you say, looking almost confused by their once again shared glances. You’ve seen pity before. This doesn’t feel like that. "No partner, I gather by myself."

Snake frowns, now looking over his shoulder too. "You should always have a partner," he elbows Ink as he says it. "How long you been running for?"

"Since I was twelve."

Neither of them responds right away.

Ink’s voice shifts. Lower, calmer even, but her irritation was evident. You wondered if you had said something wrong. “They sent a kid to do runs?”

It was your turn to be confused. Of course you were sent to do runs. The sooner you could prove your worth, the better. "You had to pull your weight, the council made sure of it."

Snake mutters something under his breath, but you don’t ask for him to repeat.

"It's better this way, lose one gatherer instead of two," you add, almost defending your situation. "What's wrong with that?"

"That's... messed up Tracker," Ink grimaces, and your stomach drops, feeling bemused. "Real messed up."

You finally look up, meeting her gaze head on. "That's normal, no?"

Snake glances once again to Ink, but neither of them answer.

"What does your family think about that?" Ink asks after their pause.

You shake your head, your eyes now narrowing as the dark closes in. You didn't have a torch, but the two in front of you didn't seem worried. "No family."

"Friends?' She follows with, her voice hopeful.

“No.”

The quiet that followed you was heavier. You decided to flip the questions back, a little surge of confidence trifling through you in an attempt to change the subject. “What’s with the Jimmy thing?"

Snake cracks a grin, though it wasn't as sharp as the others. "It's just who we are."

"Everyone is Jimmy with us," Ink continues for her friend. "Keeps things equal, keeps things fun."

"Whose your overseer?" You ask with a squint.

"Overseer?"

"Whose in charge," you repeat, your hand spinning your machete around to avoid the cramping on your fingers. "Runs the place."

"Sir Jimmy Crystal," They answer at the same time, their tones pleasant - proud even.

You were so used to sirs, men who ran places with iron fists. But they seemed happy to mention him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Ink once again peeps over her shoulder. "Hey, he's not like whatever it is you're dealing with, he's good - good to us."

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about." You didn't understand, nor did you like her tone.

"Yeah, you do. You've got that little look to you, like you've been thrown around."

You glance at her, almost embarrassed at being read so easily. Again, it confused you.

Was it not normal?

"No judgment here," She assures you, stopping so that you caught up. She walks with you now, Snake just ahead. "I was the same once, then I found this lot, found Sir Jimmy."

Still, you don’t answer.

"It's true," Snake cuts in, still listening in. "He's looked after us, kept us safe - wouldn't have made it out here without him."

"Sure."

Ink nudges you gently with her elbow. “I think he'll like you.”

You frown. “He doesn’t know me.”

“He doesn’t have to,” She says in a matter of fact tone. “He reads people, got this sixth sense n' all."

“You talk like he's some kind of prophet." You could already sense what kind of person this 'Jimmy Crystal' was.

"Either way, I think you'll like it at the Sanctuary," You can't help but notice she didn't deny your choice of words. "I know everyone will love you, especially after what you did today."

You shift your pack higher on your shoulder with your free hand, the weight starting to get to you, just nodding. You were sure that when you arrived at their 'sanctuary' that you'd either be torn to shreds and robbed or ignored.

Either way, you were too exhausted to care, the day finally starting to weigh down.

After what felt like an hour, the woods began to thin, the familiar smell of woodsmoke greeting you. Distant laughter echoed through the trees, not panicked or reserved - genuine.

Your steps slow without meaning to.

A fucking castle.

It was incredibly old looking, some sections in disarray. But for the most part, and from what you could see from outside, it was in good condition. You had seen countless scattered around the countryside in your time, most in ruins or beyond repair.

Ahead, torches were flickering across stone walls - high and sturdy, patched together from what used to be an old fort. A bunch of figures wave down from two watchtowers standing either side of a sturdy gate.

The gate opens quickly, it's sound matching the one back Home.

"This is the Sanctuary,” Snake says, patting your shoulder as he runs ahead. "C'mon!"

You were shocked at what lay ahead. It felt almost impossible, like a scene you had only read about.

Life.

Real life.

Everywhere, not just hiding away like the council in their concrete walls.

People rush forward, faces lit by fire and something even rarer - joy, relief. It alarmed you to no end.

“They're back!” Someone calls out.

“Guys!”

Voices raise, laughing, calling out. Someone whistles, and then others join in, a ripple of noise that echoes across the open courtyard.

Had they been away for weeks?

Did everyone think they were dead?

You’re weren't ready for the way everyone rushed forward. Men and women, all in tracksuits of various colours.

All different ages. Kids even. You weren't expecting to see literal children, having been some time since you saw anyone under the age of 20.

Most were wearing the same chopped up blonde wigs, some messy, some were braided, others were just resting on their heads like afterthoughts.

Some didn't wear one at all, either hair buzzed, sporting shaggy curls or other unusual styles.

There's no rule, just a shared sense of strangeness.

They pull Snake and Ink into embraces like they’ve come home from war.

And then, one hugs you.

It caught you off guard, tensing instantly, the grip on your machete tightening. They weren't trying to disarm you or pat you down, merely patting you on the back like you had returned from a long journey.

Arms were thrown around your shoulders, large smiles, a woman around your age beaming at you with a missing front tooth. "Welcome home."

Home.

No. This wasn't Home. This wasn't anything like Home.

Ink just laughs, gently guiding their friend off of your shocked frame. "Easy, easy - don't scare her off just yet."

"I'm not staying." You mutter, instinctively, but no one was listening.

They just... stare. Happy. Content. It bleeds out of them all in waves.

Ink urges you forward, and you finally look around.

It was massive.

The sanctuary is built around the castle, it's outer stone walls still surprisingly intact. Vines climb up the barriers and wooden scaffolding reinforce the still standing towers.

Tall torches burn along the interior perimeter, reminding you of Home, jar lights scattered around cast a golden red hue over everything. Inside, the sanctuary looked almost like a village - rows of man made cabins, albeit mismatched, rest side by side, their walls made from salvaged scrap.

It was a noticeable difference to the vans and shipping containers back Home. The homes looked lived in, loved. Hammocks swayed in between trees and beams, some already holding people resting.

That alone caught you off guard.

People are lounging.

Others sit by fire pits, meat crackling ahead. A group of 'Jimmy's' sit around it, passing around a jug and laughing over something you can't hear.

You already catch yourself scanning for any weak points, an exit, any weapons. It was habit. Reflexes that never left.

But there weren't any. There's storage huts. Smokehouses. It was clear even the castle was being lived in.

More people wave at you as you pass. Smiling like they already enjoyed your company.

You don't return the gesture, but you don't glare either.

"Over there's an old office," Ink leans in as you both step further into the centre of the sanctuary, pointing to an old building that had been built before the fall. "It's where we store a lot of our clothes, y'should go for a shop."

"Shop?" You ask, eyebrows furrowing. You knew what the concept was, but you didn't know how you could 'pay' for anything.

"Yeah, grab some things - you're cold aren't you?" She tilts her head towards your outfit, causing you to look down at your stained and ripped clothes. "'Cause I'm cold just looking at you."

Your shirt had plenty of tears, just like your trousers. Your jacket no longer zipped up, and your shoes were well and truly losing their outsoles.

You shook your head. You weren't allowed new clothes if you hadn't earned them, or more so paid for them with your rations. Any clothes you found when gathering were given to the council. "I can't trade for anything."

"What? No - Tracker," She stops, putting her hands on your shoulders like you had ben friends for decades. "You don't trade, if you need it - you take it."

Your eyes widened at the idea of just taking something, immediately stuttering over your words as you tried to dismiss the notion.

"Hey hey, It's okay, we don't have to worry about that now," She just laughs, resting her hand on your shoulder as she continues guiding you. "We should get a move on anyway, I'm sure He'll be waiting."

You look up as she continues talking, raving on about how you'll fit right in, how he'll love you, how you're just what is needed.

The castle looms over everything, weathered and ancient but clearly taken care of. Lived in. Some windows were shattered, boarded up with more scavenged scrap. It's towers held more people on watch, lit up by more torches.

At the very top of the main tower, you see a singular figure. Standing. Watching. Hair swaying in the wind.

Their arms were folded behind their back, and they were the only person not standing in the light.

You didn't have to ask, and you knew that Sir Jimmy Crystal himself was observing everything that was happening.

He was gone before you could ask Jimmy Ink if you were right, his shadowed figure disappearing somewhere into the castle.

Ink looks towards you again before her gaze looks down, noticing you were still gripping your machete. She raises an eyebrow, and you mutter an apology, quickly sliding it into your holster.

It wouldn't be difficult to pull out again if need be.

She guides you over a stone bridge, and you peer over the edge with each step, seeing rushing water beneath. You could already tell that if infected found their way in - the castle was a failsafe.

You follow Jimmy Ink past doorways draped in beaded curtains. There’s laughter echoing from somewhere deeper in the structure, a soft, distant sound. No one seemed tense. No one is watching the windows for any threats.

The inside is not what you expected.

You thought it would be like the outside, cold stone and dust. A ruin patched together with more scrap. Instead, it’s alive, just like the little village that surrounded it.

The air inside was warm, a grand fireplace standing at the end of the room. It smelt of lavender and smoke, and you noticed jars of the plant littered around. Mismatched fabrics were strewn across the walls in wild patterns, connecting to each other like someone had hand stitched them themselves.

Candles flickered in old bottles resting in alcoves, lighting up the room alongside the fireplace. Rugs in an assortment of colours covered the stone floors, overlapping each other.

It was oddly inviting despite it's cold exterior. Someone had tried to turn a once war torn fortress into what felt like a children's dream of royalty. There we even toys scattered around, the odd teddy bear and action figure spread amongst the organised chaos.

It was colourful. Loved.

And yet, beneath it's inviting interior, you could feel the pressure in the air, like the walls were alive and watching everything.

You're led into what was once clearly a throne room, the high ceilings, tall stained glass windows, the way the room narrowed towards a raised platform. Beanbags, cushions and couches were all around leading towards a throne that rest in the centre.

A tall and carved wooden throne, hand made and intimidating. Around it, the space was warm, matching the room outside. Thick furs, a low table where cups and candles sat. A painted mural rest behind, a sunrise, small figures raising their arms towards an almost glowing figure outlined in gold.

You already guessed who it was meant to be.

Footsteps echo through the hallways outside, stopping just where you had once stood. You turn around, seeing Jimmy Snake and another man beside him.

Sir Jimmy Crystal.

He's the complete opposite of what you were expecting, much like your original opinion of the castle he resided in.

He’s hard not to look at. Even if you try to avoid looking him over.

He was older than you by a few years, having clearly been around when the Rage Virus took over.

The dark purple tracksuit he wears looked almost shiny under the candlelight. His blond hair, real hair, falls to his shoulders, half brushed, half wild.

On his head, a little crown - almost childlike in design, reminding you of the pictures in the books your dad would sneak in and read to you.

He wears it with an unbothered confidence.

Gold rings rest on every finger, some stacked, reminding you of Russ. Around his neck, various chains and an upside down cross, polished like a holy relic.

He's handsome in a way that shouldn't matter to you. His teeth are rough and marked by time, but none of it detracts.

"Our little tracker," he says as he approaches, arms wide and voice wrapped in velvet. "I just heard what ye did out there, quite the warrior if I hear correctly."

Immediately your eyes cast down, looking to his feet. You've been around enough authority figures to know your place by now. You nod, barely.

His head tilts, noticing your instant change in demeanour.

"None of that now, lift yer head," He tuts, walking closer until he stood just a blink away. "Ye don't look down in my house, I think you of all people earned better than that,"

It worried you. There was going to be a catch. Slowly you raise your head, and you meet his gaze. "Much better," He says, smiling again as he holds out his hand.

"I'm Jimmy."

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