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evilgwrl · 4 months ago

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TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: One

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Minor gore

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

It only started as a cold. Then it spread to a viral infection, consuming people faster than poison. It didn’t take long for the world to stop, for terror to appear, spreading like a wildfire, destroying cities as quickly as they appeared.

It was a vastly asked question growing up, “Do you think you would survive the apocalypse?” and to those who answered yes, where are you now? For you, surviving came easy. You remember it, the scene playing in your head like clockwork.

“Vienna, we have to go!” You spat, your voice scratching against your parched throat as you watched the dead-alive tear at the walls, staggering limbs chasing after the scent of beating veins.

“I can’t run any faster,” Vienna spat, sheer fire running through her exhausted body as she stumbled upon the concrete road. You trusted her. You were going to get through it together. You were all each other had now.

You didn’t stop, only grabbing her hand as your worn shoes skidded against the floor, the smell of rubber burning your nose. “We need to get over that fence!” You yelled, your eyes blurred from exhaustion as you tugged the girl next to you, your sweat dancing along your palms.

You stumbled, heavy feet clamping into the chain as you attempted to pull yourself up. The taste of metallic engorged your mouth as you bit harshly on your tongue, gripping onto Vienna’s hand in an effort to pull her up.

“You need to hurry!” Your voice yelped out, dragging the girl as if she was a rag-doll, your efforts rushed as you attempted to pull her up. It felt like a movie, the sound of gargling flesh, mangled between broken teeth and rotting skin acting as a soundtrack, yet it wasn’t fiction. This was real, this was reality.

Your leg was now hunched over, your body positioned between the fence as you focused on saving your friend. The clamminess between both of your hands, causing a friction as she continued to slip. “I-I can’t, Y/N, pull me harder,” Vienna exasperated, her voice high pitched as she watched behind her, rotten claws scratching the air.

Vienna’s feet dug into the chain as she wobbled, slick pools of blood flooding at her palms as she sliced the tender skin upon the metal. A grunt left her mouth as she clasped onto your hand, the dead swarming closer, desperate and starved.

Almost comically, Vienna whispered out an “I’m sorry” before tugging. You landed with a whack, your knees hitting the ground as you winced, your jeans skidding across the ground, fresh marks of friction, followed by the prickle of blood appeared quickly upon your palms and knees as your eyes darted to the girl infront of you, clambering up the fence.

Your breathing stilled, the sound of static filling your ears, muting everything around you as your limbs froze up. This was it, you thought, the stench of death approaching you as you attempted to stand, hands gripping out to reach for any weapon as the sound of struggle behind you deafened you.

You covered your ears, tucking your face into your knees as you sat up, flashes of everything you were running through your brain like a compilation. Instead, you were met with the trample of feet and bodies toppling over you. Your eyes adjusted, looking at the huddle of zombies walking near you, not paying you a care as they focused on the flesh of your once friend.

Your body stirred for a second, your flesh searing in the sun as you crawled up, your legs weak. You almost wish you had died then, the sound of Vienna’s scream even after her betrayal paralysing you. You didn’t stick around, your hand securing your satchel as you limped off, the sound of squelching and gnarling being the only thing you left behind.

You kept a calendar on a torn, leather notebook, marking each day carefully since the first. It had been 296 days. 296 days of being alone. 296 of being invisible. 296 days of nothing. You survived in an old farm house, tucked away in a rural forest in God know’s where. It was funny, you expected to see someone, anyone, but you never did.

Maybe it was easier that way, you were a given a chance with someone, and they left you to die. It was easy to make a simple life for yourself out here and you often wondered why the previous owner’s had left.

Your food was supplied by the garden, a plethora of fruits and vegetables adorned across the land as you tended to them. There were animals too. Cows, chickens, horses. You grew to care for them, speaking to them often as if they would reply. It was worth a shot, you thought, and it made you less lonely.

You survived by fending for yourself, learning how to shoot an arrow as you hunted the occasional deer in the forest, tenderising the meat on their gas stove. There was a small town nearby, practically untouched that you had raided, using the spare pickup truck that dusted away in the garage.

You had never seen anyone, but if you did, whoever lived here didn’t shy away from guns, the shotgun he left behind and the small pistols he littered around the house, along with your bow and arrow, were your forms of protection. Everything was simple. Everything was as perfect as it could be, you were fine.

It was a regular occurrence for you to ride now, your ass plush against the saddle as you trotted around the acreage. It was rare to see zombies along here, the silence speaking for itself, and if they did, they didn’t pay any attention to you walking over to them and chopping their head off with an axe. You found it comforting as you listened to the whistle of the horse’s nostrils, breathing out slowly.

As it grew dark, you locked the barn, securing it tightly before heading inside. You were thankful for fire as you chucked a log of wood you had chopped into the burner, lighting it with a match. You locked the door, front and back, as you shut the blinds, a simple routine you did to soothe yourself. Your feet, covered by fluffy socks you had found in a cupboard, padded against the floor as you headed up the creaky stairs.

Your body conformed to the blankets covering you, hushing you to sleep as your body gratefully accepted. The only thing that would wake you would be the sun, and the haunting memory of Vienna.

The teapot whistled, steam singing out of the nozzle as you carried it to the bath. Though it was a luxury to shower in hot water, it had rained these past couple of weeks, allowing for the rain tank to fill up and be put to good use.

Your body scorched against the porcelain tub as you stepped in, the muscles in your thighs kneading themselves into tight balls before the tension released. You used one of the several soap bars you had stored, scrubbing against your tender skin as you washed yourself. Your fingers trailed against the gash of a scar on your forearm, a reminder of the fence, a reminder of her.

You finished up, your body snug around a towel you had recently washed using an off-the-grid washing machine they kept stored in the basement. Thank God people lived like that before civilisation turned to shit, either that, or Amish. You weren’t complaining about either.

You changed into a pair of shorts, the weather slowly warming up as the winter passed, the celebration of spring approaching on your calendar. You fed yourself with an apple before approaching the barn, the key clicking against the door as you greeted the animals, feeding them with a mix of leftover animal food and vegetables. Sure, it wasn’t the best diet, but it fed them well enough to provide milk and eggs.

Your feet padded against the hay-covered floor, arms stroking the horse you were most fond of (that you called Nancy) before letting her out, straddling her waist with a saddle as you dragged her to the fenced paddock. You were quick to grab Cecil, the male of the pair. While he was now fond of you, your stomach had still not fully forgiven him for the brutal kick he gave you when you first met.

Once your legs grew, sore, staggering to continue directing the horse, you huddled inside, as you began to sew, using an old dress you found to create a shirt and a skirt. You hummed softly to yourself, the silence of the house speaking back to you, the distance sound of a chugging engine humming in as you stilled.

Like a statue, you froze before dropping expletives, your body slinking over to the window as you looked outside. Is that.. a truck? The soft hum of the engine grew closer as you rushed to grab your shotgun, before rushing outside, hands flailing around as you waited for the car to turn around.

“This is private property!” You yelled, your voice stern, “You need to leave.” Your face was vastly covered by the large gun you held, doing your best to intimidate whoever it was that drove on the land.

You heard the sound of doors opening, before four different doors closed. You lowered your gun, eyes squinting as you froze. You almost felt like your eyes were betraying you as you took in the group before you.

A man wearing a bucket hat, raised his arms slowly, slinking towards you as you stepped back. “Listen, we ain’t- we ain’t trying to scare you,” he spoke, his voice authoritative, “we didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

“Well, I am,” you snapped, lowering the gun slightly to look at him, “So fuck off, you and whoever is behind you isn’t welcome here.”

A man, the tallest of the group, stepped forward. He was intimidating, a black balaclava with a skull face situated on top covered his identity, his frame bricked with muscle as his chest puffed forward, “Listen-“ he began before the man with the hat cut him off.

“We ain’t here for issues, sweetheart, simply need a place to stay. We were in the military and we would greatly appreciate it.”

You furrowed your brows as you raised your gun again, “If you were in the military, why the fuck are you still here? Shouldn’t they have shipped you off somewhere safe?”

“We were on a mission, stuck in a safe house in the middle of nowhere. We assumed we had lost connection when no one could contact us. Took us a while to realise what had happened,” he spoke, arms over his chest, “I promise we ain’t here to hurt ya, at most we just want to eat and if you don’t want us here tomorrow, we’ll get out of your hair, a’right?”

You stilled, taking in their clothes, lined with badges and gear you would only seen on someone in the military. You lowered your gun before turning on your heel back to the house. You waited for a second, not moving, before you heard the sound of multiple feet against gravel before they walked into the house, soft sighs leaving their lips.

“Do you have supplies?” You quipped, tone harsh as you looked at them, placing the gun down yet keeping it in arms reach. Sure you had never shot one, but how hard could it be?

Another man nodded and you could finally take a look at him. Does he have a Mohawk? You couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh as you stared at him. “Got some bottled water in the boot, and some military meals we found at some shops along the way as well as some toiletries. It’s not a lot- but it’ll help,” he said, a thick Scottish accent causing you to scrunch your brows together in an attempt to understand him.

You nodded slowly, still not taking your eyes off of them before reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a labelled pot. The words stew stared back at you before you turned on the stove, letting it simmer. “The best I can feed you all with notice is left over deer stew. If you don’t want it, fend for yourself else where,” you snapped, rubbing between your eyebrows as you grabbed a spoon.

“That’s more than enough, thank you,” the hat man said, his arms resting on the table before he headed outside, to presumably grab the supplies in the boot.

“You been out here this whole time?” An unfamiliar voice spoke. You turned to him. He was handsome, with a boyish smile and soft features, his skin a complimenting shade of brown.

“Not the whole time, ended up here by mistake I suppose but I’m not complaining.”

“You survived this entire time by yourself?” The masked man gibed, looking you up and down as if you were useless. You shot him a nasty glare, your tone spiteful, “Yes, I have and now I have four dickwads at my door, begging to stay with me.”

The man silenced himself, eyes crinkling slightly as he turned around. “What’s your name?” The Scottish one asked, stepping closer to watch you heat the food as your body tensed.

“Y/N,” you said curtly.

“I’m Soap,” he announced, bouncing softly on his feet as he breathed in real food for a change.

“Hell kinda name is Soap?” You spat, staring at him.

“Military name, lass. Real names John,” he added, a small smile on his face before he turned to the others. “That’s Gaz, or Garrick,” he said, pointing to the handsome one, “and that’s Ghost, or-“

“Just Ghost,” the masked man grumbled. You rolled your eyes at his lack of manners, growing more frustrated by the second.

Soap strummed his fingers against the counter before clearing his throat. “The one outside is Price, names also John so it’s easier to just call us Price and Soap.”

The man you now knew as Price walked back in, hands clutching plastic containers filled with water bottles, items stacked on top as he placed them on the counter. “Thank you,” he said, gesturing towards the stew as you nodded.

“There are two spare bedrooms upstairs that you can rest in for the night, I’ll show you to them after we eat,” you say, grabbing a ladle and 5 China bowls.

As you sat down, you felt yourself relax slightly, trying to reassure yourself that if they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so already. Would others around the house be that bad? You shook your head, shaking the idea away.

They’re leaving first thing tomorrow.

#poly 141 x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley #ghost #john soap mactavish #soap #captain john price #price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #ghost smut #soap smut #gaz smut #captain price smut #141 au #141 smut #poly!141 smut

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lloydskywalkers · 1 month ago

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three sword style

Or, Lloyd and his evolving relationship with what it means to choose a weapon, as supervised by Kai. listen I know Wu technically gives them all their new weapons in season 11 according to some random book referenced in the ninjago wiki (or at least Lloyd’s sword) but you know who ACTUALLY has a degree in making weapons and canonically has made a golden sword SO. My canon now. (also spot the brain rot I infected myself with in the title)

Lloyd grows up in a world of weaponry and at the speed of light.

There are worse ways to grow up, maybe. There are also better ones — one where kids get to grow up instead blasting into teenager-hood in the span of seconds — but Lloyd doesn’t like to complain about where he’s ended up.

Second to the speed of light thing, though, the weapons part is pretty big.

Weapons determine the single biggest turning point in his life, after all. It’s the Golden Weapons that make him the Green Ninja, a title that’s a lot more important than Lloyd’s ever been. It’s also that particular title that makes Lloyd the weapon, so that’s fun. Ninjago’s prophesied emergency failsafe, the Green Ninja — that’s him.

On a nicer note, it’s the Fangblade that gets him a big brother, and proves that there’s someone out there who cares about Lloyd over some stupid weapon, so hah.

Getting back to the point, though—

Weapons. Lloyd’s been making do without one, and he’s been making pretty good do, thank you very much. He’s got his power, and he’s got himself. That’s all the weapon Lloyd needs.

But no one else seems to agree, and since ninety percent of the time whatever prophecy-of-doom crops up this month involves cursed weaponry of some sort, they all figure it’s a good a reason as any to stick Lloyd with a reliable weapon.

And while wielding all the elements is one thing, wielding every kind of weapon at once would be kind of difficult, even for his dad.

So Lloyd finally gets an actual, for-real, decision that he gets to make all by himself.

It’s a monumentous occasion — and yes, that is a word, Nya, Lloyd knows some stuff — so if Lloyd was smart he’d treasure it and take his time.

With that in mind, it takes all of thirty seconds for Lloyd to choose. This is only mildly insulting to some parties.

“Fine, sure, go with the most basic pick in the world,” Jay scoffs. “Swords. Boring.”

“Sounds like you’re just jealous,” Kai shoots back.

“Jealous of swords? Please. I just thought Lloyd was a little more creative than that.”

“I like swords,” Lloyd says, at a loss.

“Jay is only relieved that no one will one-up his nunchuck expertise, now,” Zane smiles.

Jay sputters indignantly. “No one’s one-upping me, I’m the best there is!”

“Uh-huh,” Cole shakes his head. “Well, if that’s what Lloyd wants, that’s the end of it.” His mouth quirks. “Means more training time for Kai, anyways.”

“More training to be better than you,” Kai retorts.

“Like the rest of you, Lloyd will continue to work toward mastering at least the basics of any weapon,” Sensei Wu sighs. “A ninja confined to one weapon alone—”

“Is a dead ninja,” Jay nods.

Sensei Wu cuts his eyes at him. “That is not how I was going to finish.”

“The point stands though, right?”

“The point,” Sensei Wu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that while Lloyd will continue to train with all of you, focusing on swordsmanship will become the priority. So yes, in a way. More training for Kai.”

Lloyd rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry…?”

“Why are you sorry?” Kai beams, more proud than smug. “I finally get an official katana apprentice. We’re gonna be awesome.”

And that alone, Lloyd thinks, makes it worth all the complaining.

“Great,” Jay throws his arms up. “Now we’re stuck with two slice ‘em dice ‘em ninjas.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Cole says. “It’s Kai, how dangerous can he be.”

“I resent that,” Kai says. “Just because you beat me once or twice—”

“Try thirteen times, and counting.”

“—it does not mean I’m not as dangerous as you,” Kai narrows his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Wanna prove it?”

“Bring it on, rock man.”

“Not in the kitchen, for FSM’s sake—“

Whether or not Cole beats him (which he does, pretty badly, because Cole is kinda terrifying like that) Lloyd knows that to some degree, Kai is dangerous. Very dangerous, with or without his swords.

It’s hard to think of Kai like that, though. When Lloyd thinks of Kai, he thinks of warm arms wrapped tight around him in the Fire Temple. Thinks of the first hugs he’s gotten from someone other than his father that felt like home. Thinks of protection — thinks safe. Thinks family.

He’s wanted to be like Kai for a while, now. So yeah. It’s an easy choice.

Plus, swords are way cool.

______

Kai starts training him in Dareth’s dojo. It takes about a week for them to get banished to the roof of their apartment, which is mostly Lloyd’s fault — but Kai’s the one supposed to be teaching him, so he can take the blame this time.

…well, maybe Lloyd’s the one who keeps losing his grip on the katana, but that’s not quite his fault, either.

Kai is better than basically any swordsman on this side of Ninjago in years, if not all Ninjago. Lloyd knows this because Uncle Wu told him so, and because Kai wipes the floor with him the first, second, and twenty-ninth time they spar.

“The point is to keep your grip on the katana, you know,” Kai says, as Lloyd retrieves his sword from where it went flying (again). “What kind of hold it that supposed to be, butterfingers deluxe?”

“You said not to grip it too tight,” Lloyd complains.

Kai rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you had it in a death hold. I didn’t say, ‘let go and let it fly’.”

“I didn’t let it fly, you knocked it out of my hand!”

“Aha, so you’re admitting I won. Again.”

“N-no!” Lloyd protests. “I’m just warming up. I’ll show you this time.”

But as Kai takes his stance again, his own katana held with a kind of grace Lloyd has zero idea how to ever accomplish, Lloyd thinks he might be a bit of a lost cause.

It’s difficult, because every time he goes to swing his sword, his power thrums in his blood, in his hands, always ready to lash out. It’s quickly become a habit, to start every fight slinging green blasts around. Lloyd’s already grown fond of the little bell-like sounds his power makes, the steady pulse as bright green builds in his palms.

Lloyd is the Green Ninja, after all. His power is what makes him, well, him. He’s his own best weapon — he’s the one the prophecy needs to make things right.

Kai keeps putting weapons in his hands, anyways.

Training katanas, mostly. He got to hold the Sword of Fire once, before his dad took it. It was beautiful — Lloyd kinda gets why Kai’s so up in arms about it getting stolen.

That and the whole don’t-give-Garmadon-the-Golden-Weapons thing.

Kai seems confused that Lloyd remembers it, which is weird because the Golden Weapons are kind of a big deal, but Lloyd decides to chalk it up to all the other weirdness in his life.

The first true katana Kai ever gives Lloyd is…not quite as cool as the Sword of Fire, and definitely not as beautiful, but in a way that Lloyd likes.

“We’re kinda short on weapons,” Kai admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t exactly have access to smithing equipment right now, which means you’re stuck with one of my old ones. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lloyd adjusts his hands around the hilt, taking an experimental swing. “This is a great sword!”

“Yeah, okay, liar — and don’t swing it around like that, you look like you’re waving a pool noodle.”

Kai grabs his hands, forcing Lloyd’s arms to hold steady.

“Like this, okay?” Kai says. “We’re gonna start by practicing single movements.”

“Aw,” Lloyd visibly wilts. “More katas? I thought I was gonna get to learn some cool moves.”

“This is a cool move. If you’re good, you finish things in one hit,” Kai says. “One strike, and the fight’s over.”

“Like a headshot,” Lloyd nods.

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “This is not a video game. This is a real sword, and you’re going to learn to use it right.”

“And then we can do the cool moves?”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Do your katas or I’m firing you.”

Lloyd sticks his tongue out at him. “You can’t fire me. I’m the Green Ninja.”

“Yeah? I’ll demote you to Green Washer-of-Dishes for the rest of the month.”

“No! You can’t, Nya and I have a deal!”

Jokes aside, Lloyd is sure to remind Kai, as he scrubs dishes and Kai dries them, that he does take training seriously.

He takes all his training seriously. It’s kind of his only job.

Lloyd practices hits until his knuckles split and scab, masters high kicks with shins colored violent blues and purples, forms green starbursts in his hands until his fingers crack and bleed.

When his palms blister from the sword hilt on top of it all, Kai makes him hold still until he’s wrapped the first-aid bandage around his hands at least five times, then shoves his old gloves on him when he starts to form calluses.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t need them, but Lloyd still wears the gloves everyday and tucks them away each night, storing them with the other few, treasured things he’s been gifted.

______

The longer he trains with swords, the more Lloyd gains calluses and nicked fingers and perpetually smells a little like cloves.

That last part Lloyd enjoys, though he’ll never admit it. He’s not about to go and tell people he enjoys cleaning stuff, no thanks.

But there’s something nice about helping Kai take care of the katanas, in a relaxing sort of way. The wood-smoke tang of cloves smells like home, which Lloyd treasures, because home isn’t something he’s very used to.

Treasures is probably an understatement. Lloyd latches onto it like he’s starving. Part of it’s because this is something he gets to have with Kai, all by himself. He’s never had something like that before, either — a special thing that’s shared just with him.

Well, maybe besides the green gi, but the Green Ninja is something that belongs to everyone. Whatever Lloyd does when he puts the green gi on is everyone’s business, since it determines the fate of the world or something like that, and it doesn’t really even feel like his. Not yet, at least.

But sitting cross-legged in the weapons room while Kai teaches him how to clean katanas without damaging them — that belongs to Lloyd.

He learns a lot with it too, because Kai always starts rambling about ten minutes in — not the confident, cocky way he does sometimes in front of everyone else, but in an honest way that Lloyd isn’t entirely sure he even means to be.

“—not the best oil, but it works when you’re in a pinch. S’what my parents left behind, at the shop, so it’s good enough.”

Lloyd looks up at him, curious. He keeps quiet — Kai and Nya don’t talk much about their parents, if at all. Lloyd gets it, of course, but it makes the little tidbits they share valuable.

“I don’t remember a lot about my parents,” Kai continues. “But I remember some things. About my dad. He was a great smith, I know that much. Could make about anything. Swords were his favorite, though.”

Uncle Wu’s candlelight casts Kai’s eyes with a glow that makes it seem like he’s on fire himself, flickering and fading. He looks very far away, all of the sudden, and Lloyd has the urge to grab for his arm and make him stay here.

“Guess I latched onto that,” Kai smiles ruefully, and he’s back again. “Never could reach his level, but I learned how to make an okay sword.”

Lloyd chews on his lip. He knows all about latching on to your parents — wanting to be great at the things they are.

That maybe, if you’re good enough, they’ll be proud enough to come back.

He doesn’t think that’s a happy thing to say, though, so he tells Kai instead, “I think your swords are great.”

Kai’s lips quirk. “Uh-huh. Then you better treat them like it.”

“I do,” Lloyd protests. He gestures at the katana across his lap. “See? I did it perfect this time.”

Kai nods his head at a spot Lloyd noticeably missed. He flushes.

“Almost perfect.”

“Practice, young student,” Kai says, in a gravely voice that’s probably supposed to sound like Uncle Wu. “A thousand hours of practice for you.”

“Ugh,” Lloyd groans. “All I do is practice. Practice practice practice, and then I’m still not enou—”

He cuts off. Oops. Maybe Kai’s honestly is a little too contagious.

Kai goes quiet, hands stilling on the katana. There’s a deep furrow between his eyes as he stares at Lloyd, in a way that makes him feel a little like a bug under a microscope. Or that Kai can see right through him, which is bad, because all Lloyd’s got in him is a bunch of tangled thoughts and worries and nothing an actual ninja should have.

“You know,” he says, carefully. “We probably need to stock up on the good oil. I’m kinda running low.”

Lloyd knows darn well Kai has enough choji oil to get them through an apocalypse.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “If we go now, we can probably hit the convenience store, too. Get a sugar boost before—”

“I’m in!” Lloyd shoots to his feet before he can stop himself, any protests forgotten. Training has included a healthy diet lately, so Lloyd doesn’t collapse and pass out because his blood’s eighty percent sugar — Zane’s words, not his.

If he needs to get his blood sugar up, why can’t he just eat sugar all the time? It makes no sense.

“Do not tell the others,” Kai hisses, as they make their way into the city. “Especially Cole, if you don’t wanna lose your sweets before you can take a bite. We’re just getting polish for katanas, as far as you know.”

“I know nothing,” Lloyd says obediently. “Hey, do you think we could use olive oil on the katanas?”

Kai’s stare could heat iron. “I’ll kill you.”

“It was a joke! A joke, heh.”

______

For all that Lloyd’s life revolves around training to defeat anyone and everyone, the guys are still weirdly protective. Over anyone and everyone, including Lloyd himself.

“C’mon, I can handle the cool attacks,” Lloyd complains, as Kai drags him into place.

“They’re not cool — okay, they’re kinda cool — but that’s not what we’re learning now,” Kai sighs. “You’re learning Aikido. Well, a form of it, technically. It’s focused on defending yourself, but in a way that lessens the chances of injuring your attacker.”

Lloyd frowns. “Isn’t that counterintoo — counterintuitive?”

“Big words today,” Kai mutters. He shakes his head. “And it’s counterproductive, by the way, but — no, because now that we’re training, half your attackers are us, and I’d like to leave practice with my arms intact.”

Lloyd grins. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Kai says pointedly.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already admitted defeat.”

“And, brat—” Lloyd yelps as Kai digs his knuckles into his hair. “Defending yourself is incredibly important.”

As they settle back into position, Kai pauses, a muscle in his jaw working. He looks as if he’s having an internal argument with himself, before finally sighing.

“The thing about any weapon, but especially swords,” he says, correcting Lloyd’s grip on the katana. “Is that they can be used a lot of ways. But the one thing you never, ever want to forget—”

And Kai’s tone grows serious, his jaw tensing again. “Is that they can kill.”

Lloyd looks down, to the sharp edges of the blade. It suddenly feels a bit heavier, and the room just a bit darker.

“The way we’re training you, the way we were trained, we don’t always — we try to avoid it.” Kai’s voice wavers, and for a moment, Lloyd remembers that Kai isn’t all that much older than he is.

Well, now, especially.

“But sometimes, it’s…you don’t really…well.” He lets out a breath. “This is a sword. It can take a life really quick, if you aren’t careful. And sometimes, you don’t get the choice to be careful or not.”

Lloyd swallows. He hasn’t thought about it much — hasn’t wanted to, but it lives in his mind like a terrible itch he can’t get rid of.

He’s no stranger to the idea of killing someone. Darkley’s was blunt as it was cold. But as a ninja, it’s suddenly realer than it ever was in school.

As the Green Ninja, with his destiny drawn out in front of him, it’s pretty much unavoidable.

He’s going to kill his father, or he’s going to die.

Kai’s hands grab tight around his shoulders. “We’re gonna do everything we can to make sure you don’t end up in that situation, okay?” He gives Lloyd a small, strained smile. “Don’t ever feel like you have to change who you are, just ‘cause you’re a ninja now.”

How do you know who I am, Lloyd wants to ask. How do you know I’m not a murderer? How do you know I’m not awful?

Kai’s eyes are impossibly kind and far, far too knowing.

“But,” and his tone grows serious again. “If it’s your life or theirs.”

Lloyd feels a bit like the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room.

“Promise me. You have to promise — you will always, always choose your own.”

Lloyd stares back. Kai gives him a little shake.

“You promise me?”

Finally, as if moved by puppet strings, Lloyd nods.

“I promise,” he rasps.

Kai looks relieved, but it’s not quite in a happy way. “As long as you come back alive, that’s what matters. I don’t care what else happens — you come back alive, and we’re good.”

“Okay,” Lloyd says. His eyes feel wet. It’s strange, someone caring so much about something like that.

“Which is why,” Kai says, finally stepping back as his tone lightens. “You’re gonna nail that block this time. Or I’m making you polish every weapon in the dojo again.”

“Oh, no,” Lloyd stares at him in horror. “I’ve been practicing that stupid move for hours!”

“And you’ll be cleaning weapons for hours if you don’t get it.”

“You suck,” Lloyd grumbles. “Worst teacher of all time.”

“Uh-huh,” Kai claps him on the back, and Lloyd lets out his own sigh of relief at the lightened atmosphere. “You’re the one that picked swords, buddy.”

______

Kai’s a hypocrite, though, and Lloyd could hate him for it, because as they slide down the snowy mountain-side, Lloyd’s body clashing against his family in ways he’d never, ever let it if he had control, he has to watch as Kai — again — chooses a life other than his own.

Because Kai doesn’t have the experience Morro does, but he’s better with a sword, he’s better than anyone Lloyd knows, and he loses. And Lloyd’s arm drags the Sword of Sanctuary up and Kai is a stupid, stupid, stupid hypocrite—

Lloyd’s angry enough that tearing control back from Morro is easy.

He knows a thing or two about swords himself, and Morro’s holding it wrong, anyways.

______

Training had already taken a hit after they lose Zane, for obvious reasons. Everything had taken a hit after they lost Zane, and between the tournament and Morro and everything else Lloyd’s pointedly ignoring, it’s suddenly been ages since he’s had a proper sword lesson.

Kai decides to make up for it by finally teaching him the fun stuff.

“Don’t — call it that in front of Cole,” Kai grunts over the loud screech of metal on metal. His knee bends, just the slightest tell—

Lloyd falls back, dancing away from Kai’s returning strike. He knows now, just how dangerous Kai can be — he’d like to forget it, but it’d be doing him a disservice.

Besides, Lloyd’s had his body dragged left and right over Ninjago, used as the worst kind of weapon to hurt the people he loves, and they still trust him. Being on the dangerous end of Chen’s stupid staff is nothing to being on the dangerous end of a katana Kai’s made himself, and Lloyd’s determined to hold onto the faith he’s had since that day in the volcano.

Kai won’t hurt him.

He’ll kick his ass in training, though, so Lloyd had better get back with the show.

He retaliates with a feint to the right — too obvious for Kai, but enough to steal his attention for Lloyd to land a high kick to his side.

“Watch that,” Kai scolds, forced two steps backs.

“Why?” Lloyd grins over the edge of Kai’s blade as he catches his blow dead-on. “Scared I’m gonna beat you too soon?”

Kai snorts. “You aren’t beating me at all, shortstack—”

“Not short—”

“And,” Kai’s katana moves so fast Lloyd barely manages to dodge, rolling into a somersault before surging back up to meet his backstrike. “You’re advertising your weak point.”

Lloyd frowns. “S’not a weak point.”

Kai’s katana flashes — Lloyd moves right just before he realizes it’s a feint, cursing himself — then the hilt of his katana is smacking hard against a bone in his right ankle.

There’s a hot flash of pain as his body completely betrays him, his ankle buckling and sending him stumbling with a yelp.

Kai’s expression isn’t gloating, at least. On the downside, he has that sad kind of look that usually means he’s feeling guilty.

“It’s not usually that bad,” he tries, even as his cheeks flare hot.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kai shakes his head. “You need to protect that. Make sure no one knows it’s a weak point but you. Putting it in reach of your opponent is a bad way to do that.”

Lloyd grits his teeth, but he knows Kai’s right. He’ll never regret pushing himself the way he did, clambering up the tower steps on a broken ankle. The fate of Ninjago was a lot heavier on his shoulders than any thoughts of consequences.

It still sucks, that it’ll never heal quite right.

But it isn’t like he’s the only one with an old wound turned weak spot, he reminds himself, as he wraps his aching ankle once again. Jay’s got zig-zagging lightning scars all down his arms that ache during heavy rain. Nya can only rotate her arm so far before her shoulder goes numb, a souvenir from a broken arm. Cole’s the worst, maybe, with how he’s strained himself lifting impossibly heavy weights, fractured fingers and broken bones that throb in the cold.

Kai’s got his own share of weaknesses, though he works hard to hide them. Lloyd’s managed to pick out most — some of them he’s helped treat himself.

He doesn’t like to think about those times, though.

“So I’ve got an idea for a move,” Kai grins at him, once Lloyd’s ankle is stable. “It’s gonna take some timing, but since I don’t have a weak spot there — you’re gonna run and launch.”

Lloyd tilts his head. “Launch off your right ankle?”

“No,” Kai rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go down for a handspring. When my legs are low, you’re gonna jump on, so when I shoot up—”

“Ooh, I go flying,” Lloyd concludes.

“Exactly.”

“Let’s do it! I’m gonna look so cool—”

“Okay, but we’re gonna look stupid as it gets if we don’t get the — timing, timing!”

It takes about five tries to get it right. That’s all they agree on admitting to — the less said about the forgotten sixth and seventh tries, the better.

But on try eight, Lloyd finally feels his left and right foot connect with Kai’s just as he hits the lowest point of the handspring — and this time, he remembers to bend his own knees and launch up, and with a sudden weightlessness, he’s flying.

“Slash, slash, don’t forget to slash!”

Years of training are the only reason Lloyd’s able to get his arms to obey him fast enough, the wind-up pulling on his shoulders before he sweeps the katana down, slashing out—

“Yes!” Kai’s cheer abruptly turns to a yelp as he loses his balance, crumpling to the floor. Lloyd’s already sprawled across the training mats, since landing was a whole lot harder than he’d planned for — but the training dummy is cut in half. One perfect hit.

“Now, if we can just manage that in an actual fight, we’ll look awesome,” Kai grins.

Lloyd glances at him. “Are you gonna fall flat on your face then, too?”

Red stains his cheeks. “No,” Kai sputters. “That was — you didn’t see that.”

“Uh-huh,” Lloyd snorts. He tilts his head, considering the unfortunate training dummy. “Y’know, I bet I can manage a flip in there,” he mutters.

Kai shrugs. “Yeah, probably.” He lips quirk up. “It’d look pretty cool. Y’know what, let’s go for it. I wanna see the look on Jay’s face when you flip down on him during sparring.”

______

It takes Kai all of ten minutes into the next fight to start regretting that one.

“Got a runner!” Jay calls, as one of the thugs they’ve been rounding up breaks loose from where Zane’s kindly explaining the terms of surrender and Cole’s standing with his lava punch ready to show them what happens if they don’t agree.

“I got ‘im!” Lloyd calls, darting after the masked man.

He tugs his katana free from its sheathe, mind already racing. The time spent on his own, guarding his own back, gave Lloyd the rare opportunity to learn things in ways the guys probably would’ve had his head for.

With the lessons Kai’s drilled into him, the steady form of swordsmanship driven into his nerves, Lloyd’s found a creativity in tweaking things to match his style.

So when the thug sprints past a number of abandoned boxes, scrabbling as he narrowly avoids stumbling on the concrete, Lloyd’s already got the perfect move in mind.

Step, step, jump — tuck in tight, so there’s enough momentum to rotate at least twice — and bam, it’s like a wind-up toy. The more spins he gets in, the harder his landing is, disarming the guy with a perfect slash while kicking his teeth in.

Neat and effective, in Lloyd’s opinion.

Sadly, his opinion is not shared.

Kai sputters. “What was that?”

“Cool as heck, that’s what it was,” Lloyd grins.

Kai is supremely unimpressed. “What did I say about wasting movements?”

Lloyd shuffles. “Don’t…do it?”

“Then why, exactly, did you feel the need to flip three — not one but three — times before striking?”

“Because,” Lloyd says. “It was cool. As heck.”

Kai pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Lloyd valiantly bites back any comments about him taking after Sensei Wu.

“There’s a difference between adding your own flare,” he finally says. “And squandering your energy like a spinning top.”

“Squandering — spinning top—” Lloyd sputters. “Hey, I got the guy just fine, didn’t I? I didn’t squander anything.”

“And what’re you gonna do if someone wises up and snipes you mid-flip?”

“Who’s gonna snipe me, there are no snipers around, dummy—”

“There could be, hypothetically!”

“Hypothetically, please. You’re just jealous ‘cause you can only do two flips—”

“I can do sixteen if I want, I’m just smarter—”

Despite his arguments, Lloyd does resolve to try for restraint. Unfortunately, Lloyd’s also got the memory of a goldfish, so Kai should really know better.

He just can’t help it. The next time they clash with a run-of-the-mill villain who’s stealing secret plans for bombs or whatever ridiculous thing it is that week, Lloyd finds himself on one building with the criminal on the next.

The solution is obvious. Kai doesn’t agree.

“FIVE FLIPS?! THAT WAS A THREE-FOOT DISTANCE!”

Lloyd carefully places the now-unconscious criminal on the rooftop, stands back up, and wisely back-flips the heck outta there.

______

As his sword movements grow more complicated and the green power take a near-constant presence in his veins, the gentle pulse of energy as familiar as a friend, Lloyd grows stronger, too.

This kickstarts an entirely new problem, because Lloyd can’t go five steps without ruining something, it seems.

In his defense, he doesn’t start breaking swords at a criminal rate until after Morro, so Lloyd’s gonna blame it all on him.

He stares blankly at the katana in his hands — or the remains of it, to be exact. Half the blade is somewhere across the street, where it went skidding after Lloyd’s final hit snapped it clean in two.

Kai stares just as blankly when Lloyd wordlessly offers the pieces up.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe I went wrong with the balance, or something? This was probably just a fluke.”

He turns it over, frowning. “Wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the next one, I guess…”

Reinforcements or not, it takes the third shattered sword for Kai to wise on.

“I’m so sorry,” Lloyd warbles tearfully, the remains of Kai’s careful metalwork cradled in his arms. “I don’t know what happened, I was just swinging it, and it went — it went—”

“It went in six different directions, apparently,” Kai mutters.

Lloyd slumps. “It was only four this time,” he mutters.

“I guess this is what we get for training you as well as we did,” Kai says. “Cole and his super strength, I’ll never be free of it.”

“Didn’t he beat you by tripping you flat on your face?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you, oh cruel destroyer of my swords,” Kai scowls.

“I didn’t mean to!” Lloyd protests. “I tried really hard this time, but the last guy had this giant bat, and I thought I could cut it in half, but I swung so hard I screwed up my strike and went…in six…different directions…”

Kai scrubs a hand over his face. He glances at Lloyd, eyes searching.

“But you beat him?”

“Duh,” Lloyd says. The faith people have in him.

“And you didn’t get hit yourself?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “Not a scratch.” It’s not even a lie this time.

“Then I guess it was a noble sacrifice,” Kai sighs. “I can live with that.”

The katana’s sad remnants join the equally sad — and steadily growing — pile of scrap metal made by Lloyd’s awful sword skills. They have a pretty fun time melting it all down though, watching the metal bubble as Kai starts drafting the next run of layered steel he’ll shape into a katana.

“I’m gonna be a master katana maker at this rate,” he huffs, wiping at his forehead. Lloyd, who’s hanging over the forge to watch the different colors the liquid metal makes, taps lazily at his knee with his foot. The forge flares brighter as Kai’s fire does, and he mumbles a distracted thanks.

“A master hothead,” Lloyd says. Kai rolls his eyes. “If I ever figure out how to be a master swordsman, maybe you can take a break and figure out how to make other weapons.”

“Hey, I’m great at making other weapons.”

“Yeah, like ‘block of metal’ and ‘triangle of metal’ and ‘weird rectangle of metal’, and—”

“You’re gonna get a stick for next battle if you keep that up,” Kai growls, but his lips are twitching.

“Hypotenuse of metal,” Lloyd whispers.

“The heck, that’s not even a shape—”

The forge grows steadily hotter as Kai works, bright sparks popping and steam hissing up in little curling wisps. It doesn’t bother Lloyd too much — ever since that day in the volcano, the press of heat is more like a second skin. He’s nowhere near as durable as Kai, of course, who could probably hop in the forge and come out with only a sunburn, but it’s enough to feel cozy instead of sweaty and dizzy.

“Y’know, you don’t have to use a sword,” Kai says hesitantly, as he inspects a hammer. “There are a lot of other weapons that would fit your style. If you ever wanna try out a spear like Nya, that might suit you pretty well.”

“No!” Lloyd says sharply. Biting his tongue, he amends, “I’ve already been training with swords for forever. I don’t wanna change my whole style for something else.”

Kai eyes him shrewdly, but his lips finally twitch up in amusement. “If you say so,” he says. “But I swear, break my sword again and you will get a stick for your next weapon. Or chopsticks. A butter knife—”

______

Lloyd gets a new sword, of course. And another one. He might grouse and complain, but Kai doesn’t truly get angry about the swords. He does, however, get very angry over Lloyd’s total idiocy with what happens to said shattered swords.

His first mistake is the usual one — Lloyd swings a bit too hard at a sloppy angle and there’s a high-pitched screech as the sword dies a sad death, splitting in two.

Lloyd stares blankly at the now much-shorter katana in his hands, which is his second mistake. The delay costs him, and he scrambles to duck the thief’s vicious punch, their own sword having been knocked away in the scuffle. Their boot comes up, swinging for his head, and Lloyd springs back, landing palms-first on the floor and launching himself out of range.

He also, unthinking, drops the broken katana — mistake number three.

His fourth mistake is the worst one possible, because Lloyd brings his hand up to block what he’s sure will be another punch, only to get slashed by the jagged end of the katana he just dropped.

A sharp, burning pain explodes across his hand, and Lloyd stifles a shriek.

Stupid, stupid, stupid move.

The thief comes in for round two, Lloyd’s own snapped katana glinting in the fluorescent building lights, and Lloyd freezes. It occurs to him that he should probably just go ahead and hit the thief with an burst of green, but that’s also when Kai mows them down with a viciousness that reminds Lloyd — Kai always goes easy on him in training.

“I had him handled,” he still protests, after the thief’s been hauled off to prison (or the hospital, possibly).

Kai ignores him, sheathing his katana and storming his way.

He grabs Lloyd’s hand before he can protest, pulling back the torn fabric of his glove and slapping his own hood against the gash on his hand to stem the bleeding.

“What did I say,” Kai says angrily.

Lloyd flinches at the stinging pain in his hand, and tries to glare back.

Kai’s having none of it. “Your sword is supposed to take the hits,” he snaps. “Not you!”

“It did take the hit,” Lloyd finally throws back. “I just broke it, and — I was fine!”

“You hand’s bleeding all over my hood, that is not fine!”

“Then take your hood off and it won’t get blood on it!”

“My hood isn’t what I’m worried about!”

By the time Zane’s stitched Lloyd’s hand up, wincing barely kept at a minimum, Kai’s cooled down.

Somewhat.

“It was an accident, okay?” Lloyd says, for the billionth time. “I didn’t realize he had a weapon. I wasn’t trying to sacrifice my hand, or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like something you’d do.”

“Coming from you, that’s somewhat hypocritical,” Zane murmurs.

Lloyd snickers. Kai turns to Zane in utter betrayal.

Of course, this means that Lloyd’s next lesson is how to treat sword wounds in emergency situations, in painstaking and excruciating detail. His hand stings every time he grasps the katana handle for solid week, though, so Lloyd takes equally careful notes.

______

Lloyd goes and breaks another three katanas after that. At this point, he kinda thinks Kai should just give up and let him go into battle weapon-less again. You don’t need weapons to do Spinjitzu. The green power won’t break, and Lloyd certainly won’t split into six pieces.

(He hopes.)

Kai keeps putting swords in his hands anyways.

Lloyd could always just say no — he’s supposed to be leader or something, he can make his own decisions.

But he thinks of sparring sessions and smelling like cloves every other evening, thinks of the tiny dragons Kai still takes the time to carve into his katana handles, and throwing all that away would feel as great as sawing off his own arm.

So he picks the katana up, does his stupid katas, and promises to do better this time.

That doesn’t magically fix things, of course.

“How,” Kai says blankly, staring at the katana that now lies in a record eight pieces.

“Um.” Lloyd twists his fingers together. “I definitely didn’t use it to prop open a door like you said never to do.”

Kai gives him a smile that shows exactly all of his teeth.

“You have five seconds to run.”

______

All that training on treating sword wounds pays off. Possibly more than learning how to fight with a sword in the first place, when Kai drops in the middle of battle with a wicked slash across his lower thigh.

“Of all the — stupid, embarrassing—”

“Shut up,” Lloyd says tightly. He’s already focusing half his energy on not throwing up at the amount of blood soaking between his fingers where they’re pressed tightly over Kai’s leg. “Stop moving, I gotta see if it — if it hit an artery.”

“It better not have,” Kai pants, wincing as Lloyd presses down harder. “If it hit an artery I’m screwed.”

“Shut up.”

Lloyd’s heartbeat is a thunderstorm in his ears, panic welling up in his throat as Kai’s blood swims in his vision.

“Hey, hey,” Kai’s hand falters, then clasps Lloyd’s own. “M’gonna be fine. Takes a lot more than a stupid leg wound to take me out.”

“That’d be so lame,” Lloyd breathes, somewhat hysterically. He’s torn his own belt off for a tourniquet, which is step one, he thinks — hood can go around the actual wound, and if he steals Kai’s belt, then he can double reinforce it—

“I can always cauterize,” Kai says shakily, sounding like he’d rather do anything else in the world. “It’ll be — move!”

Lloyd manages to roll them both out of the way as the assassin who nailed Kai comes in to finish the job, sword scraping sparks across the rooftop. Lloyd flashes a furious glare over his shoulder, mind racing as he holds himself in front of Kai.

“Here.” The familiar hilt of Kai’s katana slaps against Lloyd’s open hand — the other is quick to follow suit. “Remember, double wielding — better for defense.”

Lloyd nods on instinct. He adjusts his grip on both swords, the blood on his fingers making the hilts tacky and sticky. It’s going to be a pain to clean later, a vague part of his mind notes.

Of course Lloyd remembers dual wielding. It is better for defending, but you lose power on striking and reach — he can deal with that. Kai does.

And it’s exactly what he needs, right now. The assassin won’t even get close to Kai.

One spin, then another. The katanas’ weight is familiar, balanced in the slightly-weird way Lloyd likes best, the way Kai makes all his swords. He finds his footing, finds the stance, and moves.

When Kai fights, he fights like the first flash of flame from a match strike — quick and bursting, fast enough it all but blinds the enemy.

When Lloyd fights, it feels like dancing — slower to start, picking steps deliberately, building to that bursting strike faster and faster.

It only takes one strike, after all. And Lloyd’s got two swords.

Silver flashes across the rooftop, a piercing screech as one of his katana meets the assassin’s broader blade, forcing it back—

The assassin drops with a cry before falling silent, the shattered pieces of a katana scattered around him.

“Saw that…one coming,” Kai moans.

Still breathing heavily, Lloyd tries not to cringe.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, after Kai’s securely in a hospital bed and enduring Nya’s forty-five minute lecture about the many ways your arteries can kill you.

Kai waves his hand, slightly cross-eyed and loopy from medication. “Y’know what? I wanted a new sword anyways. You saved me, so…skip the lecture and we’ll call it square?”

Lloyd lets a small smirk crawl up his face.

“You know, I feel like there’s something very important you should keep in mind, about your weapons taking the hit, instead of you—”

“When I get out of here, you’re toast.”

______

“I think I know where I’m going wrong,” Kai says.

He’s spent the weekend with his father, the two of them either shut up in the forge or buzzing and forth about blacksmithing. It leaves Lloyd feeling a little weird — some mix between happy for Kai and achingly jealous, which then leaves him mostly just sad, which sucks. Lloyd sucks — it’s terrible to feel that way. Everyone was happy when Lloyd got both his parents back after that first battle, and even if he’s lost that — the least he can do is be happy for Kai and Nya.

It ends up working out pretty great in the end, because Kai looks a little like he’s unraveled the mysteries of the universe right now.

Half his right eyebrow is also scorched off, but Lloyd decides not to mention it for now. It’ll be funny to see the look on his face, when he notices.

“I was talking with my dad, who’s got a lot more experience with this stuff, and he suggested something,” Kai continues. He fiddles with whatever he’s got hidden behind his back, and Lloyd has to stifle the urge to dart around him and see.

“No more katana,” Kai says. “You’re good with ‘em, but I think we need a change-up.”

“You mean good at breaking them,” Lloyd mutters.

“If the sword breaks on you, it’s my fault,” Kai says. “I’m not exactly the world’s best blacksmith. Y’know, you should really think about getting someone else to—”

“No.” Lloyd bites his tongue immediately, aware of how bratty he sounds.

And selfish. It’s not like Kai has tons of time to just make Lloyd swords all the time.

As if reading his thoughts, Kai scuffs his hair. “Stop that. I like making swords.” The small edge of a smile pulls at his lips. “I worked pretty hard to become a blacksmith. So it feels kinda good, that someone appreciates the work for once.”

He shakes his head. “Anyways! Meet your new battle buddy. This is called a dao sword.”

Lloyd stares at the curved, silvery blade Kai’s handed to him. It’s thicker than the katana he’s used to, the blade growing broader at the end before tapering off.

“Historically, it’s better suited for quick slashing, but it’s fairly versatile,” Kai continues.

Lloyd carefully lifts the sword, his eyes widening just a bit.

“And heavier,” Kai grins. “Which means it’s gonna be at least a little more difficult for you to shatter.”

His hands fit easily around the handle — there’s plenty of room for a two-handed grip, and enough balance if he wants to switch back to one.

“The guard’s a bit better with protection, and it’s got this tassel here you can wrap around your hand — yeah, like that — to help keep it steady. Or just look fancy.”

Stepping back, Lloyd adjust his hold. Normally he’d do something silly, or needlessly complicated, just to make Kai roll his eyes, but something about this one feels heavier — he doesn’t want to mess it up. He takes a single, experimental swing instead.

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. “It’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so. What do you think I am, a half-rate blacksmith — don’t answer that, by the way.”

Lloyd simply grins, taking a few more swings. It is heavier than the katana he’s used to, broader and chunkier — but it feels at home in his hands.

“It’s incredible,” Lloyd says, turning back to Kai. “Thank you.”

Kai colors, just a bit. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying! I love it. It’s perfect.”

“Well, as long as it holds up, that’s good enough for me,” Kai says, rubbing the back of his head. “Wanna give it a test drive?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says. “I bet I can do even more flips with it.”

“And stab yourself in the leg in the process, but sure, go ahead, squander my gift—”

______

Lloyd’s careful, more so than ever, with the dao sword. When they all split across Ninjago, Lloyd clings to the piece of his family and tries to remember Kai’s instructions, making sure his hands are firmly wrapped and his right ankle always stays low.

So when it breaks on the river with Harumi, Lloyd wants to cry.

He wants to cry for a lot of other reasons, but it still hurts — another thing he cares for that Harumi’s managed to break so easily. It hurts that they all work so hard, time and again, and it always ends up shattering around them anyways. Hurts that they pour themselves out for this city again and again and it’s still not enough.

(Hurts that he’s never, ever going to outrun that worthless little kid in the snow.)

He learns, later — he’s got much more to lose to her than just a sword.

It hurts all the same.

But the sword’s broken and Lloyd’s on a one-way collision course with his father, and it’s much too late to turn back now.

Lloyd enters Kryptarium Prison with nothing but himself and his power. It was enough the first time, it’s got to be enough this one as well.

Lloyd was enough the first time — if he isn’t enough now—

If he isn’t—

______

He isn’t.

He throws himself against his father and shatters his heart with every hit. Then the rest of him goes and shatters too, ribs cracking and skin splitting as he’s battered through walls and bruised against stone. His power sparks and screams as it tries to save him, pushed to its limits.

A part of Lloyd finds it funny — he can’t even keep his power together. He wonders if he’ll snap into six pieces and fly everywhere, just like Kai’s poor katanas, with nothing left but broken pieces of Lloyd to melt down for scrap.

Kai doesn’t find it funny in the slightest. Not the muffled voice Lloyd hears breaking as his family tries to put him back together, not the filthy embrace Lloyd gets when it’s finally over, not the multiple hour-long lectures Lloyd’s forced to sit through even three months out.

“I don’t care how many swords you break,” he hisses, giving Lloyd a shake that’s forceful enough his teeth almost rattle. “I don’t care if you shatter a thousand. They’re supposed to protect you. You’re supposed to choose yourself. Don’t you ever, ever, put yourself out there to break again.”

Lloyd must’ve broken a hundred promises by now. He can’t seem to do anything right, truly — not being the Green Ninja, not being a good brother, not being Garmadon’s son.

But, as he nods and makes another promise, he can try.

For Kai, he’ll try.

______

Things are different, after his father, but it’s the same way things are always different after their family escapes by the skin of their teeth. Each new threat leaves another lingering wound, but Lloyd likes to think it stitches them closer in the aftermath.

With everyone’s attention so laser-focused on Lloyd after everything, it makes it easier for him to spot the others’ bad days.

It only takes him five minutes to track down Kai this time. Lloyd carefully lowers himself cross-legged next to him on the floor, katana laid across his lap.

Kai tenses, as if preparing for another speech.

Please. Lloyd’s methods are way sneakier — and better — these days.

“So,” he starts, as he dips the edge of a rag in Kai’s choji oil. “I was patrolling today, and I saw like, a demon cat, I think? I mean, it was definitely a cat. It looked kind of like the one Zane used to feed when we lived at the apartment, all stripey and stuff. I was gonna try and pet it, ‘cause patrol was pretty boring and what was I supposed to do, ignore it? So I did the whole pspsps thing, and it was not a fan — and I swear, it hissed at me, and it looked just like my dad. When he's all Oni, y’know? Which is rude, cats are supposed to be comforting, not traumatic—”

Lloyd’s rambling grows more and more nonsensical as he goes, jumping from topic to topic as he works on the katana. He can feel the tension seeping out of Kai where he sits beside him though, bit by bit until Kai’s finally leaning against his shoulder.

“Missed a spot,” he speaks up suddenly, his voice only cracking a little.

Lloyd squints at the sword. “Where?”

Kai taps a bandaged finger on the blade.

“Oh,” Lloyd blinks. He adjusts the rag. “Thanks.”

Kai speaks up again, after a minute, “You’ve gotten good at this.”

“Had a good teacher.”

There’s a faint snort. “Debatable.”

“With who?” Lloyd says. “I’m your number one sword student. And your only one. I win automatically.”

“The others use swords. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, and Jay still whines every time the super special weapon-of-the-week to defeat evil ends up being a sword again,” Lloyd says.

“S’cause Jay’s better with nunchucks. Totally different concept.”

“But he isn’t better with a sword.”

“Definitely not better than me.”

“I’m your best student,” Lloyd says. “Jay can’t be better than me. That’s illegal.”

“If the Green Ninja declares it,” Kai says, but there’s an edge of laughter in his voice, a thawing out of the numb blankness he’d worn earlier. He slumps, just a bit heavier, against Lloyd.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Kai mutters.

“‘Kay.” Lloyd turns the sword over, squinting at his reflection. “Sometime, though?”

“If you can manage not to break anymore katanas before I finish your new weapon, maybe.”

“You guys won’t even let me out to fight,” Lloyd grouses. “It’s not as if I’ll have a chance to.”

Kai makes a huffing noise. “Maybe if you’d sit still long enough to heal—”

“I don’t wanna hear it from you,” Lloyd scowls. “Look, I know I messed up with — with her, but—”

“That’s not what this is about,” Kai says sharply. “It’s about you being okay.”

Normally, Lloyd would protest. Should protest — he doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. But Kai’s gone tense again, so he lets it go, just this once.

“Sorry,” he murmurs anyways.

“No, don’t. You’re doin’ good,” Kai sighs, and he sounds so very, very tired. “Just…take it easy, okay? ’Til I get your sword done.”

“Sorry for breaking the old one, too,” Lloyd says. “I really did try to keep it safe.”

“I’ll make you a hundred swords,” Kai says. “A thousand, if I have to. Just keep using them, okay? Swords are your weapon.”

Like Lloyd’s ever going to forget that, at this point.

______

It’s only after the Oni are more a memory and Lloyd has been subjected to an unholy amount of recuperation that Kai allows him to even see the sword he’s made this time.

It’s well worth the wait, though.

“It’s gold,” Lloyd murmurs, reverently holding the new dao blade.

“Yeah, well,” Kai shrugs, a little bashful. “I thought you should match us, at some point.”

Lloyd has to try very hard not to pretend that doesn’t make a small, lingering part of him want to tear up.

“Is this jade?” he says instead, carefully tracing a finger over the single panel of green that decorates the blade.

“Technically it’s jadeite, and no, you don’t wanna know where I got it,” Kai corrects.

“I don’t care,” Lloyd says. “I love it. It’s the best sword ever. I — thank you, so much—”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Kai says quickly. “You’re welcome, or whatever, just — you’ll use it, right?”

Lloyd gives him a long, flat look.

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”

“You are not allowed to joke about that—!”

______

The golden dao sword never breaks.

It takes Lloyd several fights with it to stop holding back, but once he realizes this sword won’t shatter to pieces in his hands, he lets himself get creative.

And the sword holds, again and again.

Against Aspheera’s burning soldiers, against the bitter chill of the Never Realm, against the Skull Sorcerer’s monsters in the depths of Shintaro, against the heavy weight of water and cold crystal — the dao blade holds.

Kai tells him it’s because Lloyd’s finally learned how to stop using his weapon as a glorified baseball bat. Lloyd thinks it’s because Kai knows blacksmithing for ninja better than anyone else in the world.

His powers grow, too — along with his options, which he’d really have preferred to just…avoid.

Real fun that it wasn’t the many years of pent-up anger issues, but crippling traumatic grief, that’s the key to unlocking his shapeshifting abilities. Hilarious.

It still stings, a bit, that no one ever bothered to tell him he was walking around with the blood of two mythical beings just chilling in his veins, Would’ve been nice to know, maybe, before he got stuck having a whole crisis about it smack in the middle of another world-ending crisis.

Oni, dragon, Green Ninja. Like he needs another title.

In the end, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks. Everyone moves on and Lloyd is a multi-bred freak of nature, or something.

His father thinks he should hone his Oni powers. Sensei Wu thinks he should listen to his father but also remember his dragon side. His mother thinks he should read the eight-hundred page historical brick of a book about all known history of the Oni and the dragon. He doesn’t have a clue what his great-grandparents think of him, except that a family reunion would be world-ending levels of terrible.

Lloyd, who’s grown attached to looking like himself and happens to like being human, keeps reaching for his dao blade first.

Swordsmanship is something he’s proud of. He’s worked hard for it, through blisters and bruises and blood. It’s something that belongs to him and Kai, something shared and freely given. Something passed onto him, something taught and earned, something treasured.

Lloyd doesn’t have a lot of things like that, so he treasures it all the more himself.

Treasures the humanity of his family, and how lucky he is to be part of that.

Treasures the things he’s learned from them like family heirlooms he’s never had.

Treasures the fact that they’re there—

Treasures the—

______

The monastery is so quiet, Lloyd’s starting to understand how people lose their minds.

Not really. He hasn’t started talking to himself yet, so that’s a good sign, right? It doesn’t count, if you’re yelling for other people. Doesn’t count if you’re screaming curses at your stupid grandfather who let your whole world split apart and tore away the only people that were yours.

“It doesn’t count,” he whispers to the sword in his lap.

Lloyd stares dully at his reflection in the dao sword, marred by the splotchy wear and ugly chipping at the blade’s edges. It’s in miserable shape, worn down and neglected.

A lot like himself, maybe.

He shudders, drawing in a breath. Sulking won’t sharpen swords. And when Kai gets back — which he will — he’ll be so disappointed that Lloyd’s gone and treated his sword like dirt.

The smell of choji oil makes his eyes sting, but the familiar sound the rag makes across the blade soothes it.

He’s glad he took the time to sharpen it up, too, when he visits the city. More than glad when he finds himself atop the train, his missing hood leaving him distinctly uncomfortable as he prepares to fight.

Lloyd’s hands have warped and twisted, burst in purple and grown claws sharp enough to slice. If he can make them his own again, after that, he can make them hold steady now.

The handle of the dao blade is worn and familiar, the fraying tassel the same bright green where it brushes the back of his hands, and Kai’s voice yells in his head as loud as ever as he swings it once—

One flip this time, he decides. One flip, one strike.

Swords are his weapon, after all. It’s important for him to remember that.

And even if he doesn’t—

______

Lloyd’s grown up in a world of weapons, and far faster than he probably should.

But with every sword swing, every familiar callous carved into his hand, Kai’s there to remind him that his sword is the weapon.

And Lloyd, power or no power, is just Lloyd.

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #my fic #am still insane about them!!#this is like 80 percent headcanon but it's canon to ME #also its like 9k words im so sorry if it crashes ur browser

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anisangeldust · 7 months ago

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Pretty when you cry 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: feelings are hard.

Pairing: young politician!Coriolanus x Fem!reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Coriolanus is stressed and needs you, emotional vulnerability, mentions of parental loss, crying.

A/N: just some heart-achy fluff bc I’m in the mood to coddle someone rn🎀

Masculinity and Bravado were drilled into the brain of Panems president since the day he was born, festering like an infection, multiplying like an invasion, until all he could feel was shame for feeling.

So often he’d find himself teary eyed, chanting soliloquies of “Men don’t cry, you aren’t weak, crying makes you weak.” like mantras around his apartment, such nonsense that those superior used to undermine his naturally empathetic soul.

It wasn’t until many moons later that he crossed your sacred path, your mere presence a soothing compress on his aching heart. Little by little, you cleared his night skies from its once insurmountable peril, the darkness that had consumed his soul was no longer seeping through his core, instead it soaked through his eyes, salty drops of crystalline water flowing down his milky cheeks.

At the moment, he was being comforted by his ever so generous and loving wife. The emotions he buried so desperately were now flowing like a river in front of his own personal Aphrodite, a tsunami of emotions flooding his soul, lapping at the weak spots of his delicate being. Never would anyone describe Coriolanus Snow as vulnerable, but right now he was. Your tenderness akin to the mother he lost so long ago, and his trembling frame that of a little boy. This is love in its rawest form, the ability to express vulnerability without judgement, the thing Coriolanus so clearly craved his whole adolescence.

Heaven was breaking down in your arms, having a rough day and coming home to you, the woman he loved with every ounce of his being, to have you hold his face and tell him it was all going to be okay; your murmured words like a warm compress on his aching heart.

So often he reminded himself that he was allowed to have bad days, being president was draining, and the cracks in his mask were deepening, he could no longer hide from the flood, he had to just make sure he didn’t drown. Luckily you were his life boat. Despite all his hard work, sometimes the darkness prevails, dawning cloaks of false serendipity, only to shed its light and consume your dignity. The darkness that clouds his vision, creeps into the corners of his mind, dampens his thinking, the darkness only you can cut through. He beam of light, his saving grace.

Coriolanus was a blubbering mess, your fingers running in his platinum curls a reminder that he was safe, that he was going to be okay. Slowly, he lifted his head from your chest and sniffled.

“I don’t deserve you..” he murmured, eyes red and puffy from crying so hard.

“Shhh, just lay on me baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you” you cooed, pressing his face back into the soft fat of your chest. As to which he happily complied.

The muscles of his shirtless back were relaxed, melting into you and your warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you like you were going to disappear if he let go, you were his most precious gem, a beauty unmatched by the most divine beings, a goddess amongst men, and Coriolanus was your most devoted apostle.

Slowly, his breathing regained stability, his pink lips no longer quivering, chest no longer heaving. You peppered his teary cheeks with kisses as he calmed down slowly. His mind slipping form consciousness as he fell asleep.

“I love you” he croaked gently, voice rough and tone uneven, the most vulnerable state Coriolanus Snow could be in, the one reserved for you.

“I love you too baby boy, so much. Now sleep, it’ll all be okay” you mutter as he flutters his eyes closed and lays on you completely, your own personal weighted blanket.

Coriolanus was truly sculpted by the gods, how else would he be so pretty when he cries?

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loliwrites · 5 months ago

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III. Bravery | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, enemies to lovers [ish], age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early to mid 30s], joel lives forever fight me, switching povs, canon compliant violence, no infected but terrible humans present, one use of bitch [readers inner monologue], mention of death, stabbing, and blood, attempted SA [reader gets revenge], female rage, SMUT, protected p in v sex, clear and abundant consent, fingering, oral [f receiving], praise kink [attagirl, good girl], aftercare, stress baking, female reader, no physical description, protective!joel, joel’s really just a big softie, no use of y/n. word count: 7.4k series masterlist a/n: gosh there is not much i love more than uninhibited female rage. and the praise kink will always make an appearance because i’m just an ex-honors student at heart

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“I know you’re Mr. Shoot First Talk Second, but try to control that trigger finger if we run into any of them. That boy whose brain you painted along the stairwell the day you found me? He wasn’t a bad guy,”

Joel flicked his eyes at you, and from your periphery, you could tell he was starting to fume. You knew how to push his buttons and knew that it’d rile him up even more that instead of looking at him when accusing him of such a thing, you were petting your horse’s mane.

“Nah, he wasn’t a bad guy, he was just fucking you for sport,” a sense of accomplishment rose in him when his comment resulted in you flashing a look of disbelief his way. “F’we run into any of ‘em, they’ll be lucky if I paint a wall with their brain.” His eyebrows furrowed and he adjusted himself in his saddle, “give ‘em a belly shot and let ‘em go all slow and painful,”

“There he is,” you smiled. “Mr. Sunshine,”

“Eyes open. We’re here,”

You pulled your rifle out of the scabbard attached to your saddle, a little more clumsy than usual with the thick gloves Maria had given you for the weekend. Winter had fully come down upon Jackson and you were thankful to be there rather than with your old group. How you ever survived the last handful of winters without a real, sturdy winter coat, you didn’t know. Regardless, with the butt of your rifle propped against your thigh, you inspected the right ninety degrees knowing that Joel was scouring the left ninety degrees. Together, both of you had a pretty wide range of sight to catch the upper hand of anything or anyone that might be lurking around.

Thankfully – gratefully – this had become routine. Joel hadn’t exactly sung your praises to Tommy after your first patrol together. According to Tommy, Joel had talked you up as much as someone like him could. She’s good, Tommy. Better than everyone. Not me ‘n you, but everyone else. Now nearly a month into your patrols with Joel, a lot had been talked about in the effort of opening up to each other.

He tried to stay away from your more recent past with the other group and instead asked about your family. About how it went when the outbreak began and your family of four defended a large ranch property. The grin he hid when you told him you were the son your father never had. That you’d helped him patch holes in the barbed wire fence, or replace rotted wood beams. And when the bad weather came in, you spent most nights in the barn cupola – on high ground with a 360 degree view – with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your eye spotting through your rifle’s scope. In turn you asked about his life and kept it vague. You figured he’d tell you the parts he wanted to tell you. You also figured there was a lot of pain in his past. He’d opened up as much as he was willing to for someone still so new. He talked a lot about what it was like when he and Ellie first arrived in Jackson; and a little bit about the time he spent in the Boston QZ. But everything before Boston, and the in-between Boston and Jackson went undisclosed. You didn’t need him to verbalize it to know it wasn’t good. The scars on his hands and face told you that. And the way he handled his gun told you that it wasn’t everyday someone gave him a new scar.

And you’d started to see deeper shades of the care and concern Joel held for the ones he was fond of. Even if Ellie wouldn’t acknowledge him, he always made sure there was a meal ready in the house for her. Sometimes going as far as to leave the food outside the shed door for her. You only saw these things because ever since the incident at your house about a month ago when he’d realized you’d gone without a full meal for almost a week, he took to calling you around for dinner at least once a week. Of course it was never phrased as “will you have dinner with me,” as much as it was, “come by for dinner tonight. Don’t need you passin’ out on me on patrol.” He even encouraged you to see the doctor in Jackson. Jus’ to take a look. And beamed when the doctor gave you a clean bill of health. More than once since that night in the dining hall, he brushed away any guy that made himself a little too comfortable in your atmosphere. If they were flirting, getting too close, or just flat out laying any type of hand on you, Joel seemed to materialize out of nowhere to warn them to back off. Another woman might’ve found the whole thing off-putting. That Joel was out to lay claim to something that wasn’t his. But all you knew was that he was keeping men away that just seemed to like that there was new blood in town. A new face to ogle at. And with the pressure of what that could mean, if Joel Miller wanted to be your own personal guard dog, well… that was alright with you.

Normally you and Joel patrolled the areas that were high risk for a presence of infected. Mostly runners. A couple stalkers. Even less clickers. Though Joel warned that he and Tommy had come up against a couple bloaters before. You hadn’t ever come across one in all the years since the outbreak, but you’d heard more than enough horror stories to know you never wanted to come across one. And if you had to, hopefully Joel or Tommy would be by your side.

Today you and Joel were going south. In a debrief of all the patrol teams, while you and Joel were northeast hunting runners, the southern teams were finding traces of human activity. Everyone knew what that meant, and once they figured it out, all eyes turned to you. Had you led them closer? Apparently two months wasn’t long enough to earn the trust of everyone in Jackson. They had long memories.

Tommy all but interrogated you in his living room with Maria and Joel the night before. Asked for any intel and insight that might help. But what could you know? You’d spent the last month only outside the gates with Joel, and the month prior to that holed up in the greenhouse. You told them as much. And even so, you knew you were close when you and Joel rode through the old abandoned town, long forgotten. The remains of what used to be strip malls all bumped up to each other. The wind blew through the tall grass that had erupted from the pavement, sending a whistling through the air. Not ideal if you were hoping to hear someone sneaking up on you. But you could feel it. Electricity in the air. You should’ve paid a little more attention to it.

You and Joel dismounted your horses at the same time, fully cautious and aware of everything around you. No words were going to be spoken for a little while. It was a dance that was well on its way to being perfected. But a new location – one not generally covered on the usual patrol routes, meant there were more variables to deal with. And one neither of you was prepared for the way an old flag of some raider group hung from one of the stores’ doorframes. It whipped in the wind, sending a sharp crack reverberating through your ears each time it snapped against the pavement. Worse than that, it made it impossible to see through the doorway, and mixed with the sun shining a glare through the old dusty windows, there was no clear line of sight in.

Like moths to a flame, you and Joel were drawn to it first. Guns poised, ready to act without hesitation. You weren’t sure if Joel felt it, but it was like every cell in your body knew this wasn’t going to go well. There wasn’t even time to see it coming. They had seen you but you weren’t given an even playing field. And your only regret was that Joel went in first.

You heard it before you saw it. A whoosh flying through the air followed by Joel letting out the most pained grunt you could imagine his body could summon. Then a thud on the floor. You figured the thud was Joel, but you, caught up in that old flag, trying to fling it around the barrel of your gun, left defenseless without your eyes. Just as soon as you untangled yourself and gathered enough visual information to understand what had happened, your gun was being ripped out of your hands and thrown to the other side of the shop.

And the first thing you thought was, you better fight, bitch.

Hands flailing, cursing yourself for that terrible nail biting habit. Some long fingernails would’ve done some good right now. Edward. Just as bad as James but with the benefit of youth on his side to be a real pain in the ass. He got you by your hair and gave it a yank that had you seeing streaks of white in pain. You stumbled backwards over a heap on the ground (Joel), who you just barely had the chance to get a look at – all in shock and sucking wind. You weren’t sure where he’d been hit but he was gasping for air.

You swung and kicked and did your best to fight despite Edward being significantly bigger than you. He was taunting you. Saying things like he knew he’d run into you again. Get his chance with you. And you wanted to scream for help, for anything, but the only person who would do anything for you was currently face down on the floor. You wondered where someone else was. Surely Edward wouldn’t have been out here alone. As soon as that other person showed up, you and Joel would be sufficiently fucked.

But the thing that pissed you off the most was the way he spoke about Joel. The way he mocked him – attacking his masculinity because surely Joel couldn’t give it to you the way he could. So you swung harder, each time hoping it would prove that Joel was more of a man because he didn’t give it to you the way Edward, and James, and George, had. Luckily one of those swings landed on his jaw and it was your chance to get away. To bolt for your gun. If you thought he’d been ferocious before, it was nothing compared to how he was after you’d punched him.

He ran after you and you were nothing for his big strides. Caught up to you in no time and tackled you to the ground. That was when you really started screaming. The absolute loudest and most feral you could muster. No. Stop. Joel. It all came from your lungs and none of it mattered. Edward straddled you and bore his weight down, pinning you in place, leaving you in the fruitless effort to beat against his chest. And though it didn’t account for much, you didn’t stop. You pressed your hands to the bottom of his chin and pushed his head backward but it was like a game of cat and mouse and the cat was getting even more riled up by the mouse putting up a fight. Edward reached for your pants and it was the straw that broke you. You knew these men. You knew their patterns. And you could use that against them.

Case and point – Edward may have had you at a complete disadvantage but you knew they generally always had a knife in their pocket. It was the reason you’d kept one in yours. And, not feeling the outline of it pressed to your thigh despite his body being flush to yours, you knew it had to be in one of his back pockets. The fact that you’d found it on the first side you checked was complete luck, but you’d take it.

Pulled that switchblade from his back pocket, flicked it open, and plunged it deep into his side. Over. And over. And over again. In a sound mind, it would’ve been enough the moment he slid off of you and to the ground. But you were not of sound mind right now. The furthest thing from it. So when his body was no longer on yours, you climbed up over his body and with both hands clutching the handle of the knife, continued to wreak havoc on him. Pure and unadulterated rage.

Had it not been for what came next, you were sure you would’ve spent all afternoon there, carving away at his body. Likely until his partner came around to see what he was up to. But you stopped yourself. Tossed the blade to the side. Because Joel had gotten himself up on his hands and knees and was crawling toward you, and that was all it took to get your brain to snap back to reality.

You scrambled to him, hands cupped around his cheeks but didn’t touch just yet; trying to find where he was hurt. Eyes scanned, and couldn’t pinpoint any particular injuries except for some blood at his nostril. “Y’alright,”

Joel nodded, still taking deep breaths to try and fill his lungs fully. “Clocked me in the stomach,” he set a hand over his heart. “Knocked the wind outta me, then got me in the chest,” he was speaking, but his eyes were searching you. “Did he hurt you?”

“We gotta get outta here, he wasn’t out alone,” you got up and ran to pick up your rifle, making a quick line back to Joel. With your hand hooked around his elbow, you helped him back to his feet and led him hobbling out of the shop.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Joel croaked and held the left side of his ribs the entire way back to Jackson, though when you both got through the gates and Tommy ran to intercept you, he somehow straightened himself up and acted as though nothing was wrong. Maybe that was something he’d picked up in childhood. Putting on a brave face in front of baby brother.

Tommy herded you into the barn, urging – no, forcing – Joel to lift his shirt. To check if anything was looking out of sorts. And in typical Joel fashion, he swatted his brother’s hands away, insisting he was fine. Tommy eventually won out. There was a part of you that figured Joel resisted because of you. How silly, right? For you to insert yourself in such a way as if that man even gave a real rat’s ass about you. But you really did figure he didn’t want you to see him ailing. At least not more than you already had. So you ducked away with your horses in tow, ready to be untacked. Passing by on the way to their stalls, you caught sight of Ellie. She, no doubt, had come along to visit Dina, but at the ruckus of Tommy yelling at Joel to lift his damn shirt, Ellie peeked out from the stall she was in to get a glimpse. Concern filled her eyes, and the urge to ask her why she was upset with him was near all-encompassing. But you also knew it wasn’t your place.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

You’re not sure how it happened. The ‘almost killing you to being inside you’ pipeline was way too quick. German Autobahn quick. No speed limit. Pedal to the metal. Whiplash.

At least Joel put a condom on first. Actually, most of what Joel did was a first for you. Somewhere between walking him home and ordering him to ice his ribs, and him asking you to come inside for a beer, you had ended up here – in Joel’s bedroom with him hovering over you. His hands pressed to the mattress at either side of your head. He hadn’t asked if he could kiss you, though in the hesitation that had oozed from him, you’d been the one to kiss him first. Quick and haphazard; everywhere and simultaneously nowhere for too long. He had cupped your face in his hands and held you still, letting a more gentle kiss to take place. Not that much kissing of any sort had happened in your life previously. George, James, and the rest of those guys hadn’t ever bothered with such a formality. Bit of a blessing, you supposed.

But he did ask if you wanted to go up to his bedroom. That was a first.

And he asked if it was okay if he helped you out of your shirt. And then your bra. That was a first.

Then bare to him and the world, he asked if he could touch your chest. And kiss it. That was a first.

When his hands began to wander down your side, leaving goosebumps on your skin, he asked if he could take off your pants. And that was a first.

Despite all these firsts, and your consent for him to do these things, you figured that by the time your pants were off, he’d do much of the same as all the other men had done. Get in, get out. Chase their pleasure. And leave you in the aftermath to do… whatever.

He tugged your denim jeans off your legs and tossed them to the floor, but instead of ripping off your underwear and pushing himself into you, he leaned back down over your body and kissed your lips. A bit rougher than he had previously, but you knew he was still fully conscious… calculating. It was as if you could hear the gears turning in his head. And a noise… it came from him no doubt but it was unlike any noise you’d ever heard a man make before. It was soft. And yearning.

When he gathered himself, the questions continued. Can I take off your underwear? Can I touch you? Make you feel good? A pounding in your head began. Nerves? Fear? You could only nod an affirmative, but Joel asked again, as if insisting to hear your voice and it wasn’t lost on either of you that it shook.

“M’not gonna hurt you,” Joel whispered and dropped his head lower until he was able to press his lips to the side of your neck. You’d never been kissed on the neck before. And perhaps even more frightening than what was to come, it scared you how much you liked the feeling of his lips pressed to you. “I wanna make you feel good,”

“Why?” You choked out. Now the pounding in your head was paired with a dryness in your throat. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your skin.

But then he lifted his head – removed the feeling you loved so much – and gave you one more quick kiss before his fingertips dipped lower. “Because it’s fun for me if you’re having fun,”

You swallowed and bit into your bottom lip when Joel’s fingers brushed over your slit. Eyes widened but you tried to mitigate it by quickly closing them. It seemed so strange to have so much experience with something so much more than this, and yet feel so inept with this. His fingers circled around your entrance, rimmed the hole for just a moment before he slid them up and found your clit. Your legs flinched together and you peeked past your eyelids to see if Joel had noticed.

The shit-eating grin on his face told you he had. “Bullseye,” he drew his eyes away from yours and rested more of his body weight on you. His muscular thighs kept your legs spread apart, but the only thing keeping him from laying himself on you fully was his arm snaked between your bodies. He raised his free hand and brought it up to the top of your head. His fingers at your clit only circled it a few more slow times before he slid them back down to your entrance. A wider smile appeared on his face and you only caught a moment of it because he pressed his lips back to your neck, just below your ear. “You this wet just for me?”

You didn’t know it yet but you were about to become well acquainted with Joel’s dirty talk.

“Make a man feel like a fuckin’ casanova gettin’ this wet over nothing,” he added pressure to your hole, not yet pressing his fingertip inside you. But you still turned your head to the side, knocking your cheek into his. And it drew him back, until he lifted himself and looked down into your eyes again.

“It’s not nothing. No one’s touched me nicely before,” heat rose in your cheeks and neck.

He nodded, “and you’re gonna let me touch you nicely right now?” He smirked when you nodded, but his eyebrows raised and he asked, “yes?”

“Yes,”

His fingers sunk into you at an agonizingly slow pace. And his eyes never left yours. They were ever searching for validation but there was no way he could know that your brain was already a million miles away from your body. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel uncomfortable. If you had actually let yourself feel it, you imagined it’d feel pretty good. But brain and body were diverging for self-preservation. Of the only thing you’ve ever known. You looked down and saw the tendons and muscles in Joel’s forearm flexing, and when you glanced back up into his eyes, you wondered how this would end. Whether or not you bruised the ego of the assholes you’d previously found yourself with was of little concern to you. They hadn’t cared to make sure you were having a good time, so you never tried to fake it with them that you had. But Joel wasn’t like that. He was trying. And if the growing warmth in your belly was any indication, you thought he could get you to finish if you let him. If you let him.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbled, bowing his head. Long, graying curls bounced against his forehead and the nape of his neck. “Bet you’ll feel amazing wrapped ‘round my cock,”

A whimper floated past your lips and it was the first of that sound you’d ever made.

Joel seemed to catch it too. “Yeah? Y’like the idea of takin’ my cock here,” he curled his finger inside you, pressing up against your front wall. “Tell me you want it,”

“Joel,”

“Tell me,” he goaded, “I’ll give it to you. Fuck this tight, little body ‘til you’re screamin’ for me, but I wanna hear you say it,”

You furrowed your eyebrows, almost frustrated, “want you to fuck me, Joel. Please,”

He obliged rather quickly. Withdrew his finger from you and sucked it clean before he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. It was the first time you ever cared to ogle a man. To really take in the sight of him. To commit him to memory as this was going to happen instead of doing all you could to wipe it from your mind. His broad shoulders, and defined pecs, and soft tummy, all tapering down to a thinner waist with creases at the sides, hinting at what was below. His shirt hit the floor with your clothes, and then he swiftly moved on to his pants. Taking them off completely proved to be too much of a hassle. He pushed them down with his underwear, just low enough to pull his member out. His size – length and girth – was daunting despite the amount you’d seen, and your eyes flicked back up to his, swallowing a sizable lump in your throat.

“Nervous?” He asked, reaching past you for the nightstand.

“No,” you protested, watching him yank the drawer open. When he pulled out a small packet and tore it open, you cocked your head to the side. “Condoms survived the apocalypse?”

Joel smiled and rolled it down his length, “lamb skin.” He placed his hands on the bed at either side of you, “ready?”

“What if you hurt your ribs more?

“My ribs are fine,”

You nodded, trying to be as reassuring as possible, but when he reached for his shaft, you sucked in a breath loud enough to grab his attention. “I might not… you know…”

“Okay,”

“I usually don’t. Just so you don’t take it personally,”

“Okay,” he pressed a grin and lifted his hand to your cheek, where with the gentlest of swipes, he wiped his index finger across your skin, “eyelash.” Joel blew it off his finger and then looked back down at you, “how about you tell me if something doesn’t feel good.”

Eyebrows furrowed again. Confusion. “You won’t get mad?”

“No, I–I want you to come, so if I’m not doin’ it for you, you gotta let me know. Alright?” He nodded after you and lined himself back up with your entrance again. “Alright,” he pressed forward gently. Slowly. Eyes glued to your face; absolutely nothing could’ve gotten him to look away from you.

And what you found was new. Call it whatever you wanted but you spotted care in his eyes. Maybe not care in the way fairytales of your youth wanted you to believe, but care in the way that he was doing his best to be soft and gentle. George and James hadn’t had the intention of hurting you, but they didn’t care if they did. Joel didn’t have that intention either. But he was going to great lengths to ensure that he didn’t.

He had eased himself into you steadily until your waists met. The coarse hairs at the base of his member brushed against you. When he exhaled, it was the first you’d noticed that he’d been holding his breath just like you had been. “Attagirl,”

It felt like he was splitting you in half, and he very nearly was. Your legs were stretched wide to accommodate him but it still didn’t feel like enough. His thrusts didn’t start immediately. You hadn’t been expecting that. He was waiting; studying your face, and you figured you looked pretty shell-shocked because he remained paused for a good amount of time. Long enough for you to look up at him and with vision blurring, just the silhouette of him reminded you of any number of the guys you’d run into over the last six years.

Maybe if you shut your eyes, it’d make it a little better. You could focus on the inside of your eyelids and the colorful squiggles that appeared. So you did just that, but still noticed that Joel didn’t make any inclination of beginning relentless thrusts. There was only a slight movement. But not of his waist. Before you knew it, you felt his lips at your neck again. Open mouthed kisses to your delicate skin, his tongue lapping up to your earlobe. He hummed softly and you knew it was a less-than-verbal way of checking in with you. You couldn’t respond yet though, not with the image of George and his saggy ballsack in your mind.

Joel hummed in your ear again and then took your wrist in his hand. Before you could even get the idea to fight back, he placed it over his shoulder, releasing his grip when your fingers hit his back. “Y’alright? Talk to me,”

You summoned your strongest voice, “I’m fine. Go on,”

He still stared at you and hesitated. His hips only shifted timidly, “what’re you thinking about?”

In a moment of pure honesty, you looked up into his eyes. And with an air of sadness, “them.”

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. Definitely not what he was expecting you to say, but couldn’t also say he was at all surprised. God knows the last time you’d done this for anything other than obligation or self-preservation… if you’d ever done it for any reason other than obligation or self-preservation. He wanted to be considerate to that. Maybe it was a little late now that he was already inside you. He settled more of his weight on top of you to free up both his hands, and with most of your bodies touching, he raised both hands above your head and cupped them over it. His thumb stroked back and forth over your hair with the utmost softness.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I want you to make me forget about them,”

He nodded and after looking at you for just a second more, he leaned in closer for a kiss. Maybe he couldn’t do much, but he could certainly do that. And with the utmost care, he pulled his hips back halfway before slowly thrusting back in. You winced, eyes closing, and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. It was then you felt Joel’s lips back on your neck. A bite for emphasis. A lick and kiss for intimacy.

Then with a sigh, “was right. You feel fuckin’ incredible. Squeezin’ me so good and tight,”

“Joel,” you whimpered, stretching your legs further apart to accommodate the size of his body. Every sensation was a new one – even the feeling of a foreign material inside you instead of skin.

You felt like you were on fire; heat spreading throughout you, starting from where you two were connected and radiating outward from there. Through your stomach, up to your chest, creeping up to your neck and all the way up to your cheeks. There was heat coming from Joel too. Just about everywhere you touched radiated heat; beads of sweat gathered at his hairline and followed down to his sideburns.

“How’s it feel takin’ me here,” a harder thrust than before speared you deeper, pressing up against you cervix. Though you tried to wriggle away, Joel leaned back on his knees and hooked his arms around your thighs, tugging you down on him further. He kept you close there with a hold on your hips and remained upright when he started thrusting into you with greater fervor. “Tell me,”

“Good,” you choked on your breath.

He laughed lowly and removed one of his hands from your hip so he could wipe the sweat away from his forehead. “I know you can do better than that,” he fucked into you and laid back down on top of you, caging you in his arms, lips back at your ear. His hips in an endless cycle of pressing into you. And when a moan floated past your lips, he couldn’t hold back a smile, “there she is. There’s a good girl,”

“So big, Joel…”

He nipped at your neck and trailed his tongue over the affected skin, “and you’re takin’ me so well. Doin’ so good,” his lips stretched into a grimace against your neck, “M’not gonna last long,”

“S’okay,”

You couldn’t have predicted his next move. It hadn’t happened before in any capacity, let alone in this way. With Joel pulling out in a fury and tracing down your body until he reached the apex of your thighs. His hands held your legs forcefully apart and his hips rut into the mattress beneath him. And in the long line of things that were new tonight, this was exceptionally so. His tongue expertly ran from where he had just previously been splitting you in two, and migrated up to your clit, where again your legs flinched. This time it didn’t get any more of a verbal response than a hum against you and the vibrations it sent up your spine made your throat go dry.

He lapped at your clit. Tongue undulating against it in smooth procession and just when you thought you wouldn’t be able to make a noise due to your scratchy throat, you felt two of his fingers push inside you, curling up and scissoring open inside. It pulled the headiest moan from your lips. You didn’t dare look down to take a peek at him, but if you had, you would’ve seen the way he was thrusting into the mattress seemingly not of his own volition.

Your legs twitched together again, this time around his head and your hand flew down to cradle him, fingers tangling into his graying curls. It was fairly long now, giving you enough purchase as your body writhed beneath Joel’s ministrations. You could feel it building; slow at first and then all at once, just on the edge there. It hadn’t ever felt this way before. When you were younger, so were the boys, and not at all well-adapted to the skill. Even when you got yourself in the headspace to do it for yourself, it never felt like this. This was different. This was new. And so much so that you hadn’t known when the literal climax would be. When you’d hit that peak.

Whatever the case, it didn’t take long, that was for sure. One moment you were gasping for air to fill your lungs, and the next you were expelling the air you’d just sucked in with a shriek and labored groan. You all but pushed on Joel’s head to get him to stop and he did so immediately. You weren’t sure if that was because of what you were doing or if it was because his body was telling him to get the fuck up unless he wanted to soil the sheets.

So Joel scurried up to his knees and sat back on his heels. He peeled the condom off and wrapped one big strong hand around his shaft. The other went down to cup his balls. And his eyes stayed glued to you. More specifically your face… your eyes. Not aspects of your body like the others had. No. He stayed locked in to your face. And when you chewed on your bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed and a growl rumbled through his chest. Just a few tugs more and he was shooting his load up over his stomach. Long, firm strokes finished him off, and when he was done, he released his member and looked down at himself while his chest heaved.

Yours was heaving, too. If your ribs hadn’t been a cage, your heart and lungs wouldn’t have remained in your body. You’d seen plenty of men come in your lifetime. Maybe more than you’d have cared to see. But watching Joel was an entirely different experience. Not only had you wanted that for him, but when he did come, there was a sense of pride…or satisfaction in knowing that you’d been the one to get him there.

In the moment you wanted him again. Wanted his lips back on yours. Wanted to feel him. And you were just about to reach out for him when he carefully eased himself off the bed. He must’ve caught some sort of expression on your face because he flashed you a reassuring albeit sheepish smile. “Lemme get cleaned up. Made a bit of a mess of myself,” he plucked his underwear up off the floor. “Y’want water?”

You nodded eagerly, and had partially wished you hadn’t seemed so impatient because Joel turned rather quickly and left the room. If your guard and walls had been lowered by having him there with you, the moment he was out of sight, you felt the walls starting to build again. You scrambled beneath the sheets to hide yourself as if Joel hadn’t just seen you completely naked, and had only just gotten settled again when he strode back into the room; underwear on, stomach cleaned, with a glass of water in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

He handed the glass to you before he knelt back on the bed and flipped the sheets away from you without a second thought. It wasn’t until the cold air hit your skin and your entire body shivered that he paused and remembered this wasn’t something casual for you. He lifted his hand away from the sheet.

“What’s that for?” You pointed at the washcloth he still held. After taking a sip of water, you reached over and set the glass on the side table.

Joel glanced down at the wet cloth and then back up to you, “I was gonna…” he swallowed and cleared his throat, “was gonna help you get cleaned up.”

“Oh,”

“Can I?”

You thought for just a second before nodding, “sure.” But as soon as Joel made a move, you spoke up again, “Joel?” Heat rose in your cheeks when he looked up into your eyes again, “can I have another kiss?”

A red hue colored his cheeks, “‘course you can.” His lips were stretched into a smile when they made contact with yours.

This time you were the first to part your lips, allowing your tongue to gain entry into his mouth. He accepted it immediately and shared his tongue with you, too. The kiss hadn’t even finished before you felt the washcloth between your legs. It still held some warmth to it and you pulled your head back to look up at him; your legs spread wider to give him full access. He kissed your temple when you leaned in and set your head on his shoulder. His hand paid rapt attention to your most sensitive areas as he wiped you clean, folded the cloth over on itself, and then wiped the wet fabric down your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure how many more new things you’d be exposed to tonight. Everything seemed to be different from what you’d known. Joel didn’t ask you to leave. Didn’t give any indication that he was hoping you’d split. In fact, he seemed to evoke the exact opposite. Was getting ready to lay down beside you in bed when you asked if he could get you your underwear and shirt. He did so without question. Without asking if you were going to leave him. Was going to let you make any decision you needed to make. And yet – you swore you saw him exhale a sigh of relief when after putting your shirt and underwear back on, you tucked your feet back in beneath the sheets and settled in beside him.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Joel jolted awake as he normally did at night. Per his habit, he glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and was not at all surprised when it read half past two in the morning. That was about right. Sometime between two and four was usually the time when the nightmares reached their peak and he’d rise in a panic, gasping for air, trying to get his bearings, and hoping he’d be able to fall back asleep. But instead of his panic diminishing once he realized he was safe in his home, it increased when he looked to his other side and found himself alone in bed.

You’d been there when he fell asleep. Of that he was positive. He’d taken an extra peek at you to make sure you were comfortable. Finding your breathing slowing and evening out, he rolled over onto his side and went to sleep, too. But now you were gone and he jumped out of bed, straining his ears for any hint that you might still be around.

Out in the hallway, he heard something downstairs and it gave him a half-moment of hope before he tamped it down within himself. It could be Ellie, he told himself, don’t get your hopes up. The noise got a little louder when he came down the stairs, and a sweet scent in the air led him in the direction of the kitchen. At this point he knew it wasn’t Ellie, but he still didn’t want to jump the gun and believe it was you. Not until a whispered shout greeted him as he was about to turn the corner.

“Shit!”

And then he was there, in the threshold and staring at you, fully dressed again – your index finger pulled into your mouth, sucking at a burn. On the counter in front of you, a pie. His focus returned to you instead of the pastry, and he started in your direction, a smile spreading over his lips.

“Did I wake you up?”

Joel shook his head once he sidled up next to you. And easily, his hand dropped to your lower back, fingers curling around your hip. He noted how you glanced down at his fingers before looking back up into his eyes. “What’re you doin?”

You looked down at the pie, guilt rising within you, “couldn’t sleep.” You took a breath, “I thought about leaving, but then I thought you might get upset.” Averting your gaze back to the pie when Joel’s eyebrows furrowed, “my mom was a stress baker. Seemed like after the outbreak, she was always whippin’ something up. I just– you had most of the ingredients.”

“What didn’t I have?” his hand squeezed at your hip and tugged you in closer to him.

“Cinnamon. And sugar,” you looked back up at him as he all but shook you by the hip, trying to get your attention. “Hopefully the apples were sweet,”

Joel pulled open a drawer and took a fork and knife out of it, “well,” he started when he then reached up into the cabinet for a plate, “I don’t remember the last time I saw cinnamon.” With everything he needed in front of him, he sliced into the pie and about as indelicately as you could imagine, scooped the slice out of the baking dish and onto the plate. “Sugar’s hard to come by so whatever we have is usually kept at the dining hall for the whole town,”

You watched him carefully as he lifted a forkful up to his mouth. A good mixture of the flaky crust and the soft apples. No way this pie was better than your shooting, but you hoped he liked it all the same. He didn’t have to say anything for you to see that he did. His features softened, almost drooped in the relaxed way of having eaten something that was evoking a memory.

He swallowed, “the apples are sweet. I like it,” he went and stabbed for another bite, but instead of lifting it back up to his mouth, he offered it your way.

It took you a moment, but while looking up into his eyes, you opened your mouth and ate the bite he presented you. It would’ve been better with sugar, you thought. But the look Joel was giving you was almost better than the sugar.

Joel slowly pulled the fork out of your mouth and set it back down on the plate. He reached for your hand and hooked his fingers around yours, using that leverage to pull you into his body. You stumbled forward and caught yourself against his chest.. He suppressed a smile and bowed forward until his lips were pressed to the top of your head.

“Y’alright? Comfortable?”

You nodded gently and ran your hands down over his sides, fingers ghosting over his ribs, “s’it hurt?”

He shook his head but that wasn’t exactly the truth. “You don’t have to stay. And I don’t want you to think you do, but… I’d like to take you back upstairs, curl up with ya’, and go to sleep.” Joel pressed another kiss to the top of your head but then migrated down to your forehead and gave it a kiss. “Been awhile since I had a woman to cuddle up to,”

“Joel Miller cuddles?”

A smirk crossed over his face, ��oh yeah. And I’m great at it,” he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

You both inhaled into the kiss and Joel wrapped a hand around you again. This time, over your ass for a hearty handful. After a moment of just relishing in this moment, Joel patted your ass and with one more glance for reassurance, you passed by him and made for the stairs. If you could have only seen his face once you’d passed by. A deep sigh, a grin, and a thankful look skyward before he took off to follow you up the stairs and back into his bedroom.

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