#+ i couldn't loot his clothes

[archdevilsupreme]

It is, by far, way too funny to me how I've been confused about Karlach's inventory for god knows how long before realising what's wrong. I was convinced it was the game being bugged since she can carry like 250kg.

Then I realised... she's been carrying around Cazador's corpse all this time. This shit is so funny to me because can you imagine a group of 4 people walking around Baldur's Gate, just casually dragging the corpse of a vampire lord along with them as a sign of dominance (and forgetfulness of said vampire corpse).

Update - beware! There will be fun and fire!

[haeryna]

first time that i called you mine (that wasted summer) ↪ gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

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summary: suguru figures out he loves you the summer when you're both fifteen. satoru calls you his a few months after. when you finally realize it, there's nothing left to call yours. ↪ a continuation of this drabble

tw: angst, referenced abandonment, homophobia, implied mild sexual content, reader calls satoru a manwhore (affectionate), swearing, the author loves parentheses a concerningly large amount, not proofread teehee

notes: title taken from loote's wasted summer. reader is a teenager, along with satoru, suguru, and shoko. banner from @/cafekitsune

Suguru is only six years old when he falls in love with you.

At first, it was entirely childish. When he saw you for the first time, tears streaming down your cheeks by the creek he'd explore with Satoru, he liked feeling needed. He liked how you'd clung to him so desperately, and selfishly, he liked having something he didn't share with Satoru.

(He should have known that whatever was Suguru's inevitably also became Satoru's)

He knew he loved you when you were eight, bravely defending Satoru from a group of bratty kids who were calling him slurs before Satoru had even knew what love was. He knew he loved you when you were twelve and crying for him when Suguru got into his first fist fight, sniffling as you patched up the bloody scrapes after.

But this was different.

"Sugu, sit still!" you hissed, as he squirmed uncomfortably on the lumpy sofa that resided in his basement. You were fifteen, and tired of Suguru complaining about how the nearest piercer was a two hour drive away. In one hand you brandished a piercing gun; in your other, the piercings that were meant to go into his earlobes. Besides you, Satoru gleefully filmed Suguru's discomfort.

"Are you sure that's sanitary? Why are we doing this because you're bored, can't you experiment on Satoru first?" Suguru shot back, leaning away from the piercing gun.

"You're such a big baby, you've been complaining about your empty earlobes for months now. You literally came with me to buy the piercing gun, which cost me my whole allowance by the way, so sit still. And it's summer break, so if you're going to do something dramatic to your appearance, you have to do it now." Before he could stop you, you determinedly swung your leg up and over, lightly straddling his lap.

Suguru realized several critical things as he registered your weight sinking into him.

You smelled like the meadows you'd roamed as kids, mixed with the smell of cigarette smoke (Shoko had convinced him to take up smoking with her) and burnt sugar (Satoru's failed attempt at some monstrosity that still sat smoking in Suguru's kitchen). You smelled like them, he realized. Like a mix of the people who loved you.

You were pretty. He'd always known that, but now, with the heat of your body pressed against his, he didn't realize how somewhere along the way you'd grown into your gangly limbs and the clothes you complained were a few sizes too large.

These two realizations were combined with the fact that he was a boy, a teenaged boy, and you were so close that his heart was going to burst. You smelled like flowers, smoke, and sugar, you smelled like him, like you could be his, and if you moved an inch lower you would know that the Suguru you always came to for comfort was just another boy, and he couldn't bear it. He would rather die than lose you, he would do anything just to have you, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted-

"Yay, all done!" Effortlessly you slid right off his lap as fast as you'd hopped on it, and it was then he realized his earlobes were stinging. In the time he'd spent dazedly staring at you, you'd pierced his ears.

Satoru snickered, still holding his phone obnoxiously close to Suguru's face. "He looks like he's in shock. Hey, if I get a piercing, would you straddle me like that too? You'll make me jealous, you know."

As the two of you bickered in the background, Suguru couldn't help but swallow shakily, lightly pressing his fingertips to the round black earrings you'd picked out for him.

"I love it," he says quietly. "Thank you."

(I love you, is what he meant to say, but you didn't understand because you merely shot him a smug smile before berating Satoru for being a "manwhore, Satoru, I'm not like your groupies at school, go get one of them to pierce your ears for you if you want one so bad!")

Suguru has always known he's loved you, but that summer, he knew he loved you.

Where Suguru goes, Satoru follows. It's only inevitable that he'd realize he was in love with you too. Despite his easygoing nature and flirtatious charms, there's a critical difference between Suguru and Satoru. Satoru gets possessive, a dangerous combination of the spoiled upbringing and how guarded his heart is.

"Who is that?"

Satoru blatantly stares at the boy leaning against your locker. Pettily, he thinks that he's definitely shorter than Satoru, and uglier too. It doesn't seem to matter though, because you're laughing at whatever the he said. As you turn to reach for your books, the hungry look in the boy's eyes make Satoru's fists clench.

"Kenji?" Shoko looks amused when she sees the look in Satoru's eyes. "Isn't he in our English class? He's got a massive crush on her, apparently it's all he talks to his friends about."

Satoru grits his teeth. "Oh, does he?"

He can't quite explain the burning, insidious feeling that forms in his chest. What could've possibly been so funny to make you laugh like that? The smiles you're giving him, why didn't you give those to Satoru too?

The boy, Kenji, reaches over to your face, looking as though he's going to tuck a loose strand of hair around your ear. Something inside of Satoru snaps. He stalks over, ignoring Shoko's snicker, calling your name loudly and abruptly.

"There you are!"

You turn, surprised, as Kenji's hand drops away, his lovesick smile turning into something that looks something similar to fear. "'Toru, where were you? Suguru said he needed to stay in during lunch for a club, but I couldn't find you when I waited outside your classroom."

Satoru's heart lurches traitorously inside his chest, and before he can stop himself, he latches onto your wrist, tugging you towards him. "Don't scare me like that," he murmurs, cradling you firmly in his arms. "Shoko and I couldn't find you, it made me worried."

You peer up at him, clueless to the long forgotten boy fuming behind you. "Ah, I'm sorry, I forgot I left my lunch in my locker." Something in Satoru's chest yearns. Is it because you're so used to his physical affection, his touch, his love, that you don't give him the same starry eyed look as the boy who's still awkwardly waiting by your locker? How can he get you to look like that? How could he make you love him too?

The realization doesn't strike him like he expects, but it feels a bit like finally finding the choreography that fit with the song, the way that he would find a lyric for a song Suguru was attempting to write. It felt like coming home, and reclaiming what was once lost.

Satoru loved you. He has always loved you.

"Let's go," he says, signature smile back on his face, any trace of vulnerability long gone. As he intertwines his fingers with yours, he turns back to see the resigned, frustrated look on Kenji's face.

Just to be an asshole, he tucks your hair behind your ear as you walk away.

You're sixteen when Suguru and Satoru get together. They don't tell you anything. They don't have to. You can see it in the way that Suguru cradles Satoru's face when he falls asleep, affection settling warm in his dark brown eyes. You can see it in the way that Satoru somehow always needs something from Suguru at the precise moment that a girl tries to ask him out. It's in the dark purple marks you can see peaking out from Suguru's collarbone when his shirt slips down an inch, in the way that when Satoru stretches, you can see angry red scratches down his back.

You're sixteen when Satoru's parents find out, shattering the life that you once had. You're sixteen, sitting in Suguru's basement, sobbing as his parents tell you that he's gone. Shoko is saying something to you, but everything feels muffled and hazy, as you let out a choked wail. You know he's gone. The guitar you gave him only a couple months ago, the binder full of music he's composed, even Satoru's clothes that he'd keep in the dresser next to his bed. Every trace of them is gone. You feel as though they took your heart with you.

You're sixteen when Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru leave you, and it's in that moment that you realize you loved them a little too late.

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 12

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, description of a panic attack)

A/N: This was a beast of a chapter, and I couldn't have done it without @the-scandalorian (who is one of the most insightful, helpful readers/brainstormers I have ever met in my life) and @the-ginger-hedge-witch (my wife, who said "this chapter was a bitch, but you made it YOUR bitch" and I fell in love with her even more) ❤ enjoy!

-

Joel looks down at the dead man at his feet. 

Emaciated, clothes worn from the elements, hair matted and dirty. He eyes his boots, sizing them up with a narrowed gaze, and deciding they are probably too small for him, makes a mental note to grab them for you instead. The jacket he’s wearing is too threadbare to be of use, and it’s splattered in blood anyway. 

A clean shot square between the man’s vacant eyes, Joel’s eyes sweep over the wound as if he doesn’t even see it, and kneeling, he starts to check his pockets. With the practiced efficiency of someone who’s been scavenging for a long time, he makes no effort to be gentle in his search.

Hands tugging the clothing aside, he strips everything he can use: the boots, his gun, a small switchblade, some rope, loose bullets in his pocket. In another pocket, he finds a thick, folded piece of paper, and tossing it into the pile before shoving him over on his stomach with a sickeningly limp roll, he finds a knife strapped to his belt and takes that too.

Satisfied he’s gotten everything of value, he stands and with a grunt, starts dragging the corpse deeper into the woods. If it were just him, he would leave it. He’s seen and handled enough dead bodies that the task doesn’t faze him, but it isn’t just him anymore. When it’s sufficiently hidden in a spot where he knows you’d have no reason to walk through, he covers the body with leaves and branches.

Still thrumming with adrenaline and on his guard, his senses are hyper alert and aware. His eyes scan everything: the crisping, brittle leaves that rustle in the wind, the phantom figures that shift between the tree trunks as shadows play between them. Checking every single trap before he came back to bury the body, Joel is satisfied the man was alone, but something still pulls at him. 

Lost in what needed to be done in the moment, it finally comes to the surface. 

It starts with his heart, picking up pace until it hammers in his chest and holding his rifle in a one handed grip, he rubs at his sternum with the other. The muscle tightens instead of loosens, the pain constricting his breathing, and splaying his hand in a lean against the trunk of a tree, he temporarily gives into it. A cold sweat breaks out along the nape of his neck, the sound of his ragged breathing covering the sounds of the forest. 

A muffled white noise rises to overtake everything, his limbs weighted in their effort to keep him upright, and his coherent mind struggles against being pulled under into the depths. His eyes close tight and the bark of the tree scrapes the palm of his hand as he holds onto something as an anchor against the waves of panic. 

Again. It almost happened again. Another person he loves dead and it would have been his fault. He’s the only one here to protect you, and he almost failed. 

An image of your tear streaked face floods into his mind, and bile rises in his throat. Swallowing hard against it, he loses the battle and wretches onto the grass by his boots. The sensation burns just as much as the pressure in his chest, and lightheaded, he sways in his bend for a moment. 

Slowly, the outside world comes back: the white noise receding to give way to bird song, the bark on the tree under his hand sharp in its bite where he’s scratched himself. Rising, he spits to rid his mouth of the foul taste, and gathering himself for a moment, turns to gather up the pile of loot. 

–

You stay hidden for as long as your legs will allow it, cramping in their painful fold on the hard, wooden floor. Your fingers wrap around the grip of your gun just like he taught you, and you squeeze the metal tighter to stop the way your hands shake. The image of his back as he walks away from you plays on a loop in your mind, as your thumb worries a cool ridge along the barrel. 

A long time since you’ve used one, the gun feels both foreign in your hands and yet familiar.  Muscle memory, after ten years of using one, even though he’d always tried to shield you from having to use it if he could, both on the road and here. Tucked into the corner of the bedroom,  you feel embarrassed to admit to yourself that you had actually hoped you’d never have to use a gun again. 

Not on another human, anyway. 

Your cheeks tight with dried tear tracks and too anxious to wait for him any longer, you eventually rise and pace the length of the room, working the feeling back into your limbs. Undecided if the lack of sound outside is a good or bad thing, you bring the gun with you when you head out into the living room to begin to clean up.  

Shards of glass and couch stuffing litter the floor, fine splinters of wood everywhere. You shake the quilt on the couch out, turning your face away from the debris that flies off, and before you fold it and place it to the side, you bring the fabric to your face. The familiar scent of his skin is a reminder that this space is yours, even though it doesn’t look like it right now. The barrier that had been building during your stay has been breached, and grabbing the broom, you try to soothe yourself by setting it right again. 

No concept of time to aid your waiting, it seems as though he’s been gone longer than he should be for someone just checking the perimeter of the property, and though you haven’t heard anything beyond the gentle sweep of your broom across the floorboards and the tinkling sound of glass, the silence is eerie, ominous. Unsettling, after the loud gunshots. Like it should feel like things are back to normal, but something in the space has shifted. 

One man completely ripped away the safety you’ve come to take for granted, and you scold yourself on a loop for becoming too complacent, too dependent on a play-pretend peace that couldn’t ever be guaranteed, no matter how much you wanted it to be real. Your lack of awareness almost cost you everything. 

Not your life, not the garden: him and the child inside you. 

The stomp of his boots up the cabin stairs stops the circuit of worry, and meeting him at the front door, you take the bundle of things from his hands before pulling him in for a hug. 

“What took you so long?” Your cheek is pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, and you couldn’t care less how worried you sound.  

“I had to make sure there wasn’t anyone else,” he replies. He embraces you back, squeezing tight for a moment before letting you go. Holding you at an arms length, his eyes do a visual scan.

“You alright? You feel okay? You hide, like I said?” His questions are tight with worry, impressing upon you how important it is to him that you listened. 

You nod, and satisfied with your answer, he does another sweep over your features before pulling you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

You relax into the comforting hold of his arms for a moment, leaning into his solid frame. “Was he alone?” 

“Yea, seems like it,” he confirms. 

“That’s…good.”

He huffs, stepping back with a shake of his head. Letting himself drop onto the couch, he places his rifle near his knee and scrubs his hand over his face. “Don’t know if I would say that.”

“You know what I mean.” You speak the words softly, coming to kneel next to him on the couch, and reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, you look at him. Worry is still etched hard into his features, the lines of his frown deep and unyielding. Dragging your nails through the hair at his temple shot through with gray, you look at him for a moment. 

“Are you okay?”

He says nothing, instead letting a heavy breath out. He lets his head fall to the side, turning to face you, and you can see what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. His expression is apologetic yet resolute, like he’s bracing himself to say something he knows you don’t want to hear. Knowing exactly what it is, you change the subject. 

“You bring me some presents?”

He gives you a look that shows he knows what you’re up to but doesn’t push it. Sitting up with a cinch, he pats your thigh. 

“Yea, I did.”

Following him into the kitchen, you find the boots are a little big but otherwise a good fit, and sifting through the rest of the items, he plucks out the piece of paper. It unfolds to be larger than it looks, and spreading it out on the counter, you stand next to him and look down at it. 

“Is that..?” you ask quietly, and he answers right away. 

“A map.” Crudely made and hand drawn, he studies the winding trail filled with human-made landmarks and a single star labeled “Jackson”. 

“Jackson….Wyoming?” you ask, puzzled. 

“I guess,” he says, frowning, leaning in closer. He tilts his head, reading scrawled notes on the side, the words almost worn away. “This says it’s a settlement.”

“Like another QZ? I thought the closest one was Salt Lake City.”

“That one’s abandoned. This…” his voice drops lower as he thinks. “This looks like a real one, not run by the government. One off the grid.”

“Those exist?”

“I heard rumors before, but I…I thought they were just rumors.”

You fold your hands on top of your stomach, rubbing at a burning spot on your skin. “He must have been heading there.” 

He nods absentmindedly, still looking intently at the map, and then he stands straight, his hands on his hips. 

“Don’t matter where he was going,” he says with finality and a tic of his jaw. “All that matters is that he saw our place, which means other people could see it too.”

“Yea, but he’s the first in what – six months? More?”

The words make no difference to him, his face still set in a solemn frown. His stern eyes lift to yours. “It’s not safe here anymore.”

Even though you knew this conversation was coming, the words strike deep. Tangible grief stirs in your gut at the idea of having to leave it all behind.

“Joel,” you start, ready to argue with him, but he just shakes his head. 

“You know it’s not, honey.”

You do know. You do. The map is clear evidence that others might follow, and you know it would probably be in your best interest to leave. You also knew for a fact he would insist on it as soon as you saw that look on his face but you can’t bring yourself to agree. This is your home. Having worked so hard for this peace, it seems wholly unfair that it would be torn from your hands by only one man. 

“Where do we go?” you ask, knowing full well there isn’t any good answer. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “We can grab everything we can carry –”

“I can’t carry anything.”

“I’ll carry it then.” He’s determined, the tone of his words final as he argues more with himself than anyone. “We’ll pack up what we need, get as many seeds from the pantry as possible. Got a couple of guns and some ammo to last us awhile, and –”

“Joel,” you interrupt him softly, getting his attention. “Forget what we’re gonna carry. Where are we going to go?”

He closes his mouth and with a shift of his jaw, stares down at the floor with his hands on his hips. 

“I can’t leave like this,” you press. Gesturing at your stomach, you let a hand come to rest on it. “What happens if we don’t find anything before I’m ready? Or worse, what happens if someone else finds us on the road? I can’t even defend myself. I wouldn’t even be able to help fight.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“I don’t need to worry about it here. Out there, I would.”

“We do need to worry about it here. You saw –”

“I saw one man, and I saw you kill him.”

He brings his eyes to yours, and you meet his look with a fierce one of your own. “You killed him like it was nothing and I know if someone else comes, you’ll do the same.”

“You don’t know that,” he argues. “What if I’m gone? What if I’m huntin’ or somethin’, and someone else comes?”

“Then I’ll hide, just like you said.”

He gives you a look and you counter it. “I can barely even run, Joel. If we leave and something happens to you, I would never make it.”

His eyes drop to your stomach, and you come closer, reaching for his hand. “You know I’m right.”

He thinks for a moment, his expression softening and when he answers, his voice is softer too. “You think I wanna leave, honey? I don’t. You know I don’t, but we knew this would happen someday.”

“Yea, but we didn’t know this would happen.” You take his hand and place it on your stomach, and his shoulders drop in acquiescence.

“It’s not ideal, I know,” you continue. “But we can set new traps and make sure the old ones are still up. We can cover the front of the cabin with branches and try to shield it from the road. We can –”

His face shifts into something argumentative and skeptical, but yet you press on. 

“We have to try Joel,” you urge him, squeezing his hand. “We can’t leave. We can’t.”

Your tearful voice brings his eyes to yours, and his expression softens around the edges. 

Your garden, your cache, your warm bed with him beside you. The heat of his body felt through the flannels he wears when he sits next to you on the porch, the cool caress of the river when you bathe. The light you’ve seen grow inside him, the dimples he shows more often than not. The space in the corner of the bedroom where you had just begun to think of as the perfect place for a cradle. The peace that you’ve both found, and the happiness. 

One man to take it all away?

You can’t leave. You can’t. 

“We have about four months,” you say, holding his gaze. “The baby will be here by the spring, and then we can go. Okay?”

Your heart set on the knowledge that you might be able to change his mind in those four months, you shove the idea of leaving down deep and lock it away. A problem for the future, if he’ll agree to the present. 

“Deal?”

Warring with himself, the turmoil clear in the depths of his brown eyes, he eventually relents. 

“Deal.”

–

He starts spending the nights on the couch in the living room. 

The first night, you don’t say anything. You understand his need to keep watch, and so you bring him a pillow and a blanket before turning in yourself. The next morning though, they appear untouched. 

The second night, you ask him to come to bed, but he declines. 

“Safer with me out here.” Consumed with defending your home, he looks tired - so tired, sleep ringing his weary eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he looks every one of his years. His hand reaches for yours, and pulling you close, he kisses the round of your stomach. 

“You can’t stay awake all night again, Joel.”

Your fingers card through his curls, and for a moment, he lets his forehead rest against you, his eyes closed. He sags into your embrace, his nose nuzzling the soft fabric of your shirt and letting out a deep sigh, sits back up and avoids your scolding. 

“Get some sleep, okay? I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Biting your lip, you leave him in the living room, the map laid out on the table in front of him. 

It’s been there since that first day he brought it home; hours discussing the possibility of it being real. He had given you a lesson in the nearby QZ’s - Salt Lake City (abandoned), San Francisco (possibly controlled by the Fireflies), Portland (unknown, since the last communication). Only one worth heading to, the idea of entering another QZ’s walls made you queasy. 

Rough, dirty, swarming with people just trying to survive a life that didn’t seem worth living anymore. Scavenging, smuggling, stealing. Working disgusting jobs to get enough rations to get you next to nothing. Shitty apartments filled with even shittier people, and the idea of bringing a baby into that world seemed abhorrent to you both after this. You could see it on his face, the clear rejection of the idea even as he argued for it, and so each time, the subject was eventually dropped; the two of you looking down at the map instead. 

On the third day, you can see the lack of sleep in his movements, sluggish and slow. You urge him to take a nap, promising that you’ll wake him if anything happens, but when he passes out in the sun drenched bedroom, you try to keep the curtains closed against the bright light that pours in through the window. Not that it makes any difference, with how deeply he sleeps.

Later that night, it’s you who can’t sleep. 

Tossing and turning in a bed that feels bigger than it has in months, you throw back the covers and pad out to the living room. 

“Joel?” you murmur, his name coming out in a hush as not to startle him. 

He turns away from the window to look at you, his rifle resting near him on the couch, and you come to stand between his knees. 

“What are you doin’ up? Should be sleepin’.” The edge of his words blur, his voice husky in the darkness. 

“I can’t without you. I miss you in bed with me.”

His face softens in the moonlight, the well of his brown eyes pitch black and endless. “I know, honey.” His eyes linger on your body, down and back up again. “You wear this out here to entice me in there?”

You shrug, lifting the edge of your mouth in a smile. One of his flannels on, you’ve taken to wearing them to bed as the nights get chillier. You want to ask how much longer he’s going to keep this up, but not wanting him to get a chance to voice a defensive reason, you try the new one he’s just given you. 

“Is it working?” You finger a button near the top, his eyes on your hand as you undo it. 

His gaze darkens, his hand curving large and warm around your hip. You think you’ve won, but then he answers. 

“I can’t, honey. You know I can’t.”

His response is tinged with apology, and knowing you’re not going to win this fight, you lean forward to rest your hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head. Lifting your leg, he watches as you straddle him. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to stay out here with you.”

He chuckles lowly, shifting down on the cushion to give you more room to sit on his thighs, and when settled, you lean into the broad expanse of his chest and tuck your face into the crook of his neck. Letting your mouth rest there for a moment, you press a kiss to the edge of his beard. 

“You gonna sleep on my lap?” he teases. 

“I didn’t say anything about sleeping,” you reply, the low tone of your voice rolling a shiver over his skin that you feel with your lips. Opening your mouth a little wider, you give him a lingering kiss on his neck. Another one lower, your bottom lip catching the edge of his collarbone. 

His hands roam lazily along your curves: his fingers splayed over your back, they slide down to palm the curve of your ass, and fiddling with the leg bands of your underwear, he pushes the thin fabric to the side, searching for your plush, soft skin. When he finds it, you roll your hips over his lap, encouraging the touch. 

“I do want you to get some sleep,” you say, flicking the lobe of his ear with your tongue. “But if you’re not going to, maybe we can do…something else.”

His hand glides up your back to cup the nape of your neck, and pulling you back with the hold, he guides your face to hover just in front of his. The grip itself implies possession; his mouth so close that you can feel his breath skim warm over your lips. 

“Yea,” he agrees, nodding. He stares back with an intense intimacy only found in the middle of the night and his lips brush against yours in a delicate tease. “Okay.”

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, he captures your lips in a fierce kiss, one that betrays the hunger he’s felt all these days for you. You match it, your fingers twisting into the cotton that rounds his shoulders, and when he deepens the kiss to slide his tongue against your own, you widen your thighs and scoot closer, fitting your center over the crotch of his pants. 

It’s rough and needy, his hand staying in place with a firm hold on the back of your neck to keep you in place as he pulls from your mouth, and when you break away with a whine and a ragged inhale, his mouth never stops. It molds tight along the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping along your skin. 

“I’ve missed you too, honey. Goddamn, I’ve missed you.” His confession is an endearment breathed into your skin between open mouth tastes, and shoving the collar of his flannel to the side, his mouth drags a wet path across the swell of your breasts. “Comin’ out here in my clothes. Sittin’ this pretty pussy on my lap. Like you’re all mine, just for me.”

He works open the next button on the flannel, gaping the fabric until he finds your bare breast and immediately covering it with his mouth, he sucks hard on your nipple with a groan. 

“I am yours,” you whine, arching your back, seeking out the wet heat of his mouth. 

You press yourself closer, his hand coming to push the plump of your breast into his mouth as he opens up wider, and though your belly should be crammed uncomfortably between the two of you, it makes you even wetter to think about how much you are his. Marked, in the most base way possible. 

He tugs the shirt roughly to the side as he switches his attention to your other breast, the collar slipping off the round of your shoulder as he groans against your skin, and pulling him back, you guide him back up to your mouth. Your fingers thread through his curls, tightening to give them a little pull, and he responds with a lift of his hips, grinding the hard heft of his cock between your legs. 

“I need to fuck you,” he rasps between harsh kisses, and your fingers drag down his torso until you find his belt, working it open. 

Your thumb pops the button of his jeans, his grasp on your hair tugging your head back so he can devour your throat, and trying to get his zipper down proves a task too hard until he helps. Without looking down, his hand joins yours, and the two of you frantically work his jeans open, the back of his hand brushing heavy against the inside of your thigh as he pulls himself out and you shove the damp crotch of your underwear to the side. 

Lifting just enough off his lap so he can position himself into place, it’s a delicious, filling stretch as you slowly lower yourself onto him. So thick and stiff, his cock notches satisfyingly deep as you work him all the way in, and impatient for you to do so, he keeps his eyes on your face when he flexes his hips up to force himself in, in a slick slide down to the base. 

Your jaw clenches as a whine crawls out of your throat, and holding you steady with a hand braced across the middle of your back with the other one curving around your hip, he brings you closer to him. Your hips are already chasing his, already a steady rhythmic rock as you fuck yourself on his lap and burying his face between your breasts, he takes pulls of your sweet scent, his beard scraping the soft skin. 

You have missed him just as much as his own need implies: missed him in your bed, missed the carefree Joel you’ve become used to, missed his presence when he left to ensure your safety. Everything since that day and before floods into your mind, coming out in a desperate need to show him just how much you appreciate it all. Appreciate him, for all he’s ever done for you, but also how lost you would be without him. 

You used to need him for protection, for his skills, for his ruthlessness. Needed him for his sense of direction and experience, needed him to seek refuge in the shadow of his determination to stay alive. You do still need him for those things, but you also need him now for him. 

Joel Miller, the caregiver. 

Joel Miller, the provider. 

Joel Miller, the one who has opened up to you and has shown you who he really is - something he’s been doing all along through his actions, only you didn’t realize it. 

Joel Miller, the man. 

You need him. 

Your hand cups his jaw and guides his mouth to yours, and lowering your face to his, you try to convey everything you feel in a wordless, hungry kiss. He tastes so familiar, so right, his lush lips giving just enough against your own that you’re driven mad with the need to deepen the kiss, and like always, he feels your need and matches it with his own. 

Your hips never stop moving, picking up speed in their roll on his lap. Your thighs burn with effort, your hips already sore from the width of him underneath you, your mouth drinking down the grunts that he lets pour into you as he bucks his hips to match your every stroke down. 

Entwined and lost in each other, you keep going because you can’t stop. 

—

He almost lost you.

With that thought a constant reminder that drives him to desperation, he winds his arm tight around you and uses his other hand to guide your hips harder down onto his lap: again, again, your head tipping back as you cry out for him. 

Heat pools between his thighs, a heady pull that starts at the base of his spine and works its way up through his balls, and then he’s fucking up into you, clutching you tight. You’re so wet – so fucking wet – and squeezing him like a slick fist. His heart pounds just underneath yours, his eyes raking over your exposed skin where his shirt — his shirt – has slipped off your shoulder. 

You smell like a mixture of himself and you, the firm swell of your belly pressing into his, and he groans, lust overtaking him.

“Fuck me, pretty girl. Fuck me.”

“I’m so close – Joel, please. I’m gonna come.” Your begging makes him thicken inside you, his hooded eyes fixed on your face. 

Your beautiful face, mouth open in pleasure. 

The sweet sound of your begging, just for him. 

His name on your lips, in all forms: said with a teasing smile, a gentle scold, a cry for mercy. 

He almost lost it all. 

His hold on you tightens as his thumb finds your clit, nestled above where he’s stretching you open and he knows he's found the right spot when you clench around him, curling your body inwards. 

“I’m gonna make this pretty pussy come for me. Gonna make it mine.”

“It is,” you moan, your hips working faster. “It is.”

“Just like you’re mine.” 

“I am,” you confess breathlessly, looking down at his face. You close your eyes tight and chase the release he can tell is coming to a crest inside you, and the gorgeous way you let yourself fall apart on his lap with a broken cry floods his chest with the same pressure he felt in the woods, only this time it’s not dread he feels, but something else. 

“I love you.” 

The words come pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them, but once they’re out, he can’t stop saying them. Burying his face in your chest, he says the words directly over your pounding heart. “I love you, honey. Fuck, I love you.”

His unyielding hold keeps you pinned to his lap, and he comes inside you with a groan when you confess your own adoration into his sweat-damp curls.

“I love you too,” you say, breathless and pleading, your cheek pressed against the top of his head. “I love you.”

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:14 pm]

(cw: cursing, reader is a lil teensy weensy bit toxic but it's fun!!!)

"Did you still want to go get food?" you ask from your position on gamer!Haechan's bed. The same spot you'd been in for the last, wow, almost 3 hours.

"Fuck off! Get my 6 motherfucker!" Haechan yells, before answering softly, "yeah, of course, baby."

You rolled your eyes, he wasn't even listening to you. He had been listening to you when you showed up 4 hours ago when he was very calmly showing you all the changes he made on his Animal Crossing Island. Then, and this was smart, he slid his Switch over to you and told you to make any changes you'd like. So you spent about an hour on his Switch, placing decorations and buying clothes to send to your own island before you realized he was keeping you busy so he could play Fortnite.

Just like he'd been playing last night when he insisted you call him to talk. That casual, and some might even call it cute, conversation lasted all of 20 minutes before he was screaming so loud, you heard him across the room even when your phone wasn't on speaker. Since he'd been so adamant about playing last night and played for so long, you thought today he'd be over it. WRONG! Apparently, there had been some update or something and that reignited his Fortnite obsession.

"Well, do you want to go out like we planned or do you want me to order something?" You asked, turning to lay on your side.

"Of course, my love- oh you stupid fuck! Get back here!" Haechan groaned as the keyboard clacking got even louder.

You pulled a blanket over your face to muffle a groan of your own. A groan of annoyance an frustration more than anything. You'd give him 10 more minutes and then you'd take drastic measures.

You checked the time, 2:14, perfect. You figured you could have at least a little fun while you waited.

"I think it would make you totally ugly if you shaved your head, but why not do it anyway? What do you think?" You asked with a smile.

Haechan nods, "Totally agree, babe. Someone come get this stupid ass little 10 year old that tried to steal my loot."

"And you should pay for our food! And dessert!" You added.

"Of course, baby! Oh, oh, dude! Dude! Headshot! That was a headshot! Holy shit! That was gold!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"And I was thinking maybe after dinner we can go sell your whole set up. Maybe to the first guy we see for like a dollar even less!"

"Yeah, definitely. Dude, I'm out. Fuck, I lagged. Let's join a new game, I'm tired of playing with these fucking kids," Haechan groans, running his hands down his face.

Perfect, you stood up and quickly moved to his computer, pulling at some random plugs until the screen shut off. You placed your hand over his mouth with a sickeningly sweet smile, "We're going to go eat now. Then, because you agreed, we're going to shave your head, you're going to pay, and then we're going to sell your little computer and the whole set up."

You could feel his lips moving beneath your hand, "But-"

You tsked with a fake pout, "Baby, you agreed."

"I wasn't listening! I don't remember what you said!"

"You don't listen when I talk?" You ask with an arched brow.

He opened his mouth and quickly closed it to take a second to think. He hummed, "I promise, the next time we have plans I won't get distracted by games." You gave him a look as if to ask, and? he cleared his throat, "and I won't try cheap gimmicks to distract you. And I will pay for dinner and for the rest of the day all my attention will be on you and no one or anything else. But I won't shave my head or sell my set up."

You smiled, "I was joking. I just wanted to see if anything would catch your attention. Now, let's go, I'm hungry."

You were both on your out when Haechan asked, "do you think I'd look good with a shaved head? Is that why you asked."

You couldn't even look at him, choosing instead to focus on the sidewalk beneath your feet, "yeah, baby. Of course..."

[ghostboneswrites2]

A Mess || Part 8

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring everything here starting with this series since it was the most popular!

A/N: this is not the last part I promise

Summary: You finally make it to the town you set out for all those days ago. Feelings get shared when you find a place to stay for the night.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, suggestive

        "Can't believe we left the map." Daryl shook his head as he drove. He finally got one of the cars working, though it had a strong gasoline smell as he drove it. 

        "You were in charge of it." You pointed out.

        "Don;t need it anyhow." He defended. Men and their pride when it came to directions never ceased to amuse you. "Should be 'bout thirty minutes up this road. We can load up some while we're there, get gas, hole up of the night, and loot s'more before we head back tomorrow."

        "Sounds great." You agreed. "If I have to go one more day without a shower I'm gonna kill someone."       

        "Can barely fight a walker off of ya. Who you gonna kill?" He teased.

        "I was distracted." You defended.

        "With what? The view?" He retorted. Well, yes, but you couldn't tell him that.

        "Whatever." You grumbled, crossing your arms and turning your attention out of the window.

        It wasn't long before the town you two originally set out for rolled into view. You spent an hour looting an old thrift store for some clothes and random things you thought the prison could use. Board games, soaps, hairbrushes, plates and bowls, you name it. If they had it, you took it. Next was the pawnshop for guns and ammo, which were pretty sparse but they did have some good knives and machetes. You also found an old DVD player and some movies that you thought might be nice for Carl or something. Daryl focused more on equipment. Golf clubs, tools, lawn equipment for when everyone started working on the garden.

        On your way out of the pawnshop with your load of treasure, you noticed a flyer on the window. 'MONTHLY FOOD DRIVE - DELIVER ALL GOODS TO 227 PINEBLUFF CT DR'

        "Hey, check this out." You called Daryl over. He squinted as he read it.

        "C'mon. Town's small. Can't be too hard to find."

----

        It wasn't hard to find. It was a church, of course. Wasn't hard to clear the place out, either. Just the pastor and a few ladies stumbling around. They had a bunch of canned goods stored in an office, which you and Daryl happily loaded up in the car.

        "Think this is a good spot to crash for the night?" You asked him. 

        "Nah. Windows are all busted. We'll find a little house or somethin." He said.

        So, when you guys were done with the church, you drove around for a little while, siphoning gas from random vehicles and searching for a house suitable for the night. He settled on a little blue house, with a fenced in front and back yard. He reasoned the fencing was good added protection.  Plus, the windows looked to be in tact and overall the place looked untouched.

        There weren't any walkers inside, but there also wasn't any food. There was, however, running water. Whoever these people were, they ran their house off filtered rain water. 

        While Daryl was working on blocking all the exits off with furniture and nailing blankets over the windows so nothing could see inside, you opted for a shower. It wasn't hot since the house had no power, but damn was it nice to feel clean. Well, as clean as you could get with no soap, anyways. The towels were all dusty, so you drip dried when you got out. When you were dry enough you slid into the extra outfit you packed, and found your way back out to Daryl. He had the house as safe as he could get it by then.

        "All yours." You told him.

        "Nah." He shrugged.

        "Uh, you smell like a biohazard." You insisted. He glared.

        "Yeah, shoulda smelled yourself. By day two in that tree house you were chokin' flies." He shot back.

        "And, would ya look at that, I showered!" You sneered. He huffed a little breathy laugh and shook his head as he grabbed his bag and disappeared to the shower.

        You were hungry, so you decided to light the gas stove and heat up a can of Campbell's chunky beef stew for the two of you to share. By the time it was done, he was out, so the two of you ate in silence before tossing the emtpy can and borrowed spoon in the sink.

        "It's not even dark yet." You commented.

        "Yeah. Best to get to bed early. We can head out first thing, make it back home by tomorrow night." He reasoned.

        "Guess so." You agreed.

        "Guess? You don't wanna get back?" He questioned.

        "And give up our quality bonding time?" You joked. He scoffed and shook his head. Damn, you were a smartass. 

        "'S that what ya call it?"

        "Yup. What else would it be?"

        "Thought we were stranded on an island." He recalled.

        "Oh, that. No, I was just hungry." You shrugged. "Never take me seriously when I'm hungry. I become a different person, really."

        He rolled his eyes a little. "Still wanna play that game?" He asked.

        "What game?"

        "Twenty questions."

        "Twenty-one questions, Dixon." You corrected. "And sure. You go first."

        "Alright." He nodded, pondering for a moment. He had a million questions he could ask, but somehow they felt too personal. Did you miss Shane? Were you ready to move on? Did you like him, or were you just a tease? Why did you always pick on him? Was it the same reason he always picked at you and gave you shit? "How ya like the shoes?"

        "They're good." You nodded. "I love them. Thanks again. Uh.." You thought for a second. "How long do you wanna grow your hair out?"

        "I dunno." He shrugged. "What'd ya like to do before the world went to shit?"

        "Hmm... Paint, listen to music, go go out and eat my weight in food from little hole in the wall restaurants." You recalled. "What kind of music do you like?"

        "Whatever was on the radio." He said. "You plan on movin' on?"

        That was an okay question to ask, right? He broke the ice pretty well, he thought, with the rapid fire Q&A flying between the two of you. He realized maybe not, though, because you seemed to really take your time with that one.

        "Don't see why not." You finally said. "I mean, he would, right? As long as I thought I found someone who would treat me right... Are you seeing anyone right now?"

        You asked the question so casually but it choked him up. He felt so naked, like a chicken with all its feathers plucked off one by one.

        "No." He cleared his throat. "Nah."

        Uncomfortable silence blanketed over the two of you.

        "Your turn." You reminded him.

        "Oh. Are you?"

        "Am I..?"

        "Seein' anyone." He clarified. You giggled a little.

        "No. But I have met someone. Real nice guy, actually. He gets me gifts and teases the hell out of me,  but I think he'd do just about anything for me." You smiled to yourself. He had to know you were talking about him, right? Wrong. He was clueless. Right over his head. He admittedly felt sad to hear it. Who was this guy? He kind of sounded like everything Daryl tried to be for you. "Do you like anyone?" You asked, taking him out of his swirling thoughts.

        "Nah." He shrugged. A lie, but everything he had tried to work up to was washed away when you said you met someone.

        "Oh." You said, slight sadness hinting in your voice. "Your turn." You reminded him again.

        "Who's the guy?" He asked.

        "Oh, you don't know him." You waved him off. If you could slap yourself, your would. What kind of lie was that? He knew everyone. There were literally less than ten of you if you didn't count the baby. 

        "Oh? Some kind o' pen or somethin'?" He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Then it hit him; you were talking about him. That's why it sounded like everything Daryl tried to be for you, because it was him. "Oh." He blurted quietly.

        Your face felt like it drained of blood completely. Well, way to completely humiliate yourself around the only real friend you had, huh?

        "You okay?" He asked.

        "Yeah." You nodded, forcing a smile, but your voice was sort of meek and squeaky. You shook it off, reminding yourself that you were, in fact, not the type to falter under pressure. This would be no different. So what if you liked him and he didn't feel the same? You could get past that. It was nothing--

        "(Y/N)." He snapped you out of your thoughts. 

        "Hmm?"

        "You asked if I like someone..." He trailed as he shifted uncomfortably.

        "Yeah?"

        "It's just -- I do, but... How do I know she likes me too?" 

        He didn't make eye contact as he asked. In fact, he looked quite literally everywhere except at you.

        "You just... ask. And if you don't wanna ask... Make your move." You shrugged.

        "Right." He nodded.

        Well, that conversation had gotten awkward enough for you, so you figured that was a good place to end it. You cleared your throat and stood up.

        "I'm gonna go choose a bed." You announced.

        You went to walk past where he sat on the couch but he stood up abruptly and cut you off.

        You looked up at him with confusion. What did he want? Your nerves were eating away at you and you were honestly pretty tired. You shifted your weight anxiously.

        "Daryl--" You went to complain about it but he had other plans. He gripped your arms firmly and smashed his face into yours. Like, actually smashed. It hurt. "Ow." You mumbled as you rubbed over your mouth. He gulped. It was supposed to be a kiss. Was he always so clumsy?

        "Sorry, I--"

        "Were you trying to kiss me?" You asked. He just stared at you. "'Cause, I gotta tell ya,you could really work on your technique." You smirked. 

        When he remained frozen, you began to feel bad for teasing him. He clearly had no idea what to do now. His hands were even still rested on your arms.

        "Here, let me show you." You whispered. You reached up for his face, his hands sliding softly off of your arms. When your palms found his checks,you tippy-toed up a couple of inches, and slowly leaned in, placing your lips softly on his. It wasn't a long, rhythmic kind of kiss. It was just simple and soft, and it lasted just a few seconds longer than a quick peck-and-go.

        His eyes were still closed when you pulled back, a tiny smile slowly spreading over your lips. When his eyes opened,he looked disappointed, like he was waiting for more. 

        He leaned down slowly, a little unsure. He was waiting for you to stop him, but you didn't. You pushed yourself back up on your toes o close the gap and snaked your arms around his neck. This time, it was deeper. You slowly moved your lips, allowing him to find the rhythm and synchronise. When he felt a little more confident, his hands gripped your hips and he quickened the pace.

        Slowly, he eased you down onto the couch. You gladly followed his lead. When you were comfortably seated, his lips peeled away and his kisses found their way down from your cheek to your neck to your collarbone. Oh, this was going to get good.

A/N: next part will be spicy ;)

Masterlist || Taglist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader

((I didn't use the tags in all the one shots I just transferred cause I didn't wanna hit you guys with like 348827502720 notifications in one day))

[lovemyromance]

"Elain hates violence she will never love Azriel he tortured people"

First of all - nobody loves violence.

Everyone in the IC does what they do to avoid conflict, avoid war, avoid chaos. None of them inherently are violent creatures intent on destruction. They are warriors out of necessity, not out of a need to conquer and loot and just a general bloodlust.

And out of necessity, even Elain is capable of violence. *cough* Hybern *cough* kicking away those hounds

Nobody is out there excited to destroy lives. Not Elain. Not Rhys. Not Feyre. Not Azriel. Not Cassian. Not Nesta. Not Mor. Maybe... maybe Amren tho lol

Second of all - Azriel's job as the Spymaster of the NC does not make him inherently a bad person. Torturing information out of enemies and traitors and threats to stability does not make someone evil. Getting his hands dirty to protect his court doesn't make Azriel a bad person.

Elain has already seen the damage he, Cassian, and Rhys can inflict. She's seen Nesta literally finish sawing the head off the King. She watched Rhys literally misting armies. She was at the war with Hybern. She knows perfectly well what her family is capable of.

Also the utter hypocrisy of saying Elain couldn't stomach Azriel's job - but then using Lucien "panting and bloodied" as a way to prove what a good mate he is, claiming that he slaughtered his way across a battlefield to get to Elain (this was never said in the text btw, but a lot of ELs like to pretend Lulu did some heroic act by SHOWING UP with blood on his clothes and panting and that implies he killed his way across to get to Elain).... like weren't y'all the ones claiming she hates violence...? So why are you then claiming Lucien is also violent in his need to get to Elain? I thought she didn't like that 😠

It's almost like... that's literally mate behavior ...? But it's only bad if Azriel shows that behavior toward Elain. Apparently.

[frnchgirls]

warnings: 18+, nsfw, long!!, dubcon, a lot of explicit and implied grossness, poly if you squint, finishing inside, early character death?

you met zombie!patrick during your compound's last looting trip. you and a few other younger, able-bodied members of your settlement went out to a pharmacy in search of medicine, and during the affair, the building was overrun by zombies. every member of the search team was presumably eaten, your best friend tashi and boyfriend art both killed in the frenzy. it devastated you. but you- you were alive; the sole survivor, having made it out with the medicine, no less, all thanks to patrick.

he spared you when he decided to smear your face and clothes with spoiled blood to mask your human scent from the horde, a strategic thought you never would have imagined the undead could even have. you're taken aback when after all is said and done, he seems to revert to a normal zombie state, communicating only with groans and grunts and an incoherent mumble every now and again. you can't lie and say that you're not at least a little afraid. he is a zombie, after all. but he's shown no signs of hostility, or signs of much of anything for that matter. and he did save your life, so why not keep him around?

the two of you are sitting in an abandoned house that's on the route from the pharmacy back to the compound, shoulder to shoulder on the bedroom floor as you crack open a can of fruit cocktail, your dinner for the night. you examine his face as you dig your fork into a syrup-soaked cherry. he's so pale, blue veins like spider webs crawling up from the base of his neck to his hollow cheeks. you can make out the faint remnants of freckles if you squint, and you can't help but wonder what he might have looked like when he was still alive. tan and healthy; handsome, even.

you have to hold your breath as you eat the bits of peach and pear from the aluminum can in your lap. patrick is filthy, and the stench of god knows what emanates off of him, filling the room. his milky, glazed over eyes stay locked on the opposite wall, bruised lips parting ever so slightly when he says, "hun- gry." you immediately swallow the food in your mouth, partly shocked and partly overjoyed at the fact that he was speaking to you; that you could understand him. now that you were thinking about it, it had been a while since he last ate. you couldn't blame him for voicing his needs.

"yeah, pat. i know. we'll find some brains for you as soon as we can. i promise." you reply, chipper tone covering up the fact that you truly have no idea how you'll be able to satiate him without hurting an innocent person. you take another bite of food, thinking of art and tashi, and his head snaps in your direction. "hun- gry." he repeats, practically throwing himself onto you, which in turn knocks the can right out of your hand, spilling the contents all over the carpeted floor. you let out a noise, a mix of a gasp and a groan erupting from the back of your throat all at once.

"that was my last ration, you stupid fuckin'- get off." you complain, using every ounce of your strength to try and shove him off of you, but it's no use. he would overpower you even if he didn't have a supernatural advantage. he paws at your tattered clothes, gripping the fabric with his fingers as he presses his cold lips to your neck. he inhales against the sensitive skin, other hand coming up to tug absentmindedly at a strand of your hair. what on earth is he doing?

"pre- tty." he hums, big nose nudging your pulse point, and your eyes widen as you thrash under his hold. you fail to hear him over the sound of your racing heart. "don't- don't kill me, please. you remember me, right? remember saving me?" you beg, but it's a shot in the dark. he hadn't seemed to understand the words you said before, so why would now be any different? you squeeze your eyes shut as he stands and lifts you to your feet in one fluid motion.

"need... pussy." patrick grumbles, brows furrowed in confusion. the words aren't really his. he knows that when images of you from the past flash in his mind, on your back with your hair splayed over a fluffy pillow. you giggle and blush at something he said- no, not him, someone else who was now a part of him. someone else whose memories were now his own. someone who wanted to fuck you. he wanted to fuck you.

"what?" you squeak, wondering if you heard him correctly. this had to have been some kind of sick dream fueled by your recent lack of sex, because there was no way a zombie wanted to get in your pants. it was unheard of, impossible even. the fuck was wrong with you, having deranged thoughts like this? you would be shunned by the compound if anyone found out what you were about to do. and what about art? you reach around to pinch yourself, but the movement is interrupted when patrick shoves you down onto the bed.

"feel you... now." he continues, jaw clenched as he tugs forcefully at the waistband of your jeans. the seams pop, which allows him to drag the ripped material down your legs, leaving you in nothing but your panties below the waist. "no, no, we can't- this isn't right-" you stammer, squeezing your thighs together and covering yourself with your hands. but patrick pushes them out of the way like it's nothing. his pupils seem to darken when his eyes land on the damp patch at the front of the pink fabric.

"why wet... then?" patrick teases with a fucking smirk, dimples and smile lines on full display. you shudder not only at the sight, but at the feeling of his cold fingers pressing against your clothed heat. there was something so chilling about his words and his mannerisms. they were all too intimate. he didn't feel like a zombie anymore, he felt like a man. "i'm not- it's not-" you lie through your teeth, panicking as you lean down once again to hide the space between your legs from his view.

he unbuttons the front of his jeans, shuffling them down his hairy thighs along with his boxers. you have to physically turn away when his cock springs free from its confines. fuck, it's as thicker than it is long with dark curly hair at the base. blue veins run along the shaft and his tip is as purple as his mouth. you can't do this. as horny and curious as you are, he'll split you apart. "oh- oh my god, patrick- no. no, no, no." you squeal, clamping a hand over your mouth as you clench around nothing.

patrick is unphased, gripping the backs of your thighs and hoisting your legs over his shoulders. "take... it." he groans, pushing past your panties and into your soaked folds. he throws his head back, exposing his pale neck as he bottoms out in you. you let out a guttural moan, the noise muffled by your palm. you could feel every throbbing inch of him, your wetness providing only the slightest amount of lubrication.

your back arches off the bed at the intrusion. it's so strange; the juxtaposition of his freezing hands on your skin and his sweltering cock deep in your cunt. "feel... good?" patrick asks, waiting a moment before pulling out then thrusting in again. you pout, partly because you don't know how to answer, and partly because you can't. it's hard to think about anything else other than the feeling of him dragging along your walls. you resort to an eager nod, cheeks flushing from embarrassment.

he smiles, nodding in acknowledgement before leaning over you to get a better angle. patrick folds you even harder into the mating press, your thighs trapped between both of your stomachs. his eyes cloud over again once he's adjusted, jaw slack as he thrusts in and out and in and out. "hun- gry..." he mewls, saliva pooling in his open mouth when his tip brushes against that spongy spot inside you.

patrick fights with himself, unsure where his appetite for your flesh ends and his newfound appetite for your pussy begins. having you milk his cock like this seems to appease him for now, the other voice in his head tells him so. but still, he can't help but feel a little guilty. he wonders how you'd taste, how it would feel to have your viscera sliding down his esophagus when he eats you. drool spills over his bottom lip like a waterfall, dribbling onto the sheets below you.

a few drops land on your cheek when he moves, and you recoil at the sticky feeling on your skin. you can't help but close your eyes, facing a conflict of your own. if you just think about art, it'll be okay, right? it's not wrong to get fucked by a zombie if you imagine it's your late boyfriend while you do it. god, you hope he would forgive you. if only you knew. "look... at me." patrick sputters, and when you do just that, his pupils are dark again. something about it makes you shiver. you've never seen a zombie who could do that before, and his words fill you with a strange sense of deja vu.

patrick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, speeding up his thrusts as he presses his forehead against yours. the motion has you teetering on the edge, and your fingers reach out to clutch at his hoodie instinctively. he chuckles and questions, "you... close?" which you answer with another nod and a whimper of "yes." he seems to be in the same boat when he tells you, "me too... wanna be good for you. please- let me be useful and... breed this pussy."

you giggle.

your mouth flies open to let out a gasp, patrick's hand reaching down to rub circles against your clit. you know you've heard those words before; you've heard those words from art. there are myths that zombies can absorb thoughts and memories from brains they consume. what did he do? what the fuck did patrick do?

"oh god- you ate my boyfriend. you ate my fuckin' boyfriend! oh- oh fuck-" you sob, tears pricking your eyes as he draws out your orgasm and rides through his own, grunting monotonously while he shoots ropes of cum inside you, coating your walls with his slick. you squirm at the feeling, patrick's actions only further spurring on your tears. but then he lifts a hand to cup your face. "no, no- don't be stupid. it's me. it's your artie." he coos, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

you blink away the bleariness in your eyes and look at patrick's face, an all too familiar cheshire grin plastered over it. "art?" you whisper, chest still heaving with emotion, and he nods, moving your hand to cup his cheek like you've always done.

how the hell are you gonna explain this to the compound?

[phantom-playdough]

Macaque x F!Reader: Sweet Scent

I had this super cute idea, but I know I am not creative enough to make a super long story with said cute idea. Although, after I finished writing this, it DID turn out longer than I thought it would be. Not complaining about that too much tho cause this was a lot of fun to write. Regardless, I hope you guys enjoy this little fanfic.

Y/n was out in the marketplace to get some things she was running low on.

'Snacks, drinks, dinner meals, mangos for Macaque...' Y/n listed off in their head.

Last thing she needed to get was some new body wash. Of course, Macaque had thrown out her previous body wash because it was peach scented. Of course, Y/n chose that particular bottle simply to push his buttons, but she couldn't help but feel a bit bad about it now.

Now, she was looking at some body washes and found one bottle that caught her eye:

Mango and Pomegranate Scented Body Wash

Curious, Y/n picked it up and thought about it. Mangos and plums were Macaque's two favorite fruits. Some mango bodywash may be just enough to make it up to Macaque for the whole peachy scent.

But to make it better, Y/n also spotted some sweet plum and lavender scented lotion.

Talk about perfect!! Y/n purchased the two scented items and rushed her loot home before Macaque got back. He had made it an unspoken rule for himself that he gets home before dark. Y/n looked at the sun beginning to set below the skyline and knew that she didn't have much time left. So, she picked up her pace back to her apartment.

Luckily, Y/n got back with just enough time for a quick shower to try these new items out. She sadly didn't have enough time to unpack the rest of the groceries, but she could handle that later.

She immediately grabbed everything she would need for her shower and practically dove into the warm water when it got to the temperature she wanted.

Once her lightning-fast shower was done, Y/n got out and began to change into her lounge clothes. As if on perfect cue, Macaque called out to her.

"Y/n? You home?"

Y/n opened the bathroom door with their laundry in tow and greeted her loving partner. "Yeah, was just taking a shower before you got back." She walked past Macaque to take her laundry to her clothes basket.

When Macaque caught a whiff of Y/n as she walked past, he was almost frozen to the spot. He knew that Y/n bought him mangos, but the scent of mangos and plums was all over her!

As Macaque was trying to get his brain to work again, Y/n came back over to him and hugged him from behind. The scent was incredibly strong, and Macaque had the smallest of smiles on his face.

"Did you get a new bodywash?" Macaque said with a small laugh. He was really struggling to hide the giddy feeling in his chest.

"Yeah." Y/n squeezed him a little tighter. "Do you like it?"

Macaque spun around and hugged Y/n tightly. He placed his head in the crook of her neck and took in the scent, feeling as if he had just taken a breath of fresh air for the first time ever.

"You kidding? I think I just fell in love with you all over again..."

Y/n was surprised at that statement, as Macaque was normally not the type to get all mushy or open with his feelings. But based on the bright red blush on her face, it was safe to say that she was not complaining.

"Love you too, dork." Y/n said, wrapping her arms around him in turn.

[wifeofnatasharomanoff]

Nail Salon

WARNINGS: none, flirty wives Nat and Reader, fluff, concerned nat and reader fr

WORDS: 1,458

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x f!Reader

SUMMARY: you and your wife Nat have a nail salon day with your toddler

A/N: chapter 1 of Darkest Nights will be posted a bit after this ;)

haven't checked up on you guys in some time <3 how are you, my loves?

Natasha woke up with your hair spread all across her face and her arms stuck around your body. “Detka..” you groan at her attempts of awakening you, “babe. I can't move my arms.” you huff as you sat up and release her arms. You flutter your eyes open, only to be blinded by sunlight. Which you hadn't expected, normally these days it would be cloudy this time. “It's beautiful out, isn't it?” you glare at your wife, “why did you have to be a morning person?” you whined as she pressed soft kisses against your neck. “Beautiful day, beautiful wife. Good morning moya lyubov..” your frown transformed into a smile, “Hi Natty.”

“Mommy! Mama!” you heard one of the kids call, Aliana had just recently started pronouncing words a bit properly, that of which you couldn't get used to quite yet. “Mommy's awake, sweetie! Just one sec, I'll be out there.” you threw off the covers and leaped out of bed. “What was that about morning people?” Natasha said with a cocky smirk. As of course, Aliana was too, a morning person. “This is why I'm Alex's favorite!” you shouted out as you left the bedroom.

“Mommy!” the little girl clung onto your legs, “how did you sleep, honey?” you grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up in your arms. “I sleep good. Alex snores.” you chuckle as you walk into the kitchen, “wanna know something sweetie?” the toddler nods curiously. “Mama snores too.” you said with a hushed tone. The girl giggles as you set her on the kitchen island. “What do you want for breakfast?” she hums as she thinks of a response, “hmm.. cereal! Pwease.” you mentally thanked her for not asking you to make anything too crazy this early. “Hi guys.” you heard a small voice pop up in the kitchen, Alex with his hair a complete mess, and his clothes wrinkled. “Someone slept well tonight, hey buddy.” you got on your knees to his level and hugged the boy. “Hi mommy!” he wrapped his tiny arms around your neck. “Do you want cereal, Alex?” he nodded as he let go of your shoulders, allowing you to stand back up. “Is Uncle Thor coming over today?” he asks as he padded his way to the table.

“No, not today buddy. But, I can ask Uncle Clint to bring your cousin over.” he had a bright smile on his face, “yay! Thank you mommy! You're the best.” you handed him his bowl of cereal. “You're welcome cutie pie.” he frowned slightly, “I'm handsome, not cute!” you pinched his cheek before walking over to the kitchen island. “Mommy loot!” you scrunched up your brows in confusion, wondering what she was pointing at. “What is it sweeti—” you yelped as Natasha came up behind you with her hands resting on your waist. “Nat! Oh my God, stop scaring me it's 9 AM!” she laughed as she placed a searing kiss on your jawline, “I would say I'm sorry but.. you look cute when you're scared.” she whispered into your ear. You couldn't lie, that did slightly make your cheeks go red, but you still managed to lightly smack her on the bicep. “Natasha! The kids are in the room. Shut up.” she pecked your cheek before turning her attention to your daughter.

“Mama can you paint my nails today?” Natasha paused before answering, Ali never asked her to paint her nails before. Usually, she'd ask you. “uh.. alright, if that's what you want sweetie.” the toddlers face lit up as she grinned at the redhead. “Yay!” you looked at the little girl, “what do ya say? Mommy can dress you up all cute and mama will paint your nails?” you ask her. “Yes pwease!” you brushed away some of her stray baby hairs and fed Aliana a spoonful of cereal. “Eat up, then we can have a little salon day.”

After Ali finished breakfast you went to go search for her cutesy floral and multicolored dress. She's been begging you and Natasha to let her wear that for a few days by now, so you chose to let her wear it today. “Nat come here! Please.” the redhead walked into your bedroom, “yeah, babe where are you?” you peeked your head out of the closet. “Over here darling!” you call out to her, “what is it detka?” she asked— her question soon being forgotten as she laughed slightly at your attempts at grabbing the dress. “Stop laughing. Just get the damn dress for me.” she narrows her eyes at you, “someone's feisty today.” she said as she backed you up against the wall. “Nat..” you poke her side. “Give me the dress.” she pressed her lips against yours, pulling you in for a slow kiss, she lifted you up by your waist and moved to the shelves. “Take the dress baby.” she breathed out as she broke the kiss, “thanks..” you picked up the dress and got out of her hold.

“Ali! Whe– when did you get here sweetie?” she squealed as her eyes widened at the dress, “I just walk in room now.” you sighed in relief as you placed the dress on the bed. “Mommy ups!” you saw the little girl with her arms up and smiled as you picked her up into your arms. “Honey, I need to put you on the bed if you want to wear the dress.” she pouted slightly, “okay..” she hopped out of your arms and onto the bed.

You changed her out of her pajamas and into the dress, “yay! Thank you mommy!” she slid off the bed and did a little twirl in front of the full-length mirror. “Can mama paint my nails now?” Natasha walked out of the closet, “I don't know.. can she?” your wife said as she picked up Aliana on top of her shoulders. “Hi mama!” she giggled as she pecked at Natasha's cheek.

“Can we play nail salon toooo?” you nod, “yes, of course, sweetie.” Natasha looks down at you with her brows laced in confusion. “Uh.. krasivaya what's nail salon?” “Some game Ali made up, we pretend to be her little nail technician rather than her parents– it's silly I know, but she's your daughter so I blame you.” you open the nightstand drawer and take out a few bottles of nail polish. Natasha placed the toddler down on the bed and you handed her the nail polish. “What color do you want Ali?” she pointed at the pastel pink. “This one?” the little girl nodded. “uhm..” Natasha turned her gaze to you, “what do I do?” she mouthed.

“Just talk to her but— remember, you're pretending to not be her parent Tasha.” she nodded and opened up the bottle, “so.. what's your name sweetie?” she asked as she put light strokes of nail polish on Aliana's tiny nails. “Aliana.” Natasha smiles, “how old are you Aliana?” “I'm four!” the girl giggles as your wife paints her nails.

“I have a husband and kids!” you and Nat slightly frown at her statement, but she keeps doing her nails nonetheless. “oh really? Is your husband nice?” Natasha asked, “he's mean!” you couldn't tell if you would laugh or scold Aliana. “He doesn't help wif the kids, and–” the toddler continues, “he's wike, "ba- babe go make dinner!" she mocked in a masculine voice. “oh wow.. um–” the redhead looked over at you with a confused look and widened eyes. “I'm gonna spill tea on him.” you burst into laughter, someone had been hanging out with Uncle Peter too much lately.

“ooh thank you mama! My nails look so pwetty!” Aliana jumped onto Natasha's lap and threw her little arms around her shoulders. “You're welcome..?” Natasha said, still processing the words that came out of her toddlers mouth. “I'm gonna go show Alex now. Bye bye!” she crawled out of Natasha's arms and ran out of the room.

“What was that.” she asked you, “I think she should cut down getting babysat by Peter and his little kid friends.” you sighed as you sat down in bed beside her.

“Yeah..” she chuckled. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today, babe?” you smile and roll your eyes, “I don't know, have you?” she sneakily slid her hand up to your upper thigh. “Let me show you moya lyubov.” you smirked as she leaned in closer, her lips almost touching yours. “As much as I would love this.. Clint's supposed to be here with Nathaniel soon.” she groaned. “how soon? I'll make it quick detka.” you got up from the bed at the sound of the doorbell, “that soon.” you giggled as you left her to go open the front door.

[spookypete-94]

Stolen Panties

Perverse Simon Part 2

Part 1 here

more just random thoughts, rambling

might be slightly NSFW depending where you are

talk of masturbation

When Perverse Simon entered the bathroom to steal your new amazing smelling deodorant... he also saw your panties laying on the floor in the pile of your clothes

Knowing you wouldn't miss them for now, he picked them up and threw them into his pocket a trophy for later

Entering his bedroom quickly, he dropped the loot and made quick work of applying the deodorant wanting to return it before you were out of the shower but he was too late

That's why he was "walking" by the bathroom when you exited, washed and refreshed to start your day- just without deodorant of course

Perverse Simon who was eager to seem helpful to you, offering his deodorant for now

Perverse Simon who added bullets into the pockets of your pants unknowingly while you stood next to him at the range

Perverse Simon who knows your routine so well that you do your laundry every night to make sure you stay on it

The clanking of the bullets in the dryer make you bolt into action worried they would explode from the heat and impact

Perverse Simon who watched you lean into the dryer to check your pockets finding the 9mm rounds you had no idea why they were there, looking at the roundness of your backside while you did

"Pullin' a rookie move there," he'd taunt knowing all to well you were embarrassed over something you had nothing to do with

"Thought I got them all, I'm pretty good at making sure I count my rounds...." You muttered to him, cheeks flaming red that this could of been worse

Perverse Simon who just chuckled, not sure what to say because you were good at counting your rounds for quals- it was one of the many, many things he admired about you

Perverse Simon who took delight in the fact that his over bearing presence seemed to be making you more flustered, watching your fingers look through the many pockets of your TAC pants trying to find the bullets

Perverse Simon who took pity on you, leaning down to help you look for the stray bullets- instantly opening the pocket and finding them... gee, it was like he put them there or something

"Thanks," you muttered quietly, standing up and throwing your pants back into the dryer

Even though it was rushed, the small thanks from you meant the world, even if this entire thing wasn't even your fault

"No prob."

"Huh..." he heard you say like you were thinking about something, leaning back into the dryer.

"Problem Sergeant?"

"I-I'm missing a pair of underwear..." confusion in her voice, making him give a sheepish laugh, hand scratching behind his head while he tried to look innocent.

"Did... Did you check your other pockets?" He asked cheekily, making your side eye dart up to his, giving a sly smile.

"Fuck off, Ghost." you countered, giving him hell back

"I'm sure they are in there somewhere." You sighed, shutting the dryer door pressing resume to finish the wet laundry, clanking from the bullets ceased.

Perverse Simon waited until you were out of his line of sight before he headed back to his own room.

Laying in his bed that now smelt of you, panties in his hand

The lace tickled his skin as it got lower and lower on his body before he prepared to relieve himself with it

Surely the way you weren't concerned that you couldn't find them in the dryer... means that you weren't worried about them at all right?

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist

[helloalycia]

the Clarks [five] // alicia clark

summary: you go on a supply run with Alicia and things don't go to plan, leaving her extremely pissed off at you. It takes a reality check for you to understand why.

warning/s: mentions of the dead, injuries, weapons and violence.

author’s note: and this is the final part! such a fun one to write and i do hope the person who requested it liked it! kinda went overboard but you all know the drill with me by now 😂

one / two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

After being busied by chores and odd jobs around the stadium and then eating lunch, it was soon time to go on the supply run with the others. Alicia and I met the other two residents by the truck out front and we all made sure we were armed before heading out.

"This strip mall we're heading to should be clear enough, but we haven't had a team check it out in a while, so everyone be on high alert," Alicia warned everyone on the drive over. "Only go after the essentials, if there's any left. Ideally, some more clothes and shoes – stuff like that."

Everybody agreed, a focus in mind, and it was silent the rest of the way. Eventually, we arrived at the abandoned strip mall and Alicia pulled up, the four of us splitting into twos. They took to one side as Alicia and I took to the other.

Unfortunately for me, my thoughts were still on Rick and Alicia earlier, their flirting engraved in my mind and my jealousy still in full throttle. I couldn't help but bring it up.

"So, Madison and I were talking about the new residents earlier," I started, trying to make it sound natural. "Lots of good people joining us, don't you think?"

Alicia hummed as she kept her eyes peeled. "Sure is. It's amazing how big our little community has become."

I nodded in agreement, my grip on my knife tightening. "Yeah. New girl Sally is pretty friendly. Her kid's cute, too."

"Aw, yeah, he's adorable!" Alicia agreed with a smile.

"Yeah... there's Rick, too. What do–" I cleared my throat nervously. "What d'you think of him?"

She thought to herself, distracted by looking into the shop windows. "He's nice enough, I suppose. A bit too flirty for my liking, but nice. Definitely skilled with a knife."

What did that mean? She didn't like his flirty-ness? She did? God's sake, I needed more than that.

"Why? Did he say something?" she asked with confusion, glancing over at me.

I perked up, meeting her confused eyes. "What? No, no. Just wondering. I, er, thought the same."

She began to smile, unsure what I was doing, but nodded. "Right... weirdo."

Thankfully, she got distracted by a small thrift store and nudged me to follow her, and the conversation was dropped. There was lots of options to pick from, since it wasn't looted to the bare bones like other stores were, so we gathered what we could and loaded the truck.

Between that and the few others store, we managed to gather quite a few supplies, odd assortments of things but all that would benefit the stadium in the long run. As we were heading back to the truck, Alicia slowed down to look in the window display of a jewellery store. It looked pretty banged up on the inside, no doubt one of the first places to be looted back when the outbreak began, but Alicia was still intrigued.

"There's probably nothing worthwhile in there," I told her, but she was still up close to the glass, smiling at the rings on display.

"It's still pretty to look at," she pointed out lightheartedly, shooting me a smile before returning her attention to the rings.

Something about how excited she was for the moment made me smile to myself and I couldn't just leave it like this. She clearly wanted it.

"Then what are we waiting for?" I suddenly said, straightening up and going to the door.

There was a couch blocking the doorway, clearly put there by whoever had been here last, but it wasn't going to stop me. I began to lean against it in an attempt to push it out the way.

"Y/N, what are you–? Stop it, what if there's someone in there?" she followed after me, half scolding me and half worried.

"Only one way to find out," I said with a shrug, before finding enough strength to shove the couch forward, and it hit the tiled floor with a loud bang.

"Y/N," Alicia groaned at all the noise, but I ignored her and stepped over the couch to let myself in, before yanking open the other door so she wouldn't have to.

"After you," I said playfully, stepping to the side.

She fixed me with a disapproving stare but walked in, looking around. It was ransacked in there, as expected, but there were a few pieces of jewellery still on the shelves. We took a look around, Alicia warming up once she studied the displays. I could have watched her all day, the beautiful smile on her lips that matched the dazzle in her eyes. Seeing her happy was my favourite thing, as lame as it sounded.

"Okay, maybe you weren't that stupid to come in here," she admitted as we looked around.

"Let's not forget why we came here in the first place," I said with a smile, before leading her to the display window. "This one, right?"

I pulled out the ring from the display, a simple silver band with a gemstone embedded within the the metal. Holding it out to her, I tried to put it on her finger, but it was huge and would have fallen right off if I didn't catch it.

"Well, that was short lived," she said with a sigh, before trying not to laugh as she met my eyes. "Thanks anyway, Y/N. It was a sweet thought."

Unimpressed, I shook my head. "No way. That can't be it." I looked around, before my eyes fell to the stock room in the back. "Aha! There's gotta be more stuff back there. Let me have a look."

"Y/N.”

"Just give me a sec," I told her, before taking the ring with me and heading to the door.

Luckily, it was unlocked and I was able to walk right into a small closet-sized space that had an old, wooden shelf against one wall, full of stock.

"Alicia, I might need you to help me because there's a–" I began to call to her, but I was cut off by intense snarling from my right, and then something grabbed me.

I let out a yelp when I realised it was an infected man, the limited light from the front of the store shining through the door and letting me see his horrendous face. He must have been hiding behind a shelf, too late for me to see, and I struggled against him in the small space.

"Y/N!" I heard Alicia call, but I couldn't reply because if I moved my attention away for even a second, I was sure I'd get bitten.

He was so close to me – hot breath and rancid smell blinding me and burning my nose – that I couldn't find an opening to stab him with the knife in my hand. As I took a swing, he toppled right into me, knocking me backwards and to the floor with a thud. My head took the brunt of it, dazing me momentarily, but the snapping face coming at mine brought me back to reality and I just about managed to grab my knife again, stabbing him in the head before he could do any damage.

A second passed and his snarling ceased and I sighed with relief, feeling dizzy in the head. That's when I heard the creaking coming from my feet, and when I shoved the infected off my body, it was too late. The shelf against the wall suddenly toppled over, everything falling off and hitting the floor around me before the heavy shelf itself landed right on my leg, making me scream at the impact.

"No, no, no, no," Alicia suddenly appeared, taking in the scene, before scrambling for her radio and calling the others. "Guys, I need you at the jewellery store now! Y/N's hurt."

I forced myself to sit up, wincing at the shelf that was trapping my leg, and didn't move another muscle because it was too painful.

"You're such an idiot!" Alicia shouted at me, before kneeling down to grab the shelf. "I told you not to come here!"

As she attempted to lift it, I let out another shout of pain because she wasn't strong enough by herself and it was only making it worse. My leg was definitely broken and I wanted to throw up at how strong the pain was, but I forced my eyes shut and tried to push it away.

"You're so fucking stupid!" she continued to curse me out, but the worry in her voice was obvious. "I told you there'd be infected here!"

As much as I loved a good grilling, my head was still throbbing from before and I was still feeling dizzy, leaning on my arm to steady myself in the spinning room.

Finally, the others turned up and, between the three of them, they managed to lift the shelf up long enough for me to crawl out of it. My leg was definitely fucked though.

Alicia rushed to my side to help me stand, but I was nauseous as soon as I did and couldn't say anything for fear I'd throw up there and then.

"You didn't get bitten, right?" she asked, panicked and checking my face and neck.

I shook my head slowly, leaning my weight against her. "I think I'm gonna pass out, Alicia..."

"Help me get her to the truck," Alicia ordered the others.

After making it back to the truck, just about, we drove back to the stadium speedily, each slight bump making my stomach turn and head throb. Before I knew it, I was in the medbay back at the stadium, being sat upright on a bed and struggling to ease the dizziness.

"Is she gonna be okay?" Nick asked a nurse we had.

A bright light was shone in both my eyes, irritating me, and then the nurse replied, "She's got a mild concussion. Possibly a broken leg. But she'll live."

Nick grabbed my hand and squeezed it gently, and then my moment of peace was ruined when Alicia burst through the door with Madison in tow.

"You fucking fool!" Alicia suddenly snapped at me, glaring ferociously. "You could have died! And for what?! A fucking ring?!"

I winced at every word, her words ringing in my ear.

"She's concussed, Alicia," Nick told her sternly. "You're not helping!"

Alicia clenched her jaw, eyes full of tears, and after glaring at me once more, she left the room, slamming the door behind her. I jumped at the sound, surprised at how angry she was at me. Nick gave me a disapproving look but said nothing, and all I kept thinking was how badly I'd messed up.

After being checked out by the nurse fully and having some medication, I fell asleep with a broken but bandaged leg that I couldn't put weight on for a while. I woke up to Nick by my side, who immediately gave me some water and helped me sit upright.

The look he was giving me wasn't easy to ignore, so after downing my pills, I returned his stare.

"What?"

He blinked. "Y/N, what happened out there? Alicia is pissed."

I sighed, Alicia's angry expression imprinted in my mind. "We were at a jewellery store and I went in the back. There was an infected I didn't see, that's all. It got out of hand, but I handled it."

"Handled it?" he asked with exasperation. "You broke your leg and got a concussion!"

"Only a mild concussion," I corrected, before adding, "and I'm alive, aren't I?"

He shook his head, annoyed. "You have to be careful, you idiot. Your life isn't worth some stupid jewellery. Why were you even in there? We don't need that stuff here."

Feeling bad for worrying him, I said, "Alicia wanted to look and I just– I thought it would be nice, y'know? Make things feel a little normal again."

He sighed, his head in his hands. I frowned slightly, the guilt sinking in.

"Is she still mad? I asked, hoping she'd have cooled off by now.

"Uh-huh."

I chewed on my lip nervously, wondering how I'd get her to forgive me. Nick left to go and get Madison, who wanted to be called in when I'd woken up, and I hoped Alicia would stop by, too. But the blonde turned up alone.

"Madison," I breathed out, still happy to see her, even though she didn't look impressed.

"I'll save you the lecture," she began, taking my hand in hers, "but it was pretty stupid."

"I know," I agreed tiredly. "I'm sorry."

To my relief, she really did save me the lecture, instead squeezing my hand comfortingly.

"Is, er, is Alicia coming?" I asked lamely. "I wanted to apologise to her."

Madison smiled apologetically. "Maybe not so soon, hon. She's really angry."

"Right. I guess that's fair."

I had hoped to see Alicia over the next day when I was kept in the medbay, expecting her to at least visit me, even if it was just to shout at me, but she didn't. It stung a little, but I also felt horrible knowing that I'd pissed her off this much.

When I was finally allowed to leave, with the aid of some crutches, the first place I headed was to Alicia's quarters to pay her a visit. I knocked on nervously, anticipating what could happen, and then the door opened to reveal the Clark girl.

"Hey, remember me?" I joked, hoping to lighten the mood, and she simply rolled her eyes, about to close the door in my face.

"Wait!" I said, sticking my crutch in the way, and she stopped.

"What?" she snapped, green eyes darkened with fury.

Losing my humour, I met her eyes. "You didn't visit me."

"If I did, I would have strangled you."

Licking my lips at the awkwardness, I said, "Alicia, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. But I thought you'd at least–"

I went quiet. Well, I thought she'd at least visit. She'd never been this mad before, not at me and not for something so minor. And the longer I fell quiet, the more her jaw clenched and she stared daggers into my eyes.

"Can we please just forget it happened?" I asked instead. "Move on?"

Without another second wasted, she said, "Whatever," then closed the door in my face.

I stared at it in awe, stunned at her behaviour. How could she still be mad at me, even after apologising?

Unsure what else to do, I left her place to go and sulk in the stadium's stands which were empty. What else could I possibly do for Alicia to forgive me? I understood I worried her, but I literally apologised and I was okay! She'd never been so mad at me before...

As I got lost in thoughts of the green-eyed girl, sulking and thinking and wondering what I could do, I almost missed Madison finding me and joining my side.

"You seen Alicia?" she asked, knowing I was going to talk to her daughter earlier. "How'd it go?"

I shook my head, still surprised at what occurred. "Not good at all. She's still so angry and I just– I don't understand why! It was an accident, Madison, and I apologised!"

Madison glanced at me from the seat beside me, quirking a brow, and I was even more confused.

"What?" I asked. What had I missed?

She sighed heavily, earning my attention, and looked me in the eyes. "Y/N, hon, I'm saying this with love," she started, "but you're so blind to what's in front of you."

Blind, and apparently lost too since I had no idea what she was talking about. She must have noticed, as she rolled her eyes with impatience.

"Alicia cares about you," she said in a knowing tone.

"I know that."

Closing her eyes with pursed lips, she waited a moment before clarifying, "No. She's in love with you, Y/N. She's been in love with you since you were kids. Of course she's angry, but she's mostly hurt. You almost died over something so stupid! Why else would she be like this?"

My jaw dropped as I stammered to find words. "What? She– what– how do you know that?"

Alicia being in love with me? There was no way that could be true. I refused to believe it.

"I know my daughter, very well," she said like it was obvious, before resting a hand on my knee. "And I know you, too. You feel the same, Y/N."

Immediately growing flustered, I avoided her eyes. She knew? How the hell did she know? I was certain I'd hidden it well. I couldn't have hidden it better!

Oh, God, she knew I was in love with her daughter.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed," she suddenly said with a quiet laugh, "it's okay!"

Horrified, I swallowed hard, knowing my face felt as hot as the sun right now. What did I even respond to that?

"I did think you'd have said something to her by now," Madison added. "It's a lot, I know. But, maybe, it's time you came clean and reassured her. Because, quite frankly, I'm sick of watching you both not do anything about it."

If Madison was right about me being in love with Alicia, then surely she was right about Alicia being in love with me? And if that were true, then... holy shit. I guess it made sense why Alicia was so angry at me – or upset, I now realised.

I couldn't find words, not when the confession was shocking me to the core, so I simply nodded slowly in response. At least Madison seemed to be okay with it, the whole me liking her daughter thing.

"You're gonna be fine," she assured me with a small smile, before squeezing my knee and getting up. "I'll leave you to it. Remember to rest your leg, Y/N."

It took me a while to accept the fact that maybe Madison had been right, myself reliving every interaction I'd ever had with Alicia since I met her, overanalysing and trying to gauge whether she may have cared about me like I did her. Two days to be exact, in which Alicia avoided me completely.

When I finally decided enough was enough, I went straight over to visit Alicia with the hope of finding enough courage to either tell her how I felt or get it out of her first. Clearly I was too scared to tell her myself all these years, so I wasn't too convinced it would go to plan.

I found her at her quarters again, an old dugout converted into a room for her, and knocked on as confidently as I could muster. As soon as she opened the door, her expression hardened and she narrowed her eyes at me.

"I just wanna talk," I said before she could think to close the door on me.

"About what exactly?" she asked, her anger still as fresh as it was from two days ago. "About how idiotic you were trying to get a ring?"

Remaining calm, I said, "I just wanted to get it for you, Alicia. Give you a sense of normalcy again and–"

"I didn't ask you to do that!" she exclaimed, before scoffing at me angrily and walking further into her room.

Reluctantly, I stepped inside and tried to defend myself. "I know you didn't, but I wanted to! You seemed to like the display and I thought–"

"I don't give a fuck about a ring!" she shouted, glaring at me, and this time her hurt was present. "It wasn't worth dying over! I care if you're fucking alive! That you're safe!"

The guilt returning yet again, I nodded in understanding. "You're right. I get it. I'm sorry, Alicia."

"No, you don't get it," she retorted, frustration being replaced with worry. "D'you know how– how scary it was watching you back there? Hearing you scream and then seeing you– fuck! Seeing you look so– so fragile? And now look at you! Walking on fucking crutches!"

I chose to stay quiet as she continued to rant, my guilt deepening as she spoke her fears aloud.

"You can be so careless sometimes!" she added, a frown on her lips and glassy eyes darting between mine. "Though, I suppose that's why you're Nick's friend, right? He does the same fucking thing!"

"I won't do it again," I promised her. "I'll think next time."

"Yeah, I hope so," she said bitterly, crossing her arms.

I watched her closely, searching for a semblance of what I hoped to find. "I didn't think you cared so much."

My nerves were creeping in and I so desperately hoped she'd admit her feelings first, so I wouldn't have to.

She looked at me, face flushing shyly before looking away and playing it cool. "Of course I do. You're family. And Nick's best friend."

I waited momentarily, wanting her to say it, but she didn't. And I foolishly couldn't. I was too scared to put myself out there, even after all this time.

Unable to hide my frown, I nodded. "That it?"

She met my gaze, confused. "What else?"

Now it was my turn to grow shy and embarrassed, and I looked away, feeling a little humiliated. It wasn't Alicia's fault at all – she couldn't help how I felt. And maybe Madison had gotten it wrong.

Changing the subject, I shook my head. "Never mind. Sorry again."

I turned to leave, feeling her eyes bore a hole in my back, and somehow I knew that when I walked out of this door, there would never be another chance to tell her how I felt. After all this time, even if she didn't feel the same, maybe I should have finally come clean like Madison said. If I did and we could get over it, maybe I could finally move on?

"Actually no," I said, suddenly feeling an adrenaline rush as I turned around to face her. "I'm not sorry."

She quirked a brow. "Excuse me?"

I sucked up a breath and held her gaze, despite a part of me wanting to leave and never speak again. "I'm not sorry. Not for trying to get that ring. For worrying you, yes, but not the ring."

"Wow, thanks," she said sarcastically, but I didn't let it get to me.

"You wanted that ring," I reminded her. "You looked in that store window and you saw something normal and I wanted to give it to you. I'm not sorry about that. I went in there for you and, yes, you didn't ask me to, Alicia, but you didn't need to. I wanted to! To make you happy, I would do anything. I thought you knew that by now, but maybe I didn't make it clear enough."

Her expression softened as her eyes widened slightly. "What are you saying?"

Now or never, right?

"I'm in love with you, Alicia," I stated with all the confidence left in me. "I have been, since we were kids and since I was old enough to know what love is. And I've been terrified to admit it aloud, especially to you, but I can't keep it to myself anymore. I didn't mean to worry your or upset you or make you so angry, you have to know that."

She didn't say anything as she seemed to digest my confession, and the longer she stared at me without any indication to how she was feeling, the more stupid I felt.

"I can get over it," I told her with a small smile, avoiding her eyes. "You don't need to take this on or anything. I just– I had to tell you. If I've made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry and you have every right to stop talking to me."

"No, just–" she started, and I held my breath as she struggled to speak. "You're in love with me?"

"...Yes."

"I'm in love with you," she admitted, and I could have sworn I misheard until she repeated, "I'm in love with you, too."

"You're in love with me."

"I am," she said softly. "Why didn't you– why didn't you say anything all this time?"

I raised my brows. "Me? Why didn't you?"

She scoffed. "Seriously? I'm your best friend's little sister. How was I supposed to?"

"Exactly," I agreed. "You're my best friend's little sister. How was I supposed to?"

Her eyes flickered between mine. "Like you did just now."

My heart was thumping so loudly I was surprised she couldn't hear it in the quiet of her room. Now what?

"I care about you a lot because I'm in love with you," she said, stepping forward and shakily lifting her hand to cup my cheek. "I don't want you doing stupid stuff that could get you killed. Especially not for me."

"If I had known it was dangerous, I wouldn't have gone in," I told her seriously. "I promised you I wouldn't leave you. I meant it."

She tensed her jaw as she lowered her hand, resting it on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I got so angry and upset. I shouldn't have reacted like that, especially after you got hurt. I just– seeing you like that and knowing it could have been worse, it just– It was frustrating. And I didn't know how to express that, not without revealing how I felt about you."

"Yeah, I kinda thought I fucked everything up when you didn't stop by for a visit," I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and it seemed to work as she cracked a small smile.

"I should have visited," she said apologetically. "And I should have told you how I felt."

"Me too," I said gently.

She looked at her hand on my shoulder, avoiding my eyes, and I couldn't stop staring at her as she did. She felt the same way. How could that be possible? How had I missed it?

"Now what?" she murmured.

"Now..." I paused, making her eyes flicker to mine momentarily, hopefully. And, still on a high from being able to admit the truth, I asked, "Can I kiss you?"

She pressed her lips together, nodding slowly, and then I leaned in before I could stop myself, wrapping my crutch and arm around her waist to pull her even close. Her figure fit perfectly in my arms; her lips were as soft as I could have imagined; her fingers left goosebumps across my skin where she caressed my cheek. This was all I'd ever wanted, and now I finally had it.

We pulled apart for air and I was afraid that if I opened my eyes, she wouldn't be there and I'd have imagined it all.

"Y/N?"

I opened my eyes, only to be submerged in golden-green. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

I lifted an eyebrow. "For?"

She didn't falter as she said, "For being here for me all this time. For not leaving. For keeping your promise."

I stroked her waist with my thumb subconsciously, eyes flickering all over her face, committing it to memory, and then a smile curled on my lips. "You don't know how much you've done for me, do you? We're even, Alicia."

She began to smile too, making butterflies blossom in my chest, and then just like that, she pressed her lips to mine and I was in heaven once more.

Looks like Madison was right after all.

[dragon-kazansky]

Spirit of the sea

Izzy Hands x reader (GN)

You were a member of Blackbeard's crew long ago. Then you became a ghost story. Izzy Hands only sees you in his dreams these days, until he sees you for real when investigating Stede Bonnet. This sets him on a rollercoaster of emotions between you and what his captain is doing.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Slight angst. Izzy's feelings are hurt, but he won't admit it unless you back him into a corner. He's mellowing out with you though.

Chapter Four - Just like before

♡♡♡

A lighthouse. With the use of items on the ship, and the participation of the crew, Stede Bonnet and Edward Teach turned the ship into a lighthouse. The Spanish turned around, believing they got lost in the fog.

The Revenge managed to escape.

You had to admit that was insanely clever of your captain.

Later that night, while the crew slept, you sat on the steps and looked up at the dark sky. Everyone was pretty much asleep, except for the captains you could hear chatting up in the nest.

The only person you couldn't see was Izzy.

You didn't want to disturb the sleeping crew by getting up to search for your old friend. You just hoped he was okay. Izzy wasn't one for showing how he felt about things, unless that feeling was anger or annoyance.

Come morning you are woken up strange sounds. You open your eyes and look around to find Izzy loading up a dingy with stuff. You sit up in confusion. He hasn't noticed you, too busy doing what he's doing.

"Izzy?" You call his name softly.

He doesn't stop.

You stand up and walk over to him, frowning. "Izzy..."

"I said some things I regret last night."

"Oh?" You come to stand beside him.

"Some shit to Blackbeard... I didn't mean any of it."

You glance up at the captains. Ed is looking down at you with a nod. You take a deep breath and turn back to Izzy.

"He knows you didn't mean them."

Izzy grabs at the rail of the ship.

"I bet he has a plan, you know. He always has a plan."

"Yeah..."

You sigh softly. "Izzy, can we talk?"

He inhales softly. "Guess so."

"I'm sorry you thought I was dead. I'll keep apologising if I have to. Whatever it takes to make it up to you. I never meant for that to happen. I got trapped onboard the ship that day. No one would have known because my dumbass decided to wander below deck on my own to see what I could find. It was stupid of me. Anyway, I jumped off deck the moment I could and I had every intention of coming back to you. I was too late."

Izzy clenched his fists.

"Izzy... It was never meant to be that way. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Whatever. Doesn't matter," he says. "You're here now."

You don't know if that's his way of saying he forgives you or what, but you'll take it. Izzy is complicated.

"Don't leave. Please."

You can hear his slight breathing as he thinks about it. His head then turns in your direction and you can see his eyes more clearly.

"He's still got it."

You smile. "Don't think it ever left. Our Blackbeard, eh?"

Izzy exhales a chuckle.

"Don't go, Izzy. I can't make it up to you if you leave..."

Izzy says nothing and you take that as your sign to leave him with his thoughts. Man needs time to think.

An hour later you realise the dingy is back on the boat and Izzy is still onboard.

You smile at the sight of him.

♡♡♡

Turns out there is a plan. Ed apparently had a talk with Izzy shortly after your talk with him. A ploy to kill off Blackbeard. Except, not really.

Stede is already wearing Blackbeard's clothes. Kill the man, say the great Blackbeard is dead, Ed gets to be Edward. Izzy would then proceed to be captain of his own crew.

It was definitely a plan.

In the meantime, Edward has told Stede he would show him what it meant to be a pirate. The first step was a raid. You laughed at the idea of taking Stede Bonnet onto a ship to loot.

Izzy had relaxed a little around you. Not enough for the crew of the Revenge to notice, bit enough for you to see. You look at him as Edward explains to Stede's crew the plan for the raid.

Izzy is looking at you. You fight back a smile. At least he's looking at you.

"Crew of Revenge, you are not to engage. You are simply here to observe how real pirates function in the real world." Izzy addresses the crew.

You hide your smile.

"Quick question, how violent do we expect this to get?" Stede asks.

Pretty violent was his answer.

It felt good to use your sword again. This was the life you were used to. This is how it always should be. You were to busy fighting to take an notice on if Izzy was watching you. After all, it was Izzy who taught you how to use a sword.

While the crew looted, you made your way over to Izzy's side.

"That was fun."

He sniffs, looking at the bodies on the deck. "Yeah, was a bit. Where's that pathetic excuse of a pirate gone?"

"Believe he's below deck looting. Ed went to find him."

Izzy nods his head and then looks at you. "You still got it."

You smile, not even pretending hearing that didn't make you happy. "Yeah. Can't ever forget everything you've taught me, Izzy."

He almost smiles.

"Hurry up and grab what you can."

"Aye, Mr Hands," you tease, leaving his side to go loot for yourself. Izzy follows you with his eyes, biting back another smile.

♡♡♡

"A party?" You ask, looking at Ed and Stede.

"Some posh gathering for rich folk. Frenchie found the invitation," Stede explains.

"And you want to go to it?" You look at your captain. Blackbeard shrugs. "He's gonna need a new outfit."

"Ah, leave that to me." Stede goes into his secret closet. You turn back to Ed.

"Is this part of the plan?" You ask.

"Yeah. Kinda. Just let me handle this, okay?"

"Yeah, course."

"So, you spoke to Izzy?" Ed asks, looking at you gently.

"Yeah. We spoke. He at least doesn't hate me any more."

"Ah, he never hated you."

"He did a little bit. Be honest, Ed." You say to him.

"He never hated you. Not really. It's just hard for him to be open."

You nod your head quietly. Stede returns with a purple suit in hand. You notice the ribbons on top of the pile. You took this as your sign to leave them to it.

♡♡♡

Up on deck you find Izzy lowering Lucius down the side of the ship. You raise an eyebrow in his direction.

"The fuck?"

Izzy glances up at you. "Got a little job for Spriggs. Caught him slacking."

"Barnacle duty? Oof." You peer down at where Lucius sits. "Shit job."

"Aye. Will teach him a bloody lesson." Izzy walks off. You send Lucius a sorry smile before following the brooding first mate.

"Anything you want me to do?"

"Whatever the fuck you like. I'm trying to get this crew onto shape," Izzy sighs.

"Will you at least look at me again?"

Izzy stops what he's doing and turns, looking at you. You smile at him. "That's better. Is our friendship healing?"

"Shut up."

You chuckle as he walks away.

♡♡♡

A little time passes when Izzy storms past you looking a little miffed. You watch him for a moment before following after him.

"Some thing happen?"

"That useless twat is gone," he huffs.

"Lucius?"

"Yes." Izzy hisses the word.

You follow him into the captain's cabin where you find Wee John watching Lucius sketch a naked Fang.

"What the fuck?"

"Not bad," you hum.

Izzy turns his head to look at you with narrowed eyes. You smile at him with a shrug.

"What?"

"Don't fucking look."

"I'm looking respectfully. Fang has nice form," you grin.

Fang smiles. "Aw, you're just saying that."

You turn back to him. "I mean every word, Fang."

Izzy sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Back to work, the lot of ya!"

♡♡♡

You follow Izzy once again up to the deck. He leans against the railing, his shoulders tense. He looks out to sea.

"Useless fucking bastards."

You come to stand beside him. "Cut them some slack. None of them have been a real pirate. They're used to their cosy little ship."

"Fuck the lot of them. How on the hell does this ship function when this lot can't even do their duties?"

You shrug lightly. "I don't know. Up until recently I was locked up in their brig."

Izzy lifts his head to look at you. "You were their prisoner."

"Yeah, it was dumb. All those years sailing with Blackbeard and I get caught by some pirate wannabe," you sigh.

"What happened to you? What have you been doing these past 6 years?" Izzy asks, facing you fully.

"Been on the move, moving from place to place. Stowed away a few times. Was hoping to come across you lot again, but I never found you. Looks like you found me though..."

Izzy is watching your face.

"I won't leave again. Not like that. I'm home again."

"Yeah..."

You exhale softly and look around the ship. "You been well?"

"Surviving."

"Good." You look back at him. "I missed that face of yours."

"This ugly mug?"

"Shut up. Not ugly."

He scoffs and turns back to the sea. "Let's hope Blackbeard kills Bonnet soon so we can go back to business."

"Just give him time."

A few moment of silence pass before Izzy looks back up at you. You look back at him softly, expecting him to say something, but he doesn't. He walks away.

♡♡♡

Night draws in. Izzy stands in front of Lucius giving him a list of chores to do to make up for slacking, twice. You sit on the steps listening, whittling away.

"You're gonna swab the deck. Twice. Then patch the main sail, oil and renwick cannons, then stack the munitions. And by the time you've done all that I'll have several more chores for you."

"And what if I don't?" Lucius asks. You eyes him carefully. "You're not my captain."

"I could spill your beans." Izzy threatens. "You've been a proper little seductress, haven't you? Black Pete, Fang. Who else is there?"

Lucius grins. "Hey, Pete?"

"Yeah, love?"

"I drew Fang naked."

"Haha! Nice. He's drawn most of us," Pete tells Izzy.

"See? We don't own each other. Dizzy Izzy." Lucius looks him in the eye. "Or is it... Izzy the Spewer?"

You look at Izzy, knowing about that nickname. You were the day Ed left Izzy in charge and the storm happened. Izzy had a rough time.

"Go now," Izzy whispers.

"Have you ever been sketched?" Lucius asks.

"Fuck off." Izzy storms off. You watch him go.

Lucius looks up at you with a smile. "You fond of Dizzy Izzy?" He asks you.

"It's just Izzy."

Black Pete and Lucius share a look. "That a yes then?"

"Don't you two have things to do?"

"Only each other," Lucius winks at Pete.

You get up from the stairs, but Lucius speaks before you her very far. "I think if he got laid he'd loosen up a little."

You glare at Lucius. "Excuse me?"

"Just saying, Izzy hasn't yelled at you or given you jobs to do. I think he may have even been a little jealous earlier when you walked in on me sketching Fang."

"What are you implying?"

"I think you know."

You glare at him again. "Shut up." You walk away. Lucius and Pete laugh together.

♡♡♡

You sit below deck on the hard floor whittling away in silence. The rest of the crew were above deck, most of them slept under the stars. Izzy, you were pretty sure, was in his cabin.

You move the knife swiftly along the wood.

"It's late."

You look up at the sound of the familiar voice. Izzy's voice is very distinct. You like hearing him talk.

"I know."

"The crew is sleeping. Ed is back too."

"Oh yeah, the party."

Izzy stands there with a hand on top of his sword, resting at his hip. He keeps his eyes on you as you whittle.

"What are you making?"

"Just... a thing."

"Right... a thing."

Silence settles between you both again. You can feel his eyes on you. His breathing is soft, but you can hear the wood creak under his feet as he shifts.

"I... uh... I'm glad you're back."

You stop whittling.

"I mis- I missed you."

You look up at Izzy slowly. Your heart thumping quickly in your chest. You know better than anyone what that took for him to say that.

"Missed you too, Izzy."

He inhales sharply and nods.

"Right. Yeah. Night then."

"Goodnight." You watch him as he turns sharply and walks away. He always walks away.

You focus back on your project. The sound of the knife scraping along the wood filling your ears once more.

♡♡♡

Izzy wakes up with the sun. He groans as he stares up at the ceiling. Another day on this stupid ship with Stede Bonnet. Izzy can only hope Blackbeard kills the fucker soon.

He runs his fingers through his hair, keeping his hand there as his mind fills with thoughts. You spent a good portion of yesterday following him around the ship.

Izzy breathes through his nose and lowers his hand. He turns his head to the side only to find a strange object sitting on the table. He furrows his brow knowing that it wasn't there when he went to sleep last night.

The first mate sits up and reaches over to pick up the wooden bird. He holds it in his hand, turning it this way and that way.

"The fuck?"

It looked like it resembled a sparrow. He runs his thumb across the carved out wing. It was a decent job.

"Hm." The corner of his lip twitches. You. Silly little you with your silly little whittling last night.

He goes to put the bird down only to find a note resting where the bird had been. He gently places the sparrow down and picks up the note, turning it over to read it.

'A gift as part of my ongoing apology for leaving you 6 years ago. Nice to be back, just like old times.'

Izzy smiles slightly at the note and then puts it down, glancing at the bird again.

"Yeah. Glad to have you back."

♡♡♡

@grippleback-galaxy - @askmarinaandothers - @godlikegallagher - @for-fuck-sake-im-alive - @whiskeyswriting - @lxsm2 - @bloody-bunni666 -

[jellyfishoreo1206]

Comfort (Gavril)

This will be a series w/ all the Bubo characters (Gavril, Angelo, Nostre, Daniel, Aku, maybe Tooth too) Love it when my brain comes up with ideas when I have several other WIP's to do

I was crying earlier and my brain in the middle of it went, "but what if the Bubo Characters were here."

WARNINGS: EMOTIONAL, CRYING, CUSSING, OVERALL BAD BAD DAY, ANGST IG??? I HAVE NO IDEA THERE WILL BE LOOTS OF FLUFF THO

Gender-Neutral Reader

----

You felt like crying, screaming.

Everything was shit, every single hour that went by, every single minute, every single second felt long and torturous. Your body felt heavy, head heavy as it pounded with a throbbing headache against your skull, vision blurry.

Why did today of all days in the year have to be so shitty? You woke up late for work, got coffee all over your work clothes and didn't have a spare, got chewed out by your boss because how you forgot to do something yesterday and how you were "representing" the workplace, didn't eat lunch because you forgot to bring your wallet, and so many other things that made you want to wallow into the ground and forget about everything.

Anger, misery, sadness, irritation, annoyance, depression.

You want to cry so bad, you want to break something. Throw something. Anything.

But the moment you walked through your door, the dams broke. Sliding down to the floor, you cried your heart out, you cried out to no one as the bitter tears spilled down your face, dropping onto the floor. It felt pathetic, on your arms and knees just because nothing went right today, nothing went how was suppose to, crying out everything you had to the shadows around you. Wailing out to only the silence that surrounded you.

But it couldn't be helped, keeping every single thing bottled up over the last few months, constantly filling up the cup. This was eventually bound to happen. It was only a matter of time before the water spilled over the edge.

It felt like hours hunched over on the floor, a puddle of tears forming as your wails soon turned to soft hiccups and quiet sniffling. Your throat hurt from all the wailing, nose filled to the brim with runny snot, vision blurred and puffy from the tears with more coming, your limbs going numb from how long they were on the ground. Yet you didn't want to get up, you didn't have the energy to do so.

You stayed there for a few minutes longer taking several deep breaths, building up your energy, before slowly standing up from that position. Your joints popped as you started moving, relieved to be moving again.

You felt disconnected from the world, everything around you seemed to have been numbed down. You felt bland, empty. Every limb in your body felt heavier than before, mind becoming foggy the longer you stood there staring off into space. Your brain went on autopilot, searching for a place to rest, which was the couch.

The fog felt like a long-awaited hug, a hug that feels like it's enveloping your entire body, a hug without warmth. It's just, there...

Curling up on yourself, you laid there wide awake as not even an ounce of sleep crept into your mind as the hours ticked by, you didn't even bother checking the time. Didn't bother getting up.

It was just so easy to just stay there, not worry about anything else, in the moment. Letting the clouds fog your mind as you let your body relax into the cushions.

After what was probably two hours, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps upstairs, creaking against the old floorboards. You didn't even bother panicking about who it was, you didn't feel ready to come out of the comforting fog yet. The footsteps went down the stairs, right next to the couch, yet you didn't feel an ounce of fear go through you. Heartbeat as calm as it could be, beating against your ribcage in a calming manner. Whoever it was can do what they want, you don't even have a care to give.

"Y/N?" You perked up a bit, eyes glancing up at the person looking over from the stairs. It was Gavril, hood still on as his eerily bright eyes shined through the dark. It still scares you how bright his eyes are in the dark, staring at your form unblinking, intensely. Like a kind of cat of sorts. Maybe a perk from the goo. He quickly descends the rest of the stairs, pulling off his hood to reveal his dark curly hair.

You didn't move, just letting a sigh pass your lips as you stared off again. You should've been more excited that Gavril was here, it's been 3 months since you last saw him in person. But you literally cried everything out hours ago, your brain to exhausted to make a reaction. Gavril approaches closer, to where he's hovering over the couch. He seemed.., concerned about you. His brows were furrowed as he had a slight frown on his face. It doesn't seem like he knows how to act whenever someone is like this. He slowly reached out a hand, brushing some of the hairs out of the way that have fallen over your face in a gentle manner.

For a couple of minutes, that's all he does, over and over. Eventually he sits right next to you on the couch, your head in his lap as he gently combs his fingers through your hair.

It feels nice, to be right against him as his touch left a certain type of warmth in your nerves, filling your mind with a good emotion you can't quite put a name to. Eyes fluttering close, you enjoy the gesture, further relaxing your body into his as he continues the gesture. The events of today slowly melting from your mind as the seconds pass.

When his hand was about to pull away, your own grabbed at his wrist, refusing for the affection to be over so soon. "Not yet.." Your voice is hoarse, from your lack of words in the past hours and from the crying. Gavril hasn't said anything, he doesn't point out how you sound, all he does is cup your face in a comforting manner. Exhaustion hits your body like a train, as your mind slowly fades in and out from consciousness, not processing anything around you as you let yourself go.

"I'll be here in the morning.."

...

How did you end up in your bed?

Groggily, you looked around. Yeah you're definitely in your room. Couldn't tell the time though, it was cloudy outside and made the whole room darker, can't tell if it was early morning or the afternoon. You don't remember making the walk upstairs last night, all you remember was curling up on your couch and..

Gavril.

"Fuck, Gavril!" Quickly getting out of bed, and nearly face-planting into the wall, you scrambled out of the room and downstairs to see if he was still here. To see if he actually stayed.

After finally taking the last step, you hear a soft humming from the living room. Glancing over to your right, and there he was, patiently sitting there with something in hand. A old rubix cube you were meant to solve. His coat was discarded, some rips and tears in it, folded neatly on the couch arm as he kept twisting and turning the cube. Didn't seem like he wanted to figure it out, just needed something to busy his mind and hands. Fucking shit, you missed him so badly..

Coming up right behind the couch, you wrap your arms around him, smushing your face into his hair. Which probably wasn't a good idea since he didn't take a shower but you brushed off his smell, only seeking his touch. You felt him jump a bit beneath you from the surprise embrace, but quickly relax as he realized it was only you, returning the gesture as best as he could.

"Hey dear," He coos, drawing patterns into your arm after placing the cube down, "Good to see you better."

"It's good to see you again."

"Yeah? Did you miss me that much?"

"Obviously I would.."

Your hand came up to his hair, playing with the curly ends of them. He seemed to enjoy it, letting out a small hum. A comfortable silence falls over you two, only the quiet breathing of you and Gavril's filling the air.

"Do you...want to talk about last night?" He sounded hesitant when whispering out the question, he seemed unsure in what he was doing. You found it sweet of him that he wanted to make sure you were okay though.

You mulled over the question in your head, thinking it again and again. Do you want to talk about it? I mean, you cried your heart and soul out last night so it should be fine, right? But there's the chance that might make Gavril uncomfortable. He was asking, but there's the benefit of doubt.

"..Just a bad day was all."

"Mm..." He stays quiet for a few moments, thinking something over, "Who do I have to kill?" He attempts what you think is a joke, but you can't tell whether he is actually serious or just trying to cheer you up in some weird way. Eh, he's your weirdo anyway.

"Don't. I love you Gav, but I swear to God do not kill someone just because they made me sad," Pulling your face out of his hair, you lean down to plant a small kiss on his cheek, "unless I ask you too." A cheeky smile makes its way onto your face, jumping over the couch just to sit right beside him. Looking at his face, it seemed to be flushed, a slight look of embarrassment on his face as a wobbly smile takes place. His adorableness just seems to intensity whenever he's flustered, you don't know why but it just makes you fall harder for him.

"Did you eat anything?"

"I, uhm..no not really?"

"You ate everything in the fridge again, didn't you?" His gaze averted to the side as he lets out a nervous chuckle. Letting out a sigh of slight disappointment, you slump onto him, closing your eyes. "'s fine, I needed an excuse to go shopping anyway.." You can't blame him, to be honest. He must've been starving and food must've been scarce. You're surprised he isn't dead yet, or in jail.

"Is it alright if I come?" Thinking it over in your mind, you think of the pros and cons of him coming along.

"..Sure." He's probably going to tag along either way, no matter which answer you chose. But that's fine, you love your skrunckly little rat man either way.

You just hoped he wouldn't try and steal a wheel of cheese, again.

[morning-star-joy]

my heart won't start anymore…for you (Joel x Reader)

Summary: After a year of trying to make it work, you finally decide to leave. Joel lets you.

Tags/Warnings: Angst. Lowkey unrequited love. No happy ending!! Inferences to sexual situations but nothing explicit.

Wordcount: 632

A/N: I couldn't stop listening to You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift and ended up writing this. I'm sorry! (Also this is NOT a stranger's heart related, just its own sad one-shot)

Joel x Reader Taylor-inspired masterlist

“I don’t understand.”

You glanced up from throwing clothes into the duffel bag, meeting Joel’s eyes from where he lingered in the doorway, watching.

Always watching. Never doing anything. Never risking, never choosing.

Watching.

Watching as you slipped from his fingers without making an effort to tighten his grasp, to hold on, to keep you with him.

Looking back down at the bag, you threw another pile of clothes into it—a dress, a stupid little sundress you had been so excited to find while looting houses on patrol almost a year ago.

You could remember the light in his eyes when you wore it for him for the first time, the smile that twitched onto his lips as he tugged you into his lap for a rare stolen kiss, only taking mere minutes before the dress was on the ground beside you.

You could remember the light at a silly Jackson dance, spun around in his arms with his deep rumble of laughter pressed against your ear. 

You also remembered later that night, standing on the edge of the dance floor alone, watching the party when he had left after only one or two dances with no explanation. 

The light had gone out as quickly as it came.

The light you had continued to search for in recent months, a glimmer of warmth, the soft side you knew that Joel Miller had deep down inside, hidden under all that barbed wire that you were so determined to pull away with your bare hands.

All you had found in him lately was sharp edges, cutting yourself on them again and again the closer you tried to get. The more you tried to heal his wounded soul, the more you damaged yourself in the process.

It had always been ups and downs with Joel. He’d pull you closer only to push you away again when it became too much, too real. 

The small wedding you had attended for a couple of your fellow patrolmen, sitting in the back of the room as you watched the side of Joel’s face during the ceremony, seeing how much he wanted to run even when he wasn’t the one at the altar.

That night when he could sense the I love you hanging from your lips, begging to be spoken, he had stopped it with his mouth pressed firmly to yours, his hands tugging at your clothes to lose yourself in any feeling other than the depth of that emotion.

Night after night, watching his back as he slept facing away from you, surrounded by the darkness. No light.

Stop, you thought, over and over, each time he turned away from you and left you with nothing. You wanted to scream, to open his eyes, to make him understand. Stop turning away, stop hiding from this, from what’s real. 

He loved you. 

He had to love you, right? 

Why else would this have gone on for so long?

Everything you had built, how could you let it go?

Everything you had built, with your own two hands, even when they began to crack and bleed.

How could he just watch?

Watch as you were dying, as this was killing you. As he was killing you, by letting you stay and letting you leave.

“I know you don’t,” you whispered, zipping up the bag and pulling it over your shoulder.

You passed by him in the doorway, a silent part of you begging him to reach out. 

Please, please, do something.

Say something.

Don’t let me go, don’t let this go, you thought over and over with each step you took down the hallway, each step that he let you take. Choose me.

He didn’t.

You’re losing me, you thought as you let him disappear behind you.

He did.

[galaxyedging]

Joel Miller x f!reader (no age gap)

Sort of Tommy Miller x f!reader

WC:1.7k

Warnings: Unprotected P in V sex. Phone sex. Male masturbation.

Summary: After Joel's confession about him and Tommy. You make a little dirty confession of your own.

Follow on from Damn Yoga Pants

Radio Sex

When Joel had made his confession about that time that he and Tommy shared a woman had been done when he was completely out of his mind. He couldn't be held responsible for what he said while he was balls deep inside you with you wearing those cursed yoga pants. It wasn't his fault.

Maria may not see it the same way if that story ever got out. After swearing you to secrecy, he came clean to his brother. "Maria knows." Tommy carried on sipping his beer as Joel looked at him blankly. "What? She's my wife. I tell her everything. Besides, you think you're the only one who gets off on sharing?"

That is how Joel found out one of the best kept secrets in Jackson. Maria and Tommy were swingers. "I guess you guys take that shared ownership thing to heart." Joel had quipped. His little brother just gave him a shit eater grin from behind the lip of his beer bottle.

When Joel had returned your repaired yoga pants, along with a promise to find you more someday, you had decided to give him a little reward. "I know you don't want to talk about that story with Tommy…"

"Er…" Joel looked a little uneasy. You were his girl. He wanted to tell you everything but some things weren't his to tell.

"...but I thought I owed you a little scandalous revelation of my own. I used to work…onaphonesexline."

"You what?!" Joel smiled broadly.

"I was in college. I needed the money. Besides there's no shame in sex work!"

"No, there is not. I'm smiling because I know you're my dirty girl but I didn't know you could be a dirty girl for anybody. That's kind of hot." Teasingly he nipped at your neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "There might be a market for that here in Jackson. We just found some new radios too. Tommy and I were going to have a look at them later."

Having enough of his teasing, you decided to tease him back. "You and Tommy, huh? Well, maybe Tommy would like to be my first client. I know how you boys love to share."

"You don't know the half of it…" and that is how you found out the best kept secret in Jackson.

One of the guys from down the street came by later on to get Joel's help with fixing up his roof. After that Joel went straight over to help Tommy. Leaving you with not much to do with your afternoon. Rather thankful since you were one of the town's doctors.

Deciding to treat yourself to a relaxing bath. The after effects of Joel's teasing burned between your legs. You took the time to cool it off as the water cooled around you.

Joel arrived home just before dark, Ellie swung by for a change of clothes and she was gone again. Joel sat next to on the sofa, whiskey in hand. His trusty backpack sat on the floor next to him. A few bursts of static rang from it and he picked it up.

"Sounds like that's for you, Darlin'."

"What do you mean?" Joel didn't answer, he simply pulled out the new radio. Next, he fished out a headset that he looted from one of the upmarket stores near the ski resort. It plugged into the radios that the others had brought back. It allowed you to be completely hands free on the radio. Something that Joel planned on taking full advantage of.

"You're going to warm my cock while you get Tommy all hot and bothered." There was no question in his tone but you knew you could say no. Not one part of you wanted to.

Taking the headset you slipped it on. "Hello?" Came Tommy's smooth voice. He sounded relaxed. You wondered if he'd sunk a few whiskies when he came home too.

The whiskey on Joel's tongue warmed your taste buds as he kissed you. "Don't be shy, Baby. Do your thing. You remember what to say, right? Do you have to ask him what he's wearing?" The slight sarkiness in his tone made you want to wipe the grin off of his face.

"Hi, Tommy." You lowered your voice into the sultry tone you used to use in your working days. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, Sweetheart. How are you? You must be all tense from having to put up with my pain in the ass brother all the time."

Joel paused in the middle of pushing his jeans down his thighs when you laughed. "What did he say?"

Covering the mic you mouthed 'I'm on the phone'. Joel responded to your sass by dragging you up to your feet to strip off your pyjama pants and pull you onto his lap.

"I bet he's getting all worked up in the wrong kind of way." Tommy laughed in your ear.

"Mmmhmm." You confirmed.

Joel decided he didn't like whatever was going on between you and that he would remind you both why you were there. In one long thrust he buried himself inside of you. "Oh, god, Joel."

"Guess the old man got a little impatient. So tell me. What did guys used to ask you to talk about?"

"They'd usually want me to stroke their egos while they stroked their dicks."

"Well, I don't know about my ego but I do plan on stroking my dick." The sound of you sucking in a breath echoed in the headset. "Does that surprise you?"

"A little."

"I'd been through a lot in my life, even before the outbreak. If I get an opportunity to enjoy myself now, I take it. Jerking off to your pretty voice, while simultaneously pissing off Joel, that'll give me a whole lot of enjoyment. Now, why don't you go ahead and give me something to listen to. What are you wearing?"

"Not much, just an old boyfriend shirt."

"Old boyfriend, huh? He must have been an idiot to let you go."

"Oh he was. He was stubborn and grumpy too."

"Sounds like a real catch."

"He had some good points. He was hung like a horse and ate pussy like a last meal on death row."

Both brothers breathed deep at your filthy outburst.

"Is that what you like? Taking a big cock and having your pussy licked?"

Joel could feel you getting wetter from whatever his brother was saying in your ear. He saw the way you bite your lip before you laughed lightly. Joel didn't think of himself as a jealous man. Still, in that moment he suddenly wanted all your attention on him. Bucking his hips up, he drove deep inside of you the tip of his cock hitting a spot that had you crying out.

"Bet I could make you cry out louder, Sugar." Tommy's voice was like honey in your ear. Out of the two of them Tommy definitely got more of the natural charm. Joel could turn it on when needed but it flowed effortlessly from Tommy.

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Maybe I'll get to show you one day. Joel brags about how naughty you are for him. I bet you'd love to take a married man's cock."

"I thought I was supposed to be the one talking dirty here?"

Joel twitched inside you. "Shall I tell you what I really like?" Locking eyes with Joel you braced your hands on his broad shoulders. Digging your fingers into the muscles there as you began to ride him. "I love making a man so fucking cockdumb that he spills his dirty little secrets to me. I wonder what I could get you to confess to."

"You want to know a dirty secret? Joel boasts about stuff but he never gives me any actual details. A couple of times when I've gone home drunk after talking with Joel, and not wanting to disturb Maria, I've jerked off to my own made up scenarios. My brother might have a lot of shortcomings but his choice in women ain't one."

The thought fuelled the chase for your high. Joel began babbling curses below you as you bounced harder and faster on him.

"Remember last month when you had that argument with Chris over his patrol route? It was late and you two were outside the stables? I heard every word because I was on the other side of the wall with Joel's cock down my throat and my fingers buried in my pussy. We thought you might turn and come into the stable so Joel fucked my throat while I rubbed my clit and rode my fingers. I nearly choked on his cum as I came. Part of me hoped you caught us and saw Joel's cum dripping down my face so you know what a dirty girl I really am." You struggled to get the story out in your breathless state.

"Shit, Doc, if I'd have known I would've come running."

"I bet you would have." You grinned. In another bound of frustration Joel started to drive his hips upwards to meet you.

The cry that came from you made Tommy chuckle. "The thought of you with cum over your face, that is something. Getting me closer just thinking about it." He gave a long moan that made your pussy clench. Joel was too busy slamming into you to notice. "Do you know what I'd prefer?"

"W-what?" Your voice shook with Joel having you right on the edge.

"To shoot my load right in that tight little pussy until I drip out of you. I know you like that. Do you want it? Do you want my cum?" His voice was tense with holding back.

Your cry of 'Fuck, yes!' set off a domino effect. Tommy came over his bare stomach, chanting your name as his hand sped up on the tip and milked the last of his load. Hearing Tommy you came around Joel with a whimpered 'Oh, Baby.' Joel's orgasm came last. He lazily dragged your hips back and forth to use you to his full pleasure. The three of you rode every last wave of ecstasy before succumbing to a spent peace. You and Joel held each other as Tommy whispered something in your ear. When Joel asked later you denied that his brother had said. "Sweet dreams, Doc. Maybe soon we can make some dreams come true.

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 1 - Sunshine

Summary

Past: You run into Raiders while looting nearby houses and meet an unwanted companion.

Present: Tommy and Joel find you in an abandoned church.

CW // mentions of loss, violence, threats of sexual assault (hinted), blood

Word count: 8,071

Before

Autumn 2019

The first time you killed someone, you hadn't waited around to watch them die. You had sunk your knife into his chest and fled quickly, unable to bear the thought of watching the life slip from their eyes. You heard their screams as they choked on their own blood, but you hadn't seen the light fade from their eyes. It was a memory you tried not to think too much about, and you were grateful that you hadn't witnessed their inevitable death.

It’s been six years and twenty-eight bodies later – a number that didn't seem real – and you had watched each one of them take their last breath. 

Six long years since your brother passed, six years filled with grief, and more than a half a decade spent on the run in order to protect his legacy and the innocent life he had created. You had thought you had lost it all, your only family, your only guide, but your niece kept you going. As you ran across the country, trying everything in your power to protect her, you couldn't help but wish that your brother could have been there beside you, watching out for the both of you as he had always done. Even if he was an asshole.

He had been the one to shoulder all of the violent realities of this world so that you could live a life untouched by the stain of blood. But he had made a mistake, and that mistake had cost him his life, leaving that burden for you to carry in his stead. With a heavy heart, you had taken it and done what you had to do to protect your niece, to keep her safe and her own hands clean of murder. 

He had trained you both to kill the infected, preparing you with the knowledge and skills you would need to survive. But he had also made it clear that he was the one who would handle the humans you encountered, making sure that the two of you wouldn't have to deal with that particular danger by yourselves.

It wasn't until you were in your early twenties that he began to teach you the basics of how to kill people quickly and quietly. He made you promise that you would never use those skills unless they were absolutely necessary, and you agreed. You had no desire to hurt people, and you hoped you would never need to break your promise to your brother, but you were prepared to do so if it meant keeping your niece safe.

"I don't care how angry someone makes you," he states flatly as he wipes the blood off his knife with a cloth, looking over at you. "You don't kill 'em. You only kill ‘em when they’re gonna kill you." His tone carries a warning as he speaks to you. "What do you do when someone makes you angry?" He looks over at you from the opposite side of the rusted dining table in the abandoned house where you decided to make camp for the night. 

You roll your eyes and glance down at Annabel, who's passed out in the corner of the room, her mouth hanging open and soft snores escaping her lips. Her peaceful slumber, despite the fact that you'd been engaged in a highly dangerous and potentially deadly situation no more than an hour ago, is a bit comical to you, and you let out a soft laugh as you turn back to face Dean.

“Tell me.” He demands as he moves to clean his next knife. 

“I walk away.” 

He looks up from his knife and nods. “Keep going.” 

You sigh and cross your arms as you lean back in your chair, and you repeat his teachings to him. "Then I grab a weapon and beat the shit out of something. Not someone, and never with my hands," you say clearly. He nods at you again, seemingly satisfied with your answer, as he continues to clean his knife and sheath it away. 

“Good. And what do you do when you feel nothing?” He asks after a moment. 

“I get the fuck away from everyone, listen to music.”

He nods. 

You shake your head in disbelief and consider your options as you spin the knife in your hand, standing in front of yet another empty cupboard. You've gone down two streets already, checking each house for any possible source of sustenance, and yet it seems like every cupboard, fridge, and dresser in the houses you've looted has already been ransacked.

You left your niece, Annabel behind at a house a few streets away while you took the burden of looting the small town you found yourselves in. She had wanted to come of course, but you wanted her safe behind locked doors while you searched for supplies.

It hadn't been easy to leave her behind, but it was the right thing to do. But the moment you were away from her side, you couldn't stop thinking about her safety. What if someone were to break in while she was alone? What if they discovered that she had been left behind there? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by a whispered curse as someone else enters the house. You still for a moment, listening for any further sound as you contemplate your next move. It's likely that another survivor had broken in and was searching for supplies, and you weren't sure how they'd react to finding you here.

"I thought I told you to be fucking quiet." A man hisses in a hushed tone, his voice full of annoyance and anger.

"Not my fault the door creaked," Another voice whispers back defensively. "The bitch probably knows we're here now, anyway," he adds, and you hear them both move further into the home.

You quickly duck behind the island in the kitchen, hiding from the two men who'd just entered the house. There’s a room between you and the invaders, the dining room, and in the silence of the house every noise can and will be heard. You try to slow your breathing, hoping that both of them will go left into the loungeroom first instead of right into the connecting dining room. The footsteps of the men echo in your ears, one set lighter and quicker than the other. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, and your eyes stay wide, your attention focused on every single noise the men make.

Your heart plummets at the realisation that one set of footsteps has entered the dining room while the other has entered the living room. Okay, one on one then. You could take one out before the other realised what was happening. You hold your breath, listening for any sign of the approaching footsteps getting any closer to your position as you take your knife from your belt. Maybe, just maybe, you could take one of them out before they knew what hit them.

The man who entered the dining room slowly enters the kitchen and rounds the island with his back to you as he inspects the walk-in pantry to your right. Perfect. You quietly leap from your crouched position, wrapping your free hand around his mouth to muffle the yell that escapes his lips as you kick the back of his knee and send him to the ground. The force of your arm has done its job, muffling the sound of his surprised yelp as you quickly stab the side of his throat and twist before pulling it out. His blood spurts out from the wound, and you close your eyes and wince as it hits your face. You let go of him, and his hand flies to his wound as he wheezes. In his final attempt, he fires the gun in his hand aimlessly to alert the other man. 

Shit.

“Josh!” The other man yells from across the house, and his boots move quickly towards the kitchen.

Fuck.

The man - Josh - drops to the floor, his blood pooling out from his wound and covering the ground below him. His partner enters the room with his gun raised as he sees the bloody scene in front of him, his expression quickly shifting from one of annoyance to shock and anger.

You stand above Josh's body, his blood dripping from both your face and your knife, as the other man finally looks you in the eyes and raises his gun to you. You hold your breath as your attention is placed entirely on his intentions, and your mind races to come up with a plan to avoid getting shot.

You freeze, staring at the man in front of you. Your mind races as you try to calculate your next move in the split second you have before he pulls the trigger. Your thoughts are quickly interrupted by the sound of the trigger being pulled back. Your eyes widen as you dive back behind the counter, the bullet grazing the side of your arm, making you drop your knife in the process. 

You fall to the ground behind the counter and scramble into a crouched position, grunting at the pain in your arm as you push yourself back up. You quickly assess your arm, noticing that the bullet had only nicked you and that the blood was only steadily oozing out of the small gash. It didn't appear to be anything too serious, but any amount of blood loss is dangerous in this world.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“Who are you?” You demand, hoping they weren’t tracking you and just unfortunate to cross you. 

“Think you know already bitch.” He snaps back. 

Raiders. Fucking Raiders . 

Two weeks, you’d been running from a group of raiders. Two long weeks. You were ambushed by the group while you’d been on the train tracks with Annabel. You had managed to shoot one of them before you bolted with Annabel’s hand in yours. Luckily, they wanted you both alive otherwise, you would have been shot as you ran. Or unlucky if you think about it. 

Pretty women were hard to come by these days, they had said. 

The man, clearly impatient, rounds the counter just as his friend did. Instead of attacking him, you move around the kitchen island to keep the counters between you. When reaching the next corner of the island, you find the path clear to the dining room. With a deep breath, you bolt from your hiding spot and run hunched over into the dining room. Shots are fired as you run and your hands cover the back of your head instinctively as you move to your next cover.

The man swears as his bullets miss you. As you run from the dining room and into the entryway, you notice the men have blocked the front door with a table. Sure, you could easily move it but the boots slamming into the wood panelling underneath him, you know you don’t have the time. 

At your short stutter in movement, another bullet is shot and you duck. The bullet hits the table and you scramble into the living room, thankful he’s a shit shot. 

Quick thinking has you lifting your baseball bat from the strap on your bag as you run past the stairs leading upstairs and into a connecting room. You slam the door shut as the man shoves against it with his shoulder as you force it closed with all your body weight. You’re thankful – yet again – the door has a lock and as the door is shoved again, you lock it. 

Knowing a simple lock will not be enough to keep him out, You turn around and examine the room for anything to block the door with. Realising you have stumbled into an old nursery, you groan and shake your head.

Your brain going into overdrive, you decide to give up on blocking the door and stride over to the window. With a few tugs, you swear as you realise it’s locked. Looking around the room frantically for something to throw through the glass. But it’s a nursery, everything in here is soft and harmless. 

Your head snaps to the door as he slams into it again, the sound of wood breaking. Time is ticking. You look down at the baseball bat in your hand and sigh, wishing you hadn’t dropped your knife. Knowing you have to fight him instead of fleeing, you pick up the heaviest toy scattered on the floor. You find a decent sized wooden toy truck and toss it a few times in your hand and shrug at the weight. Not perfect, but it’ll do. 

You move towards the edge of the room besides the door. You wait with your bat in one hand and the toy raised in the other as the door creaks and groans. One last shove and the door breaks off its hinges and falls to the ground, leaving a cloud of dust in the air.   

The man stumbles through into the room, shocked and unprepared at the sudden break of the door. While his brain catches up to the new environment, you locate the gun in his hand and throw the wooden toy at his hands as he raises the gun. With a shocked grunt, the man drops the gun and you re-grip the bat with both hands as you land a hit at the back of his head. He stumbles forward and you kick the gun across the room as he falls onto the crib in the middle of the room.

The wooden crib breaks under his weight and you step over broken wood before stopping beside him. You raise your bat and land another strong hit to the back of his head. The man screams in agony as he slumps into the pile of wood. You let out a puff of air before you lift the bat over your head and swing again, and he stills on the floor. The bat cracks as you hit his skull again and you swear as the wood breaks in two. 

“Fuck,” You swear under your breath as you toss your favourite bat across the room in anger.

You nudge the man beneath you with your foot. He groans and you sigh. In this moment, you feel nothing. Your wound is there, the pain slowly creeping back into your body, but you don’t feel it. You aren’t afraid of death. You don't feel as protective towards Annabel as you should be. You are numb. Emotionless and void of feeling as you stare down at the man in front of you. His breaths come in short, panicked gasps. There is nothing you feel except the emptiness in your heart, your thoughts cold and indifferent to everything.

You are past the point of anger. You slip into nothing. 

 “And what do you do when you feel nothing?” 

“I get the fuck away from everyone, listen to music.”

You attempt to wipe the blood off your face from the man you stabbed but end up smearing it across your face. “Stay here.” You sigh emotionlessly as you turn and leave the room.         

Walking back into the kitchen, you step over the man you stabbed, picking up your knife. You kneel beside him, looting his body for anything useful. Your efforts are only rewarded with his gun and ammo. 

Upon reentering the nursery, you find the man in the same spot. Blood is splattered around him from the blunt trauma to his head and you shake your head as you step towards him, his blood tainting what is supposed to be an innocent room. 

Your expression is cold and determined as you stare down at him as he groans in pain. You lean down and grab onto his jacket as you turn him over onto his back. The wood cracks beneath him and moor blood seeps out from his head wound, staining what used to be a baby's crib. 

You take a deep breath as you move to straddle him. He squirms under you and cries, his hands covering his bloody and puffy face. You take your knife in both hands and lunge it into his chest. His hands claw at your arms as he screams again. You pull your knife from his chest before using all your strength to piece his chest again. And again. And again. 

His screams stop somewhere between the sixth and seventh time.  

You blink as you stab him again, blood all over your hands as they shake on the handle of your knife as it lodges into his chest again.

You pull your knife from his lifeless body and stand up on shaky legs. You look down at your body, the front of your clothes soaked in crimson blood, and are struck by the intensity of your actions. You put your knife back into its sheath on your belt before you can do any more damage, taking in the sight all around you.

Turning back to the man you mutilated only moments ago, you sigh as you pick up his handgun from where you kicked it. You look down at the body in front of you; his body a testament to the brutality you'd just perpetrated. The blood-covered floor was a grim reminder of the violence that had just taken place.

You shrug your backpack from your shoulders and onto a changing table across the room. You take your gun from your holster and reload it with a new magazine. You bag their two guns and put your own back in its thigh holster. 

Six years and thirty bodies now. Dean would be both proud and pissed.

After moving the table from the front door, you ran between houses and hopped fences to track back to Annabel as fast as you could, leaving bloody footprints as you went. The pain in your wounded arm is starting to become more noticeable as the adrenaline rush fades, reality sinking in, and you are beginning to wonder if you had done the right thing. But as you race back to Annabel, your mind is fixed on her well-being before anything else. You need to ensure that she is safe and unharmed, that no one has discovered her and is still alive. The thought of losing her terrifies you.

So when you open the front door of the house you were staying in and heard a man's voice, your anger rose again.

Closing the door behind you, you unholster your gun and quietly step down the hall towards the archway that leads into the lounge room. You take it slow, one step at a time, hoping the floorboards won't creak and give away your position. As you get closer and closer, the sound of laughter grows clearer and clearer in your ears. It's her. It's Annabel. And she's laughing? Just hearing her laugh lifts your heart and makes your chest clench as you step to the side of the archway.  

You slowly step into the archway, your gun drawn and ready to fire any potential threat that crosses your path. You spot your niece sitting cross-legged on the couch first and then notice the dark curls of a man sitting opposite her, facing away from you as he laughs at something she said. You feel your heart race, your mind running on pure animalistic instincts as you try to identify this man sitting so casually, laughing with Annabel as she tosses her rubber ball in the air.

Your eyes narrow at the sight of him, and your trigger finger tightens ever so slightly. You would have shot him right then and there, but she’s laughing .

Annabel's eyes widen as they fall upon you in the archway, the gun in your hand a clear warning for her not to say anything. She lets the ball drop to the ground, and it rolls across the floor to the man. 

“Get up, slowly." You bark the words at the unidentified man, your voice low and lacking any emotion. Your eyes are still fixed on him as you slowly enter the room, your gun still trained on him. 

He sighs and slowly stands from the chair when you order him to, his back to you as he raises his arms. "You must be the aunt," he says in a calm tone, not showing any signs of the fear you'd expect. You can hear the slight note of recognition in his voice, and a chill goes down your spine as you hear him speak. You still don't take your eyes off his back, waiting for him to turn to face you.

"Turn around," you say in a cold, firm tone.

"Is that your blood?" Annabel's voice cracks as she takes in your bloody appearance, and her eyes widen as she stares at you in horror and fear.

He turns slowly with his arms still raised, and once again, you study him carefully as he faces you. Now that he faces you, you can see the black eye forming on his face, and your shoulders relax slightly. At least Annabel didn't let him in willingly. He has dark, curly, shoulder-length hair and a moustache but is otherwise cleanly shaven. He wears a dark blue button-up, his toned arms visible through the fabric.

"That’s a lot of blood," the man mutters under his breath as he takes in your appearance. You can see his eyes study your blood-stained body, travelling down and back again as they stop at the gash on your arm. His eyes on you make you feel sick. "You're hurt, I can-" 

"Don't move." Your words stop him in his tracks, and it's evident from your tone that you won't tolerate him disregarding your instructions. “I’m fine.” You snap at the man and focus your gun on his head. 

"You're bleeding, pal. You look like hell," the man says, his voice showing genuine concern. "Here, let me see your arm-" he adds, moving his hand to gesture in the direction of his bag across the room beside Annabel.

“I said don’t MOVE .” You shout, and his arm freezes in response to your shouted command. Your words echo through the living room, and for a moment, you and the man just stare at each other. Your emotions are mixed, between the pain and shock from your own injuries and the strange mix of guilt and suspicion you have towards this man who seems to be genuinely trying to help you. Your gun is still raised, your finger still on the trigger, and you still haven’t decided if you can trust him. You’ve killed two men today, you can easily make that number three.

A soft hand touches your arm, and you flinch in response, caught off guard by the sudden change in your surroundings. You hadn't noticed that your niece had moved, and she whispers into your ear. "He's not a raider, and he’s not him. " Your muscles tense even more as you glare at the man before you, ready to kill him at the first sign of betrayal. But the words of Annabel leave you in a state of disbelief. How does she know he's not a raider? But the conviction in her tone gives you pause.  

You take your eyes off the man in front of you and look down at your niece beside you. Her eyes are soft and pleading with you, appealing to your sense of reason. You suck in a breath and close your eyes. You're tired, you're hurt, and you don't know what to think. But somehow, her words manage to penetrate the fog surrounding your thoughts, and for a moment, you entertain the possibility that she's right. You close your eyes and try to fight back the flashbacks of him. 

“He won’t hurt us.”

“Annabel” You sigh. “You don’t know that. I didn’t think he would hurt me either.” You open your eyes and focus back on the man in front of you. 

“He says he can help us. He’s heading to a town. A good town. Good people.” She rambles, trying to get her words out before you stop her again. 

You scoff, shaking your head. “Are you fucking stupid?”

She laughs softly beside you, and the sound sends a chill down your spine. Her laughter is dark and void of humour, and her voice seems colder than you've ever heard it before. "Maybe I am," she says quietly, as if speaking to herself. "But I'm sick of running." The change in her attitude and tone worries you, but you're too exhausted to say anything about it.

You frown at your niece's confession and grip the gun in your hands. "Fuck," you mutter as you lower the gun. The man lowers his arms, but your eyes are fixed on him as you glare at him. "You make one dodgy move, and I will put a bullet between your eyes." You snarl at him, the tension in your voice making your intentions crystal clear. "Am I clear?" You wait for his reply, your eyes never leaving him. You don't trust him yet, but you're willing to hear him out.

The man nods. “The name’s Tommy.” He smiles, and you roll your eyes. “Just – just let me take a look at your arm. Or are you just gonna bleed to death?”

“Fuck you.” You snap, taking a step forward and wincing as you move your arm. “Fine.”

Tommy guides you over to the chair he'd previously occupied and has you sit down after taking your bag from you and placing it beside the couch. Your eyes never leave him as he moves, although Annabel's presence brings you a slight sense of comfort.

Tommy drags his bag over to the couch and sits down next to you; his legs stretched out in front of him as he places the bag between his legs."How's the pain?" he asks, studying your injury as his eyes go wide at the sight of your bloodied arm. A few drops of blood trail down from your arm and pool on the chair beneath you. As he speaks, you look over at his black eye and notice a few light bruises around his cheek and neck. Annabel had definitely gotten a few good hits in.

"Don't feel anything." You mutter a short and somewhat snippy response as he lifts your arm for a better look. He seems to ignore your attitude and simply focuses on assessing the severity of your injuries. "How's the eye?" You smirk at him, and his expression changes to one of amusement as he shakes his head, the black eye on his face clearly still bothering him. You can't help but feel a small sense of pride at seeing his injury. 

The tension in the room is starting to shift, your mistrust for Tommy slowly turning to more mutual respect. Your niece had warned you that this man might not have been a raider and that he wasn't hostile. Now you're starting to believe her. He still hasn't given you enough reason to trust him fully, but your suspicions are slowly being tempered by curiosity.

"What happened out there?" Annabel asks as she rises from her chair and rounds the back of the couch to your bag, rummaging through it and pulling out your walkman and headphones. She tosses the headphones in your direction, and your tension eases ever so slightly as you catch the gesture from your niece. She knows your music calms you, a reminder of the safety and comfort you had back in your old home before everything fell apart. 

Tommy digs through his own bag, taking out a water bottle and a small med-pack and placing it on the couch beside him. You appreciate the gesture and keep a watchful eye on the pack and any movements Tommy makes as you place one of your headphones over your ear while the one closest to Tommy sits behind your ear to hear him still. You turn on your walkman, the calming sound of music filling your ears and sending a surge of relief through you. Your heart begins to beat slowly and evenly as your muscles relax and your tension subsides. 

"Ran into some raiders still tracking us," you say as you settle back onto the couch with your headphones still playing your music. Tommy takes the water bottle and pours it over your wounded arm to wash away some of the blood, and you can't help but sigh with relief as the water touches your skin. The music and the sensation of the water on your arm are enough to make you feel more at ease, and your eyes droop slightly with a sudden sense of relaxation.

"Must have been a lot of raiders, from the amount of blood on you," Tommy says while gesturing to your bloodied clothes. He tightens the lid back on the bottled water before placing it back on the ground and reaching for the med pack. You can't help but notice the needle and thread along with the bottle of alcohol rub, and your tension and suspicion heighten once again. Why does he need the needle and thread? Is he going to sew up your wound? The thought of him poking a needle into your injured arm makes your skin crawl.

"Just the two..." You start to say, but your words are cut short as your frown deepens at the sight of the needle. The man sighs in response to the expression on your face, and you wonder for a moment if he can read your thoughts. You consider objecting or fighting back, but with the pain beginning to creep into your arm and your emotions slowly coming back due to the music in your ears, you decide against it.

"Yes, I've done this before, and yes, this will hurt," the man answers your silent questions. His words are paired with an apologetic smile, which does nothing to ease the tension of the situation. 

Tommy opens the bottle of alcohol rub and pours it onto a clean cloth from the med pack, using it to wipe your wound clean gently. You bite your lip and look away from him, still refusing to look at him directly.

Once satisfied, he places the bottle back in the pack and picks up the needle and thread from his lap. He holds the needle and thread in his hands, and your body tenses up even more when he moves towards your injured arm. "You need stitches," he adds. You know he's right, but the thought of the needle touching your wound and poking through your flesh makes your stomach churn, your heart pound and your breathing quicken. Your eyes remain glued to him, your body tensing in anticipation. 

"Fine," you grit out through clenched teeth, turning away from Tommy as you refuse to watch him pierce your skin with the needle. 

The music in your ear still plays at full volume, still sending waves of comfort into your mind and body. But your grip on the gun in your hand stays tight, your entire body on edge and tense. Your other arm remains held firmly in place by Tommy’s hand as the needle and thread pieces through your skin as he begins to patch you up, preventing you from making any sudden movements. 

You focus on the music in your ears as Tommy stitches your wound, and Annabel watches from the armchair opposite you. Once he's finished stitching your wound, Tommy lightly taps your arm. You look over at him with confusion until he tilts his head down towards your arm, and you follow his gaze. Slowly and carefully, you lift your arm and inspect his work. To your surprise, Tommy has done a decent job; the stitches are small and even. You consider thanking him for sewing up your wound, but you find yourself unable to muster the words of appreciation.

"How many times have you been stitched up? You barely flinched," Tommy's voice breaks your thoughts as he finishes up and discards the remaining thread, closing up his med pack. 

You remain silent for a moment, processing his question as you look at your new scar and wondering if you should answer it. You consider explaining that the music in your ears helped keep you calm or that your pride and desire not to seem weak kept you from making a fuss, but you decide against it. Instead, you simply shrug in response to his question, leaving him to draw his own conclusions.  

"She has a weird tolerance to pain," Annabel suddenly interjects into the conversation, and both you and Tommy's heads snap towards her in surprise."I remember once when we were kids, she fell down a concrete path on a hill, and she pretty much tore all the skin from her leg," Annabel continues, and both you and Tommy share a look as you recall the memory. "There was so much blood, and she just got up and didn't care. I think I cried enough for her," Annabel adds lightly.    

Tommy watches you, his face neutral but his eyes betraying a small flash of surprise at the revelation about your high pain tolerance. 

You want to say something, anything, to deny Annabel's words, but you can't find the words to say. Instead, you simply smile slightly and shrug.

"Well then," Tommy nods in response to Annabel as he stands up from the chair. "I passed a river about an hour's walk back. How about we get you cleaned up, and then I can bandage that arm?" His smile warms his expression, and he extends a hand towards you. 

Your response is immediate and harsh, swatting his hand away and glaring at him. "I can stand by myself," you growl out, and your tone and body language make your irritation clear. You're not ready to trust him yet, and he knows it. Even so, he continues to smile and keeps his tone light.

"Alright, little miss sunshine," Tommy teases in response to your glare, and you can't help but roll your eyes in annoyance.

You remove the headphones and turn off your walkman, stowing them away in your bag before standing to face him. You reluctantly holster your gun and cross your arms, glaring in his direction.

“If you try anything-” 

"You'll shoot me, I get it, Sunshine," he responds with a smirk, unbothered by your harsh tone. He adjusts his bag on his back and begins to walk out of the room. His body language is relaxed despite the tension in the air. He doesn't seem to take any offence to your words or demeanour.  

"I like him," Annabel grins as she picks up her own bag and begins to follow him. "He doesn't put up with your bullshit," she remarks as she passes you, picking up her ball on the way out, and you grimace slightly at her words, annoyed by her attempt at humour.

It took you two weeks before you stopped keeping a hand on your holstered gun around Tommy. 

Now

Spring 2024 

You continue tossing the rubber ball against the wall, your mind fixated on the object in your hands. Your mind wanders to the lifeless bodies that litter the room, the souls you took in cold blood. The room is cold to the touch and feels devoid of life. You look around at the corpses surrounding you and feel nothing. They deserved this. Deserved worse than this.

The soft groans from the last remaining man fill the room, where he sits tied to the chair in the middle of the room. He is barely alive after what you did to him, and you left him to suffer instead of a quick death.

You have never been one to believe in religion, but as you sit in the church basement, you feel uneasy about committing acts of murder on a once sacred ground. 

You keep tossing the ball, watching it bounce off the rotting walls and floor, listening to the sound of it splashing in the blood that covers the floor. You try to focus on the ball and ignore the gruesome scene around you. But the more you try to block out the images, the clearer they become in the candle-lit room. 

Your mind is a mess of conflicting emotions as you keep tossing the ball, flashbacks of your niece fill your thoughts—her laughter, her smile and then her blood as it soaks your clothes as you hold her for the final time. You throw the ball against the wall with even more force as you try to block out the thoughts of Annabel. The blood splatters over you from the splash from the ball, covering you in more cold blood. You sink to the floor, overwhelmed by regret and guilt.

You sit on the floor, surrounded by a sea of blood, numb to everything around you. Tears should've been streaming down your face, but no tears came. The tears never came, just numbness. You feel numb to the world, like a soulless creature who has lost their humanity. You are frozen in place, unable to move or see anything beyond the red blur in front of you.

You would kill for your old walkman. To have music again. 

You listen to the footsteps and voices as they echo throughout the church, but you don't care who they belong to. You close your eyes, letting out a long, deep sigh, as you rest your head against the wall. You couldn't bring yourself to care or lift a finger to defend yourself.

You open your eyes and look up, finding Tommy staring at you, shock and relief on his face. He’s holding his rifle in his hands, and his eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him, at the mutilated man in the chair whose soft wheezes begin to rise at the sight of Tommy. Good , he is still alive and suffering.   

Another man steps into the doorway behind him, but you don't care or pay attention to them, your mind still in a fog. You just stare back at Tommy with blank, empty eyes, not saying a word.

Tommy nods and steps over a body that blocks the doorway, followed by the man behind him.  

“You were meant to wait for me.” Tommy avoids your eyes, his voice firm and authoritative as he stalks over to the tortured man. 

“You were busy.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. 

Tommy lifts the man's head by his hair and examines the torture and blood-stained scene you had caused. He nods in approval, a small smirk forming on both your faces as he lets the man's head drop back to his chest.

The man lets out a groan, but you feel no pity or sympathy for him. You feel a surge of satisfaction at the sound of the man's pain, a sense of justice being served for what he had done to your niece. He deserves to suffer for his crimes. 

"They could have killed you, Sunshine," Tommy's southern accent drew out his words as you shook your head at his nickname for you. The nickname felt like a stab to the heart, a reminder of who you had been before your niece's death. 

Maybe he still believes in you, even after everything you have done. Maybe there was still some good left in you, some shred of humanity. But you weren't so sure anymore. You enjoyed killing them, after all.

“I think we both know they didn’t stand a chance.” You huff out a dry laugh, frowning as your stomach begins to hurt from the movement.

Tommy shakes his head as he bends down to collect your knife and gun on the floor you had dropped after you had killed everyone. 

You had become a deadly pair, hunting down and killing those responsible for your niece's death. Maybe you had lost yourself along the way to the neverending anger, but Tommy still believed in you and still saw the good in you even though you couldn't. 

"Your luck will run out one day," the other man's voice startles you, sounding low and gruff. You look up from Tommy and turn your eyes towards the man behind him, who is holding a shotgun. You narrow your eyes, trying to remember who he is. You haven’t seen him around Jackson before. But even if he lived there the whole time, you were never good with faces. Who is he ? You remain wary and on edge, not sure who to trust except for Tommy.

Tommy seems to sense your distrust, and he turns back to the man behind him, his hand outstretched. “This is Joel. Remember?” 

Joel? There was no way this was Joel, his brother, right? 

“My brother.” He continues, and you tilt your head in a nod. “He was in Jackson for a night a while back... You remember that, right?”

You stare at Joel, studying his appearance and comparing it to Tommy's. He certainly looks like him, but he is definitely older. He has the same dark hair as Tommy but scattered with a few grey hairs. You aren’t sure whether that is from the stress of the apocalypse or his age.

Your brow furrows, and you shake your head, your memory of him lost. "I was beginning to worry that your first impression of me would be one of a blood-soaked killer." You grin through drowsily-lidded eyes as the exhaustion from the bloodshed begins to weigh heavily on you.

Joel keeps darting his eyes between you and the carnage around him. You can see him taking in the scene you had created, his face showing a mix of shock and curiosity. 

“You don’ need to worry about what I think of ya, darl’” Joel mutters, his eyes not meeting yours as he nudges a corpse on the ground with his foot.

"Nice to know what you'll look like in a few years, though, old man," You chuckle with a lighthearted tone. But as you finish the sentence, you feel a pain in your stomach and begin to wince and cough. The air is tight in your lungs, and you can barely catch your breath. The adrenaline from the fight is slowly wearing off, making you more aware of your injuries. Your hand shoots to your stomach as you clutch it, trying to steady your breath through the new pain.

Shit . The anger and numbness is starting to slip, and you begin to feel your body once more. “Tommy,” You gasp as pain and panic soar through you. 

Tommy shoves his gun into Joel's chest and strides the short distance to you. He kneels before you and assesses you for any of your injuries. His voice is stern as he questions, "How much of this blood is your own?" Although his voice is unwavering, you can see the fear in his eyes as he looks down at you.

You look down at yourself and see how much blood you are covered in. It is hard to tell what is yours or your victims' blood. You try to recall the fight, but everything is a blurry mess inside your head from your mind being clouded with anger. You feel sick, the pain creeping through your body. You aren’t used to physical pain; you don’t know how to deal with the unwanted feeling. 

"I don't know," You reply. "I think most of it belongs to them..." You gesture towards the lifeless bodies that surround you.

Tommy nods and lifts up your shirt, and you let out a grunt of pain as the shirt is stuck to your skin from the blood. You wince at the sight, following his gaze to the large slash covering your stomach. Confusion washes over you, not understanding how you could have missed an injury like that. Reality begins to sink in at the state of your injury, and you feel terrified. A feeling you aren’t used to.  

You let out another pained grunt as his hand reaches out to touch the wound, instincts taking over and making you grab his wrist defensively.

"Don't," You gasp, too weak to hold it together anymore. “It hurts Tommy. Why does it hurt?” The pain begins to rise along with the nausea. Your stomach churns, and your grip on Tommy tightens as you lean over to the side and dry reach. Tommy grabs your hair and holds it back with his free hand as you finally spill your stomach’s contents on the floor beside you. Your head throbs, the overwhelming dizziness clouding your head.

“You’re okay, Sunshine. You’re going to be okay.” Tommy whispers, letting go of your hair and wiping the vomit from your mouth.   

“She good?” Joel questions from across the room. 

Tommy slowly nods. “It’s not deep, but if she’s feeling the pain, it's fucking bad.” He grimaces at the sight of your stomach. 

Tommy reaches his hand out to Joel and asks for the bandages in his brother's backpack. Joel shifts his backpack off his back and kneels on the blood-stained floor as he digs through his bag to find the supplies. 

You wheeze, the pain of vomiting with your wound overbearing.  

Tommy catches the bandages as Joel tosses them to him. He unravels the bandages and sighs an apology before applying pressure to your wound. You grit your teeth, suppressing a groan at the pain. 

Joel moves over to the man you had left alive and studies his injuries. “She really do all this by herself?” 

Tommy holds back a laugh as he tries to slow your bleeding. “What can I say? She learnt from the best.” He teases.

After managing to slow the bleeding, he begins to wrap your stomach in bandages, taking care to apply the bandage tightly. Tommy takes his time with careful hands to make sure it is done correctly and protects you from further damage. The entire process is done with care and concern, your well-being being the most important thing to him at the moment. 

You roll your head to the side and search for the rubber ball, spotting it in a pool of blood. You go to reach for it, but Tommy leans over and picks it up, shaking the blood from it and pockets it. 

Tommy swears as you cry out in pain as he slips a hand under your outstretched legs and behind your back. He grunts as he lifts you up into his arms, and you grip his jacket tightly. You press your head into his chest, trying to distract yourself from the pain that is starting to creep through your veins. The adrenaline that surges through your body in the heat of the fight begins to wane, and the full impact of the pain starts to set in. You try to remain calm and still, your breaths shallowing as you wait for the pain to pass.

Tommy turns and walks past Joel, pausing in the doorway as his brother speaks up. "We're not killing him?" Joel questions, his tone sceptical as he gestures to the man tied to the chair with his gun. He looks back at us, where you remain nestled in Tommy's arms. 

“Was gonna let him suffer,” you explain between breaths, and Tommy’s hands hold you tighter at your words. “But you can do whatever you want to him.” You mumble as you lean into Tommy’s embrace, the blood loss making you exhausted. 

Joel nods and points his shotgun at the tied man. 

You feel the warmth of Tommy's body and his heart beating against your cheek, giving you a sense of comfort. You raise your head to look at him as his voice shouts over his shoulder as he leaves the room to ascend the stairs from the basement, "And do it quick! We gotta get her back to the clinic."

Joel's voice drifts through the walls, uttering a few muffled words. But before you can decipher what he said, a gunshot stops the other man's pleas, and the walls around you shake. Time seems to stand still as you realise what has just happened. The man was dead, and that gunshot had meant one thing - Joel had done the deed. Finishing what you started. 

Chapter 2

Notes

Hey guys!! I've been writing and posting small concepts of this story and decided to start writing a more detailed story.

Thank you for all the love so far! This is my first longer fic that I've actually stuck with and I'm really glad you are all enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it!

Divider by the beautiful saradika

Also a layout of the house mentioned in the first part!