#and her group thought she died but she survived and is now trying to get polly to release the demon
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━━━ ✧˖° 𝐃𝐀𝐃’𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋
[ 𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 ]
kinks: daddy kink, loss of virginity, threesome, brat taming, ddlg elements, daryl is a little submissive, light spanking, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering, dumbification if you squint, mentions of slapping and manhandling
warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a little annoying but she’s just horny, some angst and fluff, mentions of violence and death, reader is romantically involved with both men, reader is very feminine and pretends to be a little ditzy
word count: 19.7k
plot with porn, slight alternate universe.
female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.
dbf! rick & daryl masterlist + drabble


you need rick to fuck you. daryl too, if you’re being honest.
it’s not fair that the world went to shit before you lost your virginity, and you’re still pretty pissed that on his death bed, your father made rick promise to look out for you like you were his own daughter. talk about being a major cockblock, even from beyond the grave. and it’s just your luck that rick and daryl are the only two men you’ve ever met that would turn down a beautiful woman in her twenties who’s obviously desperate for them. they’re good guys - which, you guess, is part of their appeal. it’s so annoying.
both men frustrate you to no end, and it doesn’t help that you’re living in the same house with them in alexandria. living behind the walls in this community has made life so much easier - you’re no longer in survival mode, and you’re able to focus on other things…
like getting daryl and rick to fuck your brains out. or at least, pop your cherry. you’ve never trusted anyone as much as you trust these two men, and you want them. in every single way.
you just need to convince them.
Rick has a problem - and that problem is you.
Which, okay - he feels fucking bad for even thinking that. You’re not a problem in the general sense of the word. He doesn't resent you, he doesn’t think you’re annoying, and he doesn’t dislike you. In fact, the opposite is true.
He likes you a little too much, and that’s the fucking problem.
He’s supposed to protect you. He’s supposed to keep you safe, keep you alive, make sure nothing happens to you - it’s his job to look after you. Rick swore to your father on his death bed, after a supply run gone wrong, that he’d be around to help you make the best out of life in this new, fucked up world; and he’s really fucking trying, but it’s hard.
Rick doesn’t regret taking on that responsibility. Not at all. He’s known you for long enough now, knows that you’re a smart girl, and when your father died he didn’t want his friend’s final thoughts to be worries about what would happen to his daughter now that he wouldn’t be alive to look out for her.
Gripping your father’s hand, Rick had tried to hold back tears. Your dad was a good man, strong, and more than losing a valuable member of the group - Rick was losing a friend. If your father’s death was that painful for him, after only knowing one another for a little over a year - he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. You’d always been close to your father, and the look in your eyes when you had to leave the room so someone could take care of him before he turned into a walker, well. Rick would never forget it.
Heartbreaking.
Before your father was gone, Rick promised him that he would protect you. Yeah, you’re a grown woman, smart and strong just like your dad, with a good head on your shoulders and a helpful, fighting spirit. But even though you’re an adult, you’re still young, with the kind of reckless abandon and bravery that only the youth still have; the kind that’s constantly getting them into trouble.
So Rick assured your dad, holding onto his hand as he took his final breaths, that nothing would happen to you. That he’d take care of you, look after you like you were his own daughter. It was the right thing to do, the good thing to do -
But Rick didn’t anticipate how hard you’d make it for him to fulfill that promise.
He didn’t think you’d be so, so. God, he doesn’t even fucking know. He doesn’t want to use the word to describe you, because you’re an adult, not a petulant kid -
But you’re a fucking brat.
He’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, and your dad was just able to calm you down enough so that the rest of the group didn’t notice, or if it’s a new thing you’re dealing with from the grief and the life changes that losing your father brought on.
Rick’s not a psychiatrist. He doesn’t know enough about the moods of women to even attempt to get through to you, and he doesn’t have the nerve to ask you to fix your attitude when life these last few years has been full of constant, challenging changes for everyone - and he especially doesn’t want to ask for help or guidance from anyone else regarding these problems, because that would mean admitting he can’t control or handle the responsibility of keeping a young woman in check.
He’s led a group of people through an apocalypse of the walking dead, and he’s letting a twenty something year old in pink sneakers get under his skin with an eye roll?
No. He’d never admit to that.
Even if it’s obvious to anyone who sees the two of you interacting.
Right now, Rick’s sitting in a chair on the porch of his home in Alexandria. It’s bittersweet, to have a semblance of normalcy. Had the group found this community back when your father was alive, he never would’ve died. Would’ve never had to make that risky supply run looking for something to help your fever and headache that led to him getting bit by a walker and ultimately dying.
Having to be killed just to put him out of his misery.
Rick’s trying to enjoy the feeling of normal on this porch, surrounded by his friends that are so close they’re like family - but deep down he knows that things will never be the way they were before the world went to shit. And the things he’s done, the things you all have done - they happened, and none of you can pretend that they didn’t. Life, every single one of you - will never, ever be the way it was before.
He’s drinking a beer - okay, he’s on his third, trying not to let the negative thoughts weigh him down. The last thing he wants to do is flip the switch like he did last year, the one that turned him into a raging lunatic, so bad that Daryl had to beat his ass when he started to turn into someone he didn’t know. Back when he was a danger to himself and others. That can’t happen now.
Not when he’s got a community of people to look out for. Not when he’s got you to care for. A clear head, enough mental agility to make rational decisions - Rick owes everyone that. He owes the group that. He owes you that.
But why do you have to make his life so damn difficult?
There’s a party in the community tonight, and even though Rick is more or less in charge of this place, this get-together wasn’t his idea. He would never plan something like this, even back when he was married and just a small town cop. Before walkers and danger lurked at every fucking corner.
Rick can pretend all he wants, that he fits in or that this normal shit, a sort of block party in this case, was anything he missed, but it’s a lie.
He’s hardened from all the time he’s spent outside - but he wants the rest of the group to try. To want this. This has always been the goal, the plan. Finding and living in a place like Alexandria. Right?
So he’s on the sidelines, sipping beer and watching the rest of his group learn how to be proper humans again. It’s an outdoor thing, with kids in the community running around and food made with actual ovens and stoves, alcohol that’s poured into glasses and cups instead of sipped out of a dirty bottle found in a stranger’s leftover backpack while on the road.
The street is blocked off with picnic tables and everyone’s being a touch too loud for this event to be considered safe, but Rick’s not going to ruin their fun yet.
Because he’s watching the group - but his eyes keep falling on you.
Just to make sure you’re okay, he tells himself, but in his tipsy mind he knows that’s a lie.
You look damn good in the dress you’re wearing.
To be fair, despite the filth and the starvation and the level of grime every single person in the group wore for months straight, you’ve always looked good. You’re beautiful, even when you’re covered in dirt without a trace of makeup on your face. Some women just have it, the type of body that fills out clothes like everything is made for them to wear. The kind of face, features - the raw kind of beauty that’s appealing even in the middle of the apocalypse.
That’s you, Rick thinks, and he wonders why you chose to wear such a cute little number to this party when the rest of the women are wearing long pants.
Maybe you’re doing it on purpose. Maybe you’re -
Rick wants to slap himself in the face. He’s been feeling that urge, to get himself in check, whenever he thinks about you these days.
He promised your father that he’d look out for you. Keep you safe. Protect you. Yet here he is, catching himself checking you out again, because yeah, this is definitely not the first time he’s noticed your figure.
Your father - Rick truly considered him a close friend, and he blames himself for the miscommunication that ended up with him promising to look out for you like you were his own daughter. Your father just knew that Rick cared about you, which is true. Saw the way he was always willing to protect you, to defend you, to make sure you were taken care of.
Must’ve noticed the long talks you two had, saw the way Rick so helpfully taught you how to shoot a gun without wasting all the bullets. The way he let you wear his shirt one day, because it was the only extra after getting caught in a storm and your own shirt was soaking wet, sticking to your body and -
Holy fuck, Rick thinks, finishing off his beer and slamming it down a little too harshly. He can’t think about that. Can’t think about the way your tits looked in that wet shirt, the way your body felt, warm and soft when he pressed up behind you and gripped your hand, showing you how to properly use a gun. The way you hugged him, cuddled into his side while he gave you advice and you had your long talks, because you wanted the wisdom of someone mature who wasn’t your father.
He’s not a bad man, he swears. Rick’s never been attracted to a woman as young as you at his age, and he hates himself for it. It’s wrong, but he can’t deny the magnetic attraction he feels when he looks at you, thinks about you, is around you. It’s chemical.
Plus, he reasons to himself, trying to avert his eyes when you bend down to pick up something off the ground. That dress is way too short, and although Rick really isn’t looking (lie), someone else notices, and Carol steps behind you to hide the free view of your purple, little panties that you’re giving every man at this outdoor party.
Rick doesn’t know if he should thank Carol for covering you up or tell her to move.
Your father - he must’ve misread those moments between the two of you. Thought, because of your age difference, that Rick was just being fatherly towards you - because any man his age with a conscience would never be attracted to a woman as young as you. It probably didn’t even cross your father’s mind that Rick thought of you as anything other than his friend’s daughter.
Which makes him feel even worse.
You’re not bent over anymore, and you and Carol share a laugh about the length of your dress while Rosita teases you and Maggie walks over with two glass bottles of beer in her hands. You’re quite the social butterfly.
Rick can’t hear clearly, but he thinks he makes out someone asking where he is, and you spin around looking for him, looking so cute and clueless and Rick hates himself even more because why is that confused look on your face so fucking cute?
When you spot him on his porch, you point and then grin. Like he’s your favorite person and he’s been lost for much too long and you’re so excited to finally find him - when in reality, you just haven’t spoken in maybe thirty minutes. Rick doesn’t know why you’re smiling so big looking at him, but he can’t deny the way it warms him up. His face, his neck, a good feeling that spreads down his chest and goes directly to his cock.
You wave, all happy, with a little bounce in your step when you raise on your toes to properly see him over the porch railing, and Rick is so fond it makes him sick. The wave, the pretty smile, the enthusiasm. It makes you look so young, so beautiful, and Rick can’t stand how much he likes it.
How much he likes you.
He waves back, just as Maggie comes up the porch steps and hands him another beer. She asks if he’s going to join the party soon, or if he’s playing the part of Daryl since even the lone wolf himself is sitting with a few other people at a picnic table, although his face is deadpanned and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Rick laughs.
When Maggie walks off, Rick notices that you’re still watching him. Not at all listening to whatever Carol and Rosita are talking about. It’s like you were waiting, to capture his attention again - and once you have it, that smile returns and you blow him a kiss.
And Rick? God, he’s such a fucking idiot. He feels like such a creep. But it’s not like he can ignore you, because what kind of person would do that? You’re just being sweet. That’s all. And he’s just excited because your sweetness is a nice break from how fucking bratty you’ve been all week.
Rick repeats that excuse in his mind like a mantra.
He pretends to grab the kiss, face red at how juvenile this is, and then he blows one back. He’s drunk now, he’s sure of it, and he’s embarrassed that he’s even playing this game with you.
But you look so satisfied when you grab his kiss, and you hold it in your palm and don’t open your hand, like you’re saving it. And that - goddamnit. Rick’s going crazy. You’re too fucking sweet, you’re too fucking pretty, you’re too fucking good for him and you’re too young for him and -
Rick catches Daryl’s eyes over the porch. It’s hard to read him, but it’s pretty clear he saw that. The exchange. The way he looks between the two of you, the little tilt of the corner of his mouth. He knows - he knows something.
Rick tips his new beer back and swallows, shaking his head.
Yeah. He’s got a fucking problem, alright.
────
Daryl is not this guy.
This guy, being the kind of man that thinks about a woman your age in an inappropriate way. It’s unlike him - but it’s unlike him to think about romance and sex at all, to be honest. He’s always been too busy for that shit. Too busy surviving, taking care of himself. At the end of a long day, all he can think about is going to sleep so he can do this human and living shit again the next morning.
And that was before the fucking apocalypse of walkers.
After the world was overrun with them, romance and sex were even further out of his mind. Nothing hot about sneaking off in the woods or to an abandoned building to fuck in a room that smells like decaying bodies. Daryl has no idea how Maggie and Glenn do it, can’t believe that Rosita once let Abraham fuck her on the floor of an old church they were staying in, with walker guys splattered on the wall next to them.
Which is saying a lot, because Daryl doesn’t even have a weak stomach. Doesn’t get grossed out by things most grown men would have a fit over. It’s not his style. He just can’t picture ever wanting to fuck bad enough that he’d do it while living in a world like this. He doesn’t think with his dick - fuck, the truth is? Sometimes he used to wonder if it even still worked after all the shit he’s been through.
But...things have changed since the group got to Alexandria. After a few months, with no starving and with a pillow and a mattress to sleep on, being able to close both eyes instead of just one during the night - Daryl is starting to notice that his priorities are changing. Bit by bit everyday, he’s slowly turning into someone he doesn’t recognize - and that scares him.
It terrifies him.
Alexandria is nicer than any place Daryl has ever lived before - like, way nicer. Before the apocalypse, he’d never even be allowed within fifty miles of a community like this, he thinks. There’s running water, warm water, and he’s starting to get a little scared that he, along with everyone else from his group, are getting a little too used to these luxuries.
He finds himself waking up with a hard cock whenever he sleeps in his own bed. That’s the first sign that his body is adjusting to...comfort? Every single morning, without fail, he’s hard. Except when he goes on his recruiting runs with Aaron and he’s forced back into a tent on the cold ground. But when he comes back from those runs, it doesn't matter how many days he’s been gone, the next morning in his own bed always means he’s going to have to change his boxers.
Can’t exactly go around Alexandria with his precum dried in his pants.
Daryl doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like, this, this - what does he even call this? Health? Finally feeling like he belongs somewhere, so his body can let down its guard?
He’s worried, about what that means, because as nice as this new little community is for everyone - it might not last. That’s a total possibility, and he’s getting way too soft with all this hot coffee with creamer and warm meals and electricity. Fuck this place (he thinks, somewhat fondly).
So, Daryl’s fighting back.
As of late, he’s starting to refuse getting used to this place. Will go a week without a warm meal and will head straight out to the woods to eat a raw squirrel or frog whenever he finds himself excited about spaghetti for dinner. If he finds himself jacking off under the warm water in his shower, eyes closed while he enjoys the smell of eucalyptus from his bar of soap - he’ll curse and hop right out, head straight back into the woods to rub dirt on his clothes and get mud under his nails again. What kind of fucking man notices the smell of his soap?
A man that dies when things get bad again. That’s who. No, Daryl cannot have that happen. Fucking stupid soap.
He throws it in the trash can and goes back to the almost gone, orange and white looking bar he’s used for the last year. Unscented.
But everything he’s doing - there’s just no point. No matter what Daryl does, how uncomfortable he makes his own life, his dick is still getting hard.
He got mad at Rosita during breakfast the other day for wearing those fucking tiny shorts of hers. He’s not even attracted to her - she’s not his type at all, and then when Tara joined them at the table, obviously not wearing a bra, Daryl cursed at them and stormed off. Told them to put on some fucking clothes. He doesn't think either of them are particularly hot, but his dick does. Sees a pair of long legs these days, a jiggle of breast, the round shape of a woman’s ass - fuck, the color pink, and his fucking cock is ready to go.
Daryl can’t even remember the last time he had sex. Because sex doesn’t really matter these days, and Daryl doesn’t want it to matter. He doesn’t want manners to matter either, which is why he won’t even join the rest of the house for dinner after he caught himself putting a napkin on his lap. He can hear Merle’s voice in his head when he remembers to chew with his mouth closed - goddamn, he’s supposed to be a survivalist. Not a suburban douche.
Obviously, he’s going fucking crazy. He would say he’s having a hard time adjusting - but it’s kind of the opposite. Daryl’s adjusting to life in Alexandria much easier than he expected, and that’s what’s crazy.
And you - that’s where his real problem comes in. You’re driving him fucking insane.
You’re living in the same house as him, you’re constantly around, and Daryl doesn’t know what to do with the emotions you bring out in him. He tries to avoid you as much as possible, but you’re always around the corner, usually seeking him out. When thoughts start swirling around in his head, his stomach, his dick, all of them relating back to you, he tries to drown them out with beer or something harder, tries to distract himself, tries to tire himself out so he has no room or time to think about you.
But he’s starting to realize that, unfortunately, the only way to get you out of his mind is through his dick. And that’s only a temporary solution, before he sees you do something else that’s sexy, like existing, and he’s back to where he started.
Wraps a fist around his cock in the middle of the night, jerking himself off to the thought of you, biting the inside of his cheek so nobody else in the house can hear him - cheap ass new construction with the thin ass walls. Everything pisses Daryl off these days, but maybe he just needs to get laid.
But deep down - he thinks, no, knows - that his problem is you.
When Daryl first met you, he didn’t like you. Thought you were annoying, saw your girly appearance and assumed you’d be a dead weight to the rest of the group, but your father was someone that the group would be lucky to have. Military training, big and strong and smart. Daryl loved that guy, almost as much as he cares about Rick - and he was devastated when he passed. If someone like your dad could die, it meant anyone could, but watching the way you handled yourself after his passing made Daryl really start to think of you differently.
He started to respect you. See you beyond just a pretty package that talks too much and wastes too much water and snores so fucking loud you’re like a siren alerting the walkers right to everyone, at least before the group arrived behind these walls. You’ve, in a way…grown up? Right before his eyes. You’re kind, you’re pretty helpful when you want to be, you’re smart, even if you play up the ditzy princess role for attention, and Daryl’s not actually not sure how old you are, just that you’re in your early twenties, and, well.
You’re fucking hot. Look like a woman from the posters Merle would hang up on his bedroom walls back when he was still alive. Daryl never did any shit like that, feels bad even noticing your beauty, but, hell -
He’s definitely not the only one.
He walks into the living room, because he has to if he wants to get to the front door. Daryl wants air, and you keep lighting fucking candles that some dumbass gave you as a welcome gift in the community, and they smell too sweet and they make his throat itch, and the smell fucking wafts up to his room. Daryl wants to smoke, too scared of Carol bitching at him again if she sees him from the house next door, out his window, putting his cigarette out on the freshly painted window pane. Women. Toxic fucking candles are cool, but cigarettes, a necessity that's almost as important as water, are a no go? Utter bullshit.
Daryl’s already dreading having to interact with you when he sees you on the couch. You’re sitting criss-cross, in a dress, and at this point he thinks you have to be trying to show off, but maybe not.
Why would you? Not like you’re around a bunch of young dudes or anything. Maybe you’re just that comfortable around the people in the house, and if that’s the case, well - that makes Daryl a little happy. You annoy him, sure - but he cares about you like he does everyone from his original group.
Wouldn’t hurt you to put a bra on or close your legs more often though. Better yet - close the fucking door to the bathroom when you take a shower. Daryl’s getting heated, in more ways than one, just thinking about your carelessness.
Rick’s sitting on the couch next to you, his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa, his head halfway in his hand. You - you’re chatting his ear off, as you always do. “It’s kinda keto, you know? Eating just meat. That’s partly why we’re all in such good shape, Rick. I swear with all this pasta and canned food we’ve been eating since we got here, I’m going to gain a million pounds,” you stop when you notice that Daryl walks in. Rick looks up, lifts his hand in a meek greeting at him, and attempts to say something but you cut him off.
“I was just telling Rick about the keto diet. You know, just meat, no carbs. You’re sort of keto, Daryl, before we got here at least, it’s-” Daryl cuts you off. He doesn’t want to get involved. Doesn’t want to look you in your pretty eyes and feed into whatever fucking verbal whirlwind you’re on about, because someone really shouldn’t let you drink coffee but you’re too damn grown to have someone monitor your caffeine intake, but he literally can’t stop himself.
“What the fuck ‘re you talkin’ about?” He deadpans. “I’ve never been on no fucking diet.” Rick snorts in reply, and you smack him on the arm.
“Hey,” Rick warns, voice a little too loud and too stern for the move. You’re pretty tiny - not like your violence could hurt him, but you turn your pretty pout into a neutral expression at his scolding anyway. “Enough. Stop worryin’ about gaining weight, and just be happy you’re alive,” he reprimands, shaking his head.
This time, you scoff. “It’s a joke, Rick,” you mutter, suddenly uncomfortable with your vulnerable sitting position. You shift and sit normally, but there's still way too much skin on display in a room with two men twice your age. You cross one leg over the other. Daryl’s drawn to the soft skin of your thighs, your little foot in a bright white sock, the bottom a little dirty.
He sees Rick literally shift his position to get a better view of you sulking. Arms crossed, which inadvertently pushes your tits up and makes them sit high. Where the fuck did you even get a dress like that? What suburban mother in this neighborhood had clothes for -
Nah. Daryl’s not going to go there. You look good, and he’s not the only one who thinks so.
But that’s obvious. Everyone around Rick, around you, around you two together can see it. Daryl hopes he’s not that fucking obvious. The funny thing is - Rick thinks he’s slick. That nobody else sees the way he’s all starry-eyed, like a fucking cartoon character whenever you’re around.
He pretends like he hates it, shouldering the responsibility of looking out for you. Like he can’t stand all the cute little knick knacks you’ve managed to collect from the other women in Alexandria, scattered around the house, like he’s so annoyed when you ask to sleep in his room whenever the amount of walkers at the gate gets so big the entire community can hear them while they sleep, like he’s bothered whenever you get tipsy and fit yourself right next to him, warm body pressed into his side. Ask him to open jars for you like you’re not strong enough, when everyone’s seen you bash a walker’s head in with an empty wine bottle and kill a bird with a stick for something to eat.
The best one, was when Rick made a huge commotion about having to teach you how to shoot a gun, as if you weren’t the daughter of a former military legend who managed to survive this long. Daryl actually laughed at that, wondered if you were truly playing Rick, or if he knew your incompetence was just a lie to get closer to him, and he played along because he wanted the excuse just as much as you.
You play the role well, Daryl will give you that. Whenever Rick comes around, you’re…softer. Sweeter. You play dumb. Daryl doesn’t know why, although maybe he does, just doesn’t wanna admit it because it’s wrong.
Isn’t it? Or maybe he’s just fucked up. Maybe you really do see Rick as a sort of surrogate father figure since your dad is gone, and if that’s the case, well - it makes sense that you might try to make yourself seem like you need him. Maybe you really do. What the fuck does Daryl know?
Just kind of weird, ‘s all. You’re too hot to be acting like that. And Rick - Daryl’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to play this game with you.
He clears his throat to interrupt whatever tension is going on between the two of you. Doesn’t want to see Rick groveling to get you to behave, or the opposite - because if he hears you beg, well.
Daryl's not going to chance it. Thinking with his dick lately, remember? He starts walking to the front door.
“Wait,” you say, because of course you do. Daryl thinks about pretending like he didn't hear you, but you get off of the couch and manage to get behind him, soft little hand on his bicep while you try to stop him. “Where are you going? Can I come with? I wanna see the sunset,” you explain, and shit. What a cute fucking sentence. Daryl literally hates himself.
“Not going sunset watching,” he grumbles, pulling his arm away from you. Your delicate, tiny touch is burning his skin. “This ain't a vacation,” he adds, because someone around here has to be the negative one, right? This world is still fucking shitty, even in this little piece of protected suburbs. Rick calls out your name.
“Leave him be, go find something useful to do,” he orders, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at you to know you’re rolling your sweet little eyes. Again, he has thoughts that make him berate himself. Sweet? Eyes? He’s two seconds away from going next door and asking Abraham to kick his ass just to bring him back down to reality.
“Stop telling me what to do all the time,” you bite back, and just to stop the bickering, Daryl relents. Not like he was doing anything anyway, just wanted to go for a little walk to clear his head, check the wall and make sure the new adjustments to it are still intact, still keeping this place safe.
Being able to keep his head on straight for a night would’ve been cool, but here you go, using all that feminine charm on him to get him to do what you want. No wonder people in the olden days thought sexy women were witches. Maybe they were onto something.
“Jus’ hurry up and grab a jacket, kid. Shit,” Daryl curses, and you practically squeal and run up the stairs, going to your room to put on some shoes and a little coat. To be fair, when you’re not around Rick - you’re not so fucking immature. You’re always cute, nice, smart - but Rick brings out thoughtlessness in you that’s truly insane to witness. Sometimes it’s like you’re a different person.
When you come back down with your jacket on, which isn’t a jacket but more of a little white sweater, you actually go back to Rick to say goodbye, pat his arm while Daryl watches his attempt to be cool, even when it’s obvious that your presence, anytime you touch him, sends him into a panic. Daryl knows that feeling. Rick stands and grabs a handgun from a drawer next to the couch and hands it to you, because that’s a rule around here. Every adult needs to be armed when they’re walking around.
You roll your eyes. Again. “Would’ve been safe with Daryl,” you grumble, and that’s true, but knowing you think that makes Daryl almost jump out of his skin. It’s…good. Shit, you really confuse him, and you’re only a young little thing.
He can’t imagine the power you’ll hold when you get to be his age. If, no - when. Because you’re going to make it. Rick promised your father you would. Daryl didn’t promise him anything, but it’s still important to him too.
“Bye, Rick,” you say, before following Daryl out the door. You’re halfway off the porch when Rick stands in the doorway, seeing you off. He doesn’t say anything to Daryl, doesn’t need to, but he does call out to you.
“Don’t ask for a cigarette, you hear me? Don't do anything fuckin' stupid,” he warns, and you just laugh out loud, slide the gun that he handed you into your boot. Daryl doesn’t get it, the dynamic between you two, but it’s weird and awkward and frankly, a little hot. Maybe he’s more like Merle than he thought.
You walk to an empty area of Alexandria, somewhere you can sort of see the sunset. He fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. What good is being outside if he can't have a smoke?
“Want one?” Daryl grunts, and you giggle and take it, because yeah, Rick told you not to smoke, but Rick ain’t his daddy. He ain’t yours either - but as Daryl lights up, he supposes that Rick… sort of is?
He nags you, protects you, takes care of you. Made you move into the room next to his so he could keep a closer eye on you. Daryl's pretty sure he heard Rick tell you to eat your vegetables the other day, and whenever you hurt yourself he's always the first one coming to you, gently fixing up whatever little wound you might have.
Maybe you want that. The Daddy thing. Maybe you like that. Maybe -
Daryl’s a sick bastard. Must run in the Dixon DNA.
You nod, but before he can give you your own, you just grab it from his lips, almost burn your finger while you do it too. You get pink lip gloss on the cigarette, and you never end up giving it back. Such a bratty, spoiled thing to do. Would be enough to start a fight, where Daryl’s from, being greedy like that - but you're fuckin' cute and you know it. You know the power you have, and that's a turn on for Daryl.
And yeah, he could easily reach back into his pocket, get his own cigarette, but he’s content. Dick halfway hard in his pants, watching a beautiful thing like you look all pretty and pink and proper, smoking on a cancer stick.
Daryl doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, “He’s too old for you, ya know that, don’t cha?” He’s talking about Rick. Obviously. Is not at all (lie) trying to gauge your reaction to an older man. Isn't inadvertently (another lie) trying to figure out if you're purposely bending over, just so he can see your cleavage on full display while you pick a flower growing in the grass by your feet.
You smile, taking a final inhale then tossing the cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with the toe of your sneaker. Deanna’s going to kill you for littering so shamelessly.
You shake your head, blow out the smoke. “No, he’s not,” you say, taking the flower and putting it behind your ear. You lock eyes with Daryl. “And neither are you.”
────
Living with you requires a special kind of patience that Rick doesn’t have at his age.
Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever had the kind of patience required to live with someone like you. Although, patience and restraint could be interchanged in this scenario.
You’re driving him crazy.
There’s four rooms in his designated house in Alexandria, but the house still doesn’t seem big enough. Your presence is suffocating to him, in the best way possible, but it’s overwhelming when he’s got so much on his plate. The safety of the entire community is a big responsibility, and his focus has to be on keeping people alive and fed and prepared, in case something happens.
Rick feels like he never gets a chance to breathe, with someone somewhere always wanting something from him. And it’s not like he can relax when he gets home, either - because you’re there, and Rick physically cannot calm down around you. It’s not your fault. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to you, and maybe in another world that would be something amazing, but in this world it’s wrecking his nervous system.
God, he really sounds like an old man these days. It’s a good reminder that, in comparison to you, he sort of is.
It’s been a long day. Rick’s walking up the stairs, ready to collapse into his bed until he’s inevitably woken up again in a few hours for something the people in the community could handle on their own. He’s literally yawning, resisting the urge to rub his eyes when you quickly round the corner and try to scamper down the stairs around him.
As if that would work. The houses in Alexandria are big, much nicer than the home Rick lived in before this whole mess started, but a staircase is still a staircase. Too narrow for the both of you to squeeze past each other without touching.
Rick grabs your wrist to stop you, not hard, but you whine like he just tried to saw your arm off. Such a dramatic brat. Instead of rubbing his eyes, Rick resists the urge to roll them now.
There’s no curfew for the residents of Alexandria, not really, but there’s no point in leaving the house after dark. Your group has spent a year wishing for a safe place to lay your head at night, and being outside this late just seems foolish and unnecessary.
And a little suspicious.
And - Rick is nosy. He hates how frail your wrist feels in his hand, so he drops it, and gets a good look at you. ���Where are you goin’?” He asks, annoyed at how fond he feels when he sees your bottom lip poke out.
You’re pouting. You’re pouting and he hasn’t even nagged you about anything yet. That’s a new record, for sure.
You shrug, and the movement draws his eyes to your chest, where your tits bounce ever so slightly in your tight, little tank top. Rick can feel the wheels of brat moving in your mind, and he lets out a breath because he knows whatever is about to come out of your mouth is bullshit. It always is, whenever you speak to him.
It’s clear you love to rile him up, although he’s not sure why. Maybe you see him as a safe place to get your frustration out - he’s the closest thing you’ve got to a parent these days, so maybe giving him a hard time is coping skill or something.
At that thought, the parent one, Rick lifts his eyes from your chest. He hates that when you’re this close, he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume or shampoo or whatever it is that women use to smell delicious. He hates that when you’re this close, he can see the twinkle in your pretty eyes, the sparkle of whatever product you have on your lips that makes them look so soft. He hates -
Well, most of all, he hates himself. For noticing these things. For thinking these things. He can’t even reason that he knows every detail about your face because he’s known you for so long - because he’s known Maggie and Carol and shit, Daryl, even longer than you - and he truly can’t even recall the color of their eyes.
This attention to detail - it’s definitely a you thing.
You quirk a brow, one that’s perfectly arched. You must’ve spent three hours in the bathroom when the group arrived in Alexandria. Rick remembers that you waited for everyone else to have a turn rinsing off, just so you could take your sweet time after everyone already went to bed. You guard the scented shampoo that Deanna left for you with your life, and the bathroom care package someone dropped off the first week, that came with tweezers and razors and mouthwash. Rick knows you made nice with the other women in the community just to ‘borrow’ the perfume that they had before the start of the apocalypse.
It’s cute, and the femininity you’re showing in this community has Rick almost forgetting all the times he’s seen you smash a walkers head in or eat from a can of uncooked ravioli with your fingers - which was a luxury find a few months ago. Crazy how fast life can change.
“Just getting some water, Rick. Why do you think I’m going somewhere?”
Well. Rick didn’t think about that. The kitchen is downstairs.
But Rick knows you better than that. Apparently, he pays more attention to every single thing you do than he even realized. If you were just going to get water this late, you’d be in your pajamas - which is more often than not, a pair of boxers and a shirt that's much too big for you. You swiped them from Daryl’s room when someone from the community brought everyone a fresh change of clothes - you’ve really gotten comfortable here.
Right now you’re not wearing anything comfortable, and that’s how Rick knows you’re lying. That little tank top, no bra, the tiny pair of shorts you’ve got on - how fucking stupid do you think he is? You’re wearing shoes - he knows you’re planning on leaving.
Which is fine. You’re allowed to. But you’re also his responsibility, and he’s beyond tired, and there were more walkers by the walls today, and - you know what? Rick’s not letting you off this easy. Call it payback, after your fit yesterday in front of Deanna and Abraham, when you stomped your cute foot and called Rick a control freak since he wouldn’t let you go on a run yourself.
He can give you a hard time too. So he does. “I know you’re lying, and you’re not leaving the house tonight. It’s too dangerous,” and that’s not really true, but your bottom lip juts out again and then you cross your arms, and that just irritates Rick more because now you’re covering up his view. Fuck, he’s really sick, isn’t he? Maybe he just needs to go to bed.
He should just let you go out. Move out of your way, so you can pass him on the stairs and go where you want to go so bad, wherever that is. Carol and Sasha are patrolling, and there’s a card game at the house in the center of the community where Glenn and Abraham and Maggie, as well as others, are all together. You’d be fairly safe if you went out for a walk, and truth be told, Rick isn’t really worried about your safety right now.
If he’s honest with himself, deep down - he just doesn’t want to let you out of the house in that fucking outfit. He’s got to talk with Deanna, tell her to tell whoever’s in charge of the clothing in Alexandria to give you a bra and some shorts that fit. Christ, he thinks, running a hand down his face in pure exhaustion and frustration, because you quickly head down the stairs after he tells you no and he can clearly see the bottom of your asscheeks, round and firm and - damn. Those shorts belong in the fucking trash or on a pedestal where Rick can properly thank them.
“I’ve got plans,” you say, pretty mouth no longer pouting, but pulled into a cheeky smile. Rick realizes that you’re pleased, because you’re already getting the attention you wanted from him, without him even realizing it. He follows you down the stairs so you’re both standing in the living room now, and Rick’s too old for all this bickering, too tired, but he plays along anyway. Knows this is just a game, to terrorize him, because you’re a little menace and you enjoy pissing him off.
And shit - he can admit it. It feels good that someone like you wants his attention this bad. So he'll play along.
“Yeah? Well, tell me what they are. Don’t be shy. Where the hell are you goin' dressed like that?” Rick’s falling into the trap, because he’s fucking stupid, because you make him stupid. He could easily walk back upstairs and go to sleep just as easily as you could walk out the front door and do - whatever the fuck it is you want to do right now. But you’re both standing here, two adults arguing for no reason, and that’s when Rick realizes why he even entertains your little tantrums and ploys at getting him to argue.
Maybe he just likes that someone is brave enough to question his decisions. You make him feel human - like he’s more than just a leader.
You uncross your arms, and Rick wishes you didn’t. He wanted you to a minute ago, but now he just wants to run upstairs to his room to pull out a shirt and pair of boxers to force you to wear, to hide that figure of yours that was only made hotter from all the fucking physical activity the entire group did every day for a year.
“I’m not going anywhere, Rick. God, stop being such a freak. I’m just watching a movie with Daryl.”
Your answer knocks the wind out of Rick, because now he knows you're really up to something. Wearing that, to watch a movie with Daryl? It's shady, and yeah, Rick knows that you like Daryl. Everyone can see it.
You love to tease him and torment him, say things to make him blush, and if Rick's not around you cling him to like a teddy bear, ask to follow him around and help him with runs or whatever needs to be done. Rick always just assumed you had a little crush on him - which was sort of cute, in a weird way. Showed Rick that you like older men, and out of everyone - Daryl's harmless. He wouldn't act on any stupid thoughts, and probably doesn't even think of you in that way. He's a good guy.
Unlike Rick, apparently.
Even your father could see it. When he was still alive, when the group was constantly on the move, Daryl carried you on his back for miles, told Rick that giving in was better than hearin' your bitchin'. Rick still remembers the look on your father's face when he saw Daryl put you down that day, his posture fucked, dripping sweat - and he still handed you his water bottle before he even got a sip.
"She's somethin'," your dad said with an eye roll, although fond. You were the apple of his eye, but even your father knew you could be a goddamn handful.
Now though, with the possibility that your little crush could be more, Rick feels weird. Uncomfortable, an emotion burning in his chest that he realizes is - no, it can't be -
Jealousy? He feels weirdly possessive, he -
Hears the garage door close, then heavy footsteps, until Daryl’s standing on the other side of the room.
“What’s all the ruckus? Was just cleaning my bike,” Daryl starts, a little disturbed at the way Rick looks like he’s about to have a heart attack or crumble to the floor in frustration. He steps further into the room a little tentatively, before his eyes look to you, and suddenly Daryl is glad that he’s learned to control his emotions so they don’t ever register on his face.
Because your outfit - if it can even be called that…well, Daryl’s starting to realize why Rick looks like he’s about to have a nervous breakdown.
Daryl can’t help himself. He says it without even consciously realizing it, asking, “Where the fuck you goin’ dressed like that?” All while pretending to be casual, wiping motorcycle grease off of his hands with a dirty towel he brought in from the garage.
Daryl’s comment must send you over the edge, because you huff and groan and then run upstairs, slamming your door like a fucking teenager.
It’s silent for a second, with just the two of them in the living room, before Daryl breaks the silence. “What’s her problem?” He asks Rick, who stays silent for so long, eyes closed and a hand over his face, that Daryl wonders if Rick even heard him.
But then Rick laughs. The kind of laugh that stems from being so irritated, instead of breaking something all he can do is angrily chuckle. Now Daryl is really confused, but Rick isn’t.
You were lying about watching a movie with Daryl, as Rick expected, and he shakes his head. The outfit and the shoes to pretend you were going somewhere and the attitude were all just to rile him up. He thinks he's starting to realize why you want to get a rise out of him so bad, and it makes his stomach turn and his dick chub up in excitement.
“She said she was watchin’ a movie with you,” he explains, which only further perplexes Daryl, because he doesn’t watch movies, and you were wearing shoes - but he knows when to leave a situation alone. Whatever you and Rick having going on - that’s between you two.
Daryl turns to go back to the garage, and Rick’s about to walk up the stairs when the sound of your bedroom door opening is heard, and then a few light footsteps. Both men brace themselves because you’re sure to have something to say now.
It’s sort of cute, although neither one of them would admit that they like this attitude - that you needed to take a minute to gather your thoughts just to come up with something nasty to say back to Rick.
“Daryl,” you call from the top of the stairs, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to hang out. We could've gone for a walk, or watched a movie, or - anything! Rick’s just so mean, he doesn’t want to watch a movie with me and,” Rick stomps up the stairs and you squeal. Daryl bites back a laugh at the way you act around Rick, a smile spreading across his face that he’s glad no one else is around to see.
It’s weird, that he finds you so fucking charming. You’re annoying as shit, but it’s endearing, and the way Rick acts around you - like a human, instead of a tough robot - it's nice to see. He keeps that to himself, not going back to the garage until he hears Rick tell you to go to bed. “I just wanted to watch a movie,” you whine, and as the door shuts, Daryl hears Rick.
“Watch one? In that outfit, looks like you’re trying to make one. Quit lyin' and put some fuckin' clothes on.”
────
Just like that, everything changes.
All thanks to that little outfit. God bless Deanna for sending over those little shorts that you cut even smaller, and those tank tops you took from the community closet that were definitely meant for someone younger than you - but they did the job you needed them to do perfectly.
That outfit changed everything. It got Rick, and Daryl, to see that you were only trying to show off. That everything you’d been doing, especially since you got to Alexandria, was just to get their attention.
And yeah, maybe that makes you feel a little pathetic. It’s the end of the world, and all you’re thinking about is how to seduce your late father’s close friends, but there’s another way of looking at that too. For instance, you could literally die tomorrow. So could Rick, Daryl - anyone. Every single day that you go to bed, you know that it’s all just luck. Like winning the lottery. So why not have fun while you still can?
In your opinion, that should be everyone’s viewpoint.
The next morning, after your little lie about watching a movie with Daryl, Rick made sure everyone was out of the house so that he could talk to you. He found you in the kitchen.
“He’s too old for you,” he says, all parental and bossy in a plaid button down shirt, hand on his hip. He reminds you of your dad a little, with the disapproving tone and the stance. Back when your father used to disapprove of every fucking guy you brought home for him to meet. It’s funny, although depressing, and even though you didn’t have the best relationship with him, thinking about your dad now that he’s dead hurts. You shake the thought and the memory from your head, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth. You shrug.
“Daryl says the same thing about you,” is your reply after you swallow. Rick lets out a big sigh, always a drama queen, but you love that you have him where you want him. Jealous, maybe. Seeing you as someone beyond just his late friend's daughter. You’re a woman that a lot of people want, and Rick should know that. Should feel lucky, that you like him so much and want his attention so badly. Sometimes you honestly think that Daryl and Rick are a little ungrateful about all the attention they get from you.
“Yeah, well, he’s right,” there’s a pause, like Rick doesn’t really want to say what he’s going to say. You look up at him, blink your eyes slowly in a way that you learned gets men get flustered, and Rick stutters as it comes out of his mouth, he sighs after he says it. “You’ve gotta stop this.”
You know exactly what he’s talking about. What Rick means to say is: You’ve gotta stop coming on to him and to Daryl. To stop being such a tease, to stop acting like a little harlot that needs to be punished and fucked so bad she’s running around one of the last standing suburbs in the United States with her panties showing and her tits out.
You get it, really - you do.
You just don’t want to stop.
“Stop what, Rick? You know I’m attracted to you. To Daryl. I literally can’t be any more obvious. Why can’t I have a little fun? Does it seriously bother you? Or is it just your morals getting in the way?” Not to sound like a selfish, immature brat - but you’re pissed at your dad for freaking Rick out. Before he passed, you really were getting closer with Rick, spending all your free time together, sort of affectionate when nobody else was looking. You’d stay awake with Rick at night to talk, you’d go for walks with him, go on runs whenever you were allowed, help him with whatever he needed.
You were getting somewhere, and your dad’s final dying wish took all your hard work and dumped it in the trash.
Now, you know how it sounds. Like you’re a total bitch that was a shitty daughter with no empathy or emotions, but that’s far from the facts. The truth is - you were never close with your dad. You happened to be visiting him during a break from college when shit hit the fan, and he was prepared. You'd have been stupid not to stay with him. And, yeah, he kept you alive and you definitely got closer after spending a year on the road together in some of the worst human conditions ever - but it wasn’t like you were daddy’s little girl or whatever else Rick likes to imagine to torture himself more.
You miss your father, sure, and you’re also sure Rick misses having another trustworthy male in the group, but treating the last words of a man who was going crazy with the walker virus as gospel is just plain crazy. Even for Rick.
And, to be clear, it’s not like you’re trying to force yourself onto Rick or Daryl. You know for a fact that if you were, if all your teasing and affection was making them uncomfortable, they’d say something about it. You’re desperate for them, yeah, but if either of them truly wanted you to fuck off, you’d respect that.
It’s just that - you know they want you. It’s clear, in the way their eyes follow you around a room, the way their touch lingers on you, how protective they are. For fuck’s sake, you’ve felt the hard outline of the bulge in their pants whenever you plop down on their laps, and you swear that Rick was using any excuse to get in the bathroom while you were taking a bath the other day. Needed his floss, yeah fucking right. It was cute though. You want them to want you.
And, anyway - you don’t understand why it’s such a big fucking deal. You’re in your twenties, and who knows how much longer you all have left? Daryl and Rick can’t be more than what, forty? Corpses learned to walk, and they’re worried about a little bit of legal age difference?
God, they’re driving you crazy.
In the kitchen, Rick curses. He doesn’t know what to say in reply to you. Does it really bother him, all your teasing?
Because the answer is - yeah, it does bother him.
It bothers him, that he can’t even fantasize about pushing you down on his bed and fucking your brains out without images of your dying dad flashing through his mind. It bothers him, that you’re so sexy and hot and sweet and soft and that you want him so bad, make him feel so needed and appreciated in ways no woman has ever made him feel before, yet you’re young enough to be his daughter. It bothers him deeply, that you’re the only thing in his mind all day long and the only thing that truly matters to him, which is why he’s always giving you such a hard time, which also makes him feel like the worst leader ever - because he’s got the safety of an entire community on his shoulders. People are counting on him, and all he can think about is you you you.
It bothers him, that he feels like a dirty old man around you, and that he doesn’t even care. Actually likes the way that people look at him when you’re on his arm. Likes to help you when you’re pretending like you can’t do shit yourself, just because you’d rather have him do it. And it really fucking bothers him that your tits are perky and that you hate wearing a bra and that your skin is clear and that you smell like a goddamn vanilla cupcake in the middle of the apocalypse.
Sometimes Rick hates you, for the way you bother him.
But right now, what bothers him the most - is that he’s not even bothered that you want his best friend to fuck you. The only thing that bothers him about you wanting Daryl so bad is that he wants to see just how badly you do, and that makes him feel like a fucking pervert. A bad, bad man.
What the actual fuck is wrong with him? He’s supposed to be the good guy.
“You’re just too damn young,” is all he says, and then he starts to walk away. It’s shitty, yeah, to leave you hanging like that - but Rick doesn’t want to be this guy. The one who takes advantage of a young, beautiful thing like yourself. It’s wrong.
He used to be a cop. Married. Looked down upon men who’d hook up with the first young thing that wanted them. He used to hate on his friend, Shane, gave him so much shit about going after younger women who wanted an older man. Told him that young women who looked for older men had daddy issues, and what kind of decent person would take advantage of that?
Is that a real thing, Rick wonders, daddy issues? Do you have that? Is it because your father died? Because Rick’s pretty sure you’ve been coming onto him and Daryl even back when you first joined the group. Do you think you have to…act the way you do so he’ll take care of you? Look out for you, now that all your family is dead?
“You don’t need to…cater to what you think I want,” Rick starts, unsure of how else to phrase it. He knows that no matter how he puts it, you’re going to be pissed. “I’ll still be here for you, always, to protect you, take care of you, even if you’re not,” he regrets it the minute it comes out of his mouth, “sexually appealing to me.”
You stand up so fast your spoon clatters out of your oatmeal from the force of your hands on the counter, pushing your chair out and standing up. “Are you kidding me?” You’ve had it now. No more bratty little girl, no - now you’re a pissed off woman.
“I’m not some fucking kid, Rick. I’m not trying to seduce you because I’m worried you’ll kick me out of the group. I can pull my weight as much as the next person and you know that.” It’s insulting, what he’s saying. You literally want to punch him for saying that shit.
“I’m trying to seduce you so you’ll fuck me. What’s so hard to understand? Do you want me Rick? Because I think you do. You’re just too chicken shit to,” but you don’t get to finish because he rushes forward, pushes you against the kitchen counter and turns you around. Manhandles you.
You bite your lip to stop from grinning. This is what you wanted. Maybe not the fight, but the feeling of him holding you tight, locking you in place against his strong body. You feel his hard stomach, strong arms, and you’re shameless when you lean down on the counter so you’re completely bent over it, pushing your ass towards the bulge in his jeans.
“You don’t wanna finish that sentence,” he warns, but maybe you do - because you feel him, hard against you. He likes this. Rick wants you, just as bad as you want him. You say a silent prayer, thanking the angels above that nobody else is home right now. “‘M not chicken shit about anything.”
You scoff. “Yeah, you are. Got me bent against the counter and you’re still talking. God, Rick, maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you can't handle this, maybe,” you go on and on, trying to stand up while he holds you down. He’s got a hand literally pressing into your back to keep you from getting up, and you’re so aroused you feel the dampness in your panties. You try to squeeze your legs together, but you can’t get any relief in this position.
Then you realize that this must’ve been the position Rick put people in when he’d arrest them. Officer Grimes. Holy shit, that’s hot to think about. Such a force of power, so strong, so smart, so trustworthy. Rick, who takes care of you and comforts you and bends to every stupid whim you make up to test his loyalty towards you. Rick, who puts on a pair of sunglasses before he oggles your tits because he wants to seem like a gentleman so bad. Rick -
Who’s pulling your pants down over your ass, panties too, until they’re down to your knees and he can see your bare ass. That fast, huh? You wiggle your ass with no remorse for being so greedy.
“You’re really somethin’, you know that?” He murmurs, running his hand over the smooth skin of your ass. Then he smacks a hand down on it so hard that you’d jump if you weren’t being held down. It’s unexpected, but so fucking hot, and you’ve definitely fantasized about Rick spanking you before. Been begging for it, actually, with all your bad attitude these last few months.
“You think you’re so grown. Pick and choose when you wanna be a grown lady or a bratty kid, whatever you think might get my attention. ‘M not stupid, I see it, just let you think you’re pulling the strings, ‘cause you know what? ‘S cute that you think you’re in charge,” Rick’s just letting the degrading so fucking sexy dirty talk flow, all the while he drops hits onto your ass.
Part of the appeal, the desire growing in your belly and making all your limbs feel tight and hot, is that anyone could walk in at any time. Sure, right now the house is empty, but at any point someone could walk in and see what Rick is doing to you. What you’re letting him do. You whine at the thought.
“You’re right, Rick,” you say, because come on. You haven’t been this desperate just to play hard to get now that you’re underneath him. You’ve been begging to see this side of Rick, to be on the receiving side of all this testosterone, to see if the most powerful man you’ve ever met is like that in every aspect of his life. He’s controlling, and sometimes mean, has a cold streak that’ll ice you out but also carries a warmth to thaw it -
And, you’re realizing, he’s turned on punishing you. Kinkier than you thought, honestly. But you're thrilled that he is.
“Didn’t think I’d ever hear those words out of your mouth,” he replies, and then he stops holding you down to the table. Instead, he lifts you up so your back is to his chest, and you lean against him, very aware that as he holds you to him his hand trails lower and lower, until his fingers are prodding between your legs, and you let out a gasp.
Who knew Mr. Grimes had all this dirtiness in him? You always hoped, but. It’s better than you expected. You’re literally grinning when he rubs down your slit, so wet, back and forth while barely grazing your clit. He knows you want it bad, but he’s not going to give it to you just yet.
Payback, maybe? You’ve never been so excited.
“Fuckin’ drippin’,” he murmurs, voice in your ear. His breath smells like spearmint and you’re such a romantic that it makes you almost moan. It’s the same toothpaste you use. How domestic. How fun, how kinky - that it kind of feels like you’re his little wife letting him fuck you in the kitchen.
Because yeah, that’s a fantasy of yours. You’ve got a lot of them, and Rick and Daryl are at the center of each one. “Rick,” you whine, and you feel him shake his head against you.
“Not my name, is it? Rick wouldn’t spank your ass, but I know someone who would. What’d you call me the other day, huh? When you were teasin’ me because I said you couldn’t patrol by yourself?” He sticks a finger inside of you, a little too rough to be pleasurable, but that kind of dominance makes you moan. His thumb rubs over your clit, presses down hard, and the feeling is so much that you try to pull away.
“Daddy,” you answer, and then he gives you some relief. Turns the hard touch on your little button to something pleasurable with a few soft strokes, adding another finger inside of you.
He hums. “‘Atta girl. Just feelin’ you. Been imagining what this sweet little cunt feels like since I’ve known you. Figured it had to be as pretty as the rest of you. Tell me,” he lifts his fingers from your pussy, shiny under the kitchen lights from how aroused you are, “It as sweet as I imagined?” He shoves the digits in your mouth and you suck, hard. You moan against his fingers.
“Look at you,” he utters, even though he’s literally craning his face to see you at this angle. “You’re a dirty, dirty girl. This what you wanted? Wanted to show me how dirty you could be? Guess the only time you’re gonna listen is if Daddy’s got a finger in your mouth or in one of your,”
The sound of footsteps make the both of you freeze. Rick takes his fingers out of your mouth, but he makes no move to pull away from behind you or help you pull your pants up. He’s frozen.
The steps enter the kitchen, and when you realize who it is, your stomach sinks. Fucking Daryl.
“The fuck?” He asks, looking around like he does when there’s a new location the group is checking out that he’s skeptical of. It’s impossible to read his expression, and in typical Daryl fashion, you think he’s just going to walk away. Slam the door to the garage, hole up and work on his bike, avoid you like the plague until the end of time because you’re such a little slut. That last part really isn’t his character, fine - but it makes you sick, thinking about Daryl thinking differently about you.
But he doesn’t walk away. Instead, when Rick steps out from behind you and you quickly pull your pants up, Daryl walks up to him and literally punches him in the face. You gasp, and Rick curses, damn near falling on the ground.
“Fuckin’,” but Rick doesn’t finish, because Daryl drops whatever he’s holding and shoves at him again, until he really does almost topple down.
You don’t know what to do. “Daryl,” you say, trying to make your voice sound loud, not whiny. “What the hell are you doing? Rick, he’s. God, leave him alone!”
Daryl does as you say, but he’s fucking pissed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this fucking mad. Rick holds his nose, because blood is dripping from it and ruining his shirt that you just bleached for him.
“What the fuck ‘re you thinkin,’ man? She’s just a kid,” but you cut Daryl off, stomp your foot very maturely and let out a loud, irritated groan. Very attractive, you’re sure.
“I’m not a fucking kid! You’re both always acting like I don’t know what I want, that I can’t handle it and it’s just. You’re wrong, okay? How much more obvious do I need to be? I want Rick. I want you, Daryl. Stop making a big deal out of nothing,” as you rant, they’re both looking at you like you’re crazy, and it honestly feels like Daryl’s looking at you in disgust.
“We’re twice you’re fuckin’ age. You can’t handle it. ‘Less you’ve got experience that I don’t know about, you need’a be with someone your own fucking age,” apparently this is a hill Daryl will die on. You’re so fucking irritated. Why would you chose the two most morally gold men the entire fucking community, you have no idea. You guess that it sort of is part of their appeal, but -
Now Rick’s cutting you off, using a towel to stop the blood coming out of his nose. He looks ridiculous, towel pressed to his face, blood all over him, still trying to establish himself as leader in this kitchen with a hand on his hip.
You think he’s going to defend you. He did just have you bent over the counter and was playing with your pussy. But Daryl’s guilt is spilling onto him now, and he nods, letting out a sigh like he’s just given up.
There’s a lag in conversation, until Rick finally says, “Yeah. Man, I know, I just got caught up. ‘S easy to get carried away, and,” you make a noise that's like a whine and a groan and brat all at the same time - and both men look at you like you’re proving their point - you’re acting immature.
“You both suck, you know that? Any man here would want me, and you’re acting like I’m ugly and,” you don’t finish because Daryl cuts you off. He’s still pissed, and your eyes widen as he walks towards you and backs you up against the refrigerator.
“You know goddamn well you ain’t ugly. Stop playin’ dumb and stop with the bullshit. You’re actin’ like a fuckin’ cat in heat around here and I’m sick of it. What do you need, huh? You wanna get fucked, is that it?” Daryl’s trying to be mean, scare you off, get you to leave him alone - which tells you two things. One: He’s probably so good with dirty talk. Two: He must feel something for you if he’s trying this hard to keep you away.
“Daryl,” you hear Rick warn from behind him, because he is pretty much yelling at you in the kitchen.
Daryl waves him off. “No. Shit, girl, you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy. When’s the last time you had it? Had a man on top of ya given’ you what you want?” You blush bright red, and you reach out to loop your finger into the belt hook of Daryl’s pants. You think for a second he’s going to push you away, but instead he leans closer and barricades you between his arms against the fridge, rolls his hips and grinds himself, dick hard, against you. You moan, even though there’s no friction for you. It’s just hot, you just like it, and you want more and -
“You like that? So desperate for attention that you’ll take anything, won’t ya? People dying left and right, world overrun by fucking corpses and all you can think about is a pair of old men getting in your panties. This what you want, isn’t it? Would make your daddy real fuckin’ proud,” he takes your hand and sets it on his bulge, and you feel it, squeeze it, know that he must be packin’ some fucking heat to be acting the way he is right now.
Rick grabs Daryl by the shoulder to move him out of the way, telling him, “Man, calm down, she’s -” but he doesn’t finish. Looks at you and sees your eyes so big, cheeks so red, looking at Daryl in utter adoration, and that’s when he realizes how fucked they both really are. Daryl would’ve just scared the shit out of another woman - a big man, looming over you like that, talking a bunch of shit - yet you’re looking at him like he’s the sun or something.
You’re really something. Same woman that cries when insects and animals die is the same one that could probably kill a walker with her bare hands. Same woman that sleeps with a stuffed animal she found in a drawer of the house, is the same one begging two old men to fuck her. Pink and bratty and pretty and full of fucking bite, Rick will never understand you. He’s never met another woman like you, didn't know one existed. He’s -
“When’s the last time?” He asks, loving the absent minded look on your face when you turn your head to him. Rick knows you're smart - has seen you problem solve and debate with everyone, knows you were pretty educated before all this shit went down, and you definitely have street smarts. Maybe that’s why it’s so cute, to be the one to make you lose your mind. That you trust him enough to care for you.
Or maybe he’s just a sick bastard.
You take too long to reply and Daryl gently nudges you, takes your fingers out of the loop of his pants and holds your hand instead. He must have the same reaction to seeing you like this, because he’s calmed down considerably.
“Last time you had sex,” he says gently. Back to the big, soft, fuzzy teddy bear version of Daryl - your description of him, when you saw him in his new brown poncho. Rick doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t need to. You’re cute, and the things you say are sweet, period.
You lick over your bottom lip, tongue cute and pink, just like the little shirt you’ve got on. You let out a tiny breath. “Mm, well,” another pause, when you look down and then back up, from Daryl to Rick.
“I’m a virgin.”
────
“It could work, you know,” Carol says, voice a little smug. She’s teasing, but Daryl’s got no idea what the fuck she’s on about. Carol sees his expression and huffs out a laugh, nudging him in the shoulder with a strength he’s not even sure she knows she carries. He grunts.
“It’s a differently world now. Age, our lives before this crap. Doesn’t mean anything. If you,” Daryl cuts her off right there. He shakes his head, downs the rest of the beer that he’s been nursing all night.
“Don’t know what the hell yer talkin’ about,” he grumbles, but that’s a lie. Daryl knows exactly what Carol is referring to, because it’s right in front of him.
It being you.
Carol nudges him again, this time with her shoulder. They’re sitting on the couch together, drinking beer after one of those community meetings Rick loves to have so much, and Daryl feels uncomfortable. Not because of the people he’s around - no, the group he made at the start of all this shit is the reason he feels good. They’re his family.
It just feels weird, to sit around and drink and hang out when there’s a crowd of walkers that could be lurking anywhere, at any time. Daryl will never get used to it, this false sense of normalcy, but maybe that’s just because he’s never had it before.
Fucked up as it is to say, he’s never had a quality of life quite this good. His life was made better during the apocalypse, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one that can say that. Once again, Daryl feels lonely. Misunderstood. Which makes him feel like a fucking loser and a jerk at the same time. He grabs another beer, straight out of Glenn’s hand who’s standing next to him, and downs it before slamming it down on the coffee table. Glenn shakes his head and walks off, and Carol barks out a laugh.
She’s right. Maybe not about what she said, but Daryl was looking at you when she said it. Maybe he’s just as oblivious as Rick when it comes to you, heart eyes popping out of his head whenever he sees you, all the lust and protectiveness spilling out of his body in the form of annoyance and irritation.
You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, which Daryl can see from the couch. Cute feet dangling while you sip on a glass of something clear. Could be vodka, could be water - hard to fucking tell with you. Are you acting like a grown woman, smart and strong and capable, with skills that came from being raised by a father with military training? That’d mean you’re drinking vodka.
Or are you the girl who’s all pink and frills, needing help with the smallest tasks, starting arguments just for attention, showing off too much skin for the end of the fucking world? That’d mean you’re drinking water. The easiest way to tell what version of you you’re going to be is to check if Rick is around, and tonight, of course he is.
Looks like you’re all pink and frills tonight.
Daryl watches you throw your head back and laugh, so pretty, so free - and it makes Daryl happy that you’re happy, despite it all. Your hair is a little messy and Daryl likes it, loves the way your sweater falls off your shoulder and that your sock is slipping off your foot. He’s never liked a woman so much, never met another person who was able to dig themselves so deep under his skin that they’re impossible to remove, even with all the warm showers he’s been taking.
So much for refusing to get used to this place. It’s getting harder and harder to go without these luxuries as time goes on. But that’s a worry for another time.
Rick, coming from out of fucking nowhere, since you were just talking to Maggie, stands next to you. Daryl watches him, the way he places a hand on your leg and bends to slip the sock so gently back onto your foot. He asks you, because it’s a pretty small house so Daryl can hear, if you’re doing alright. Must be vodka you’re drinking then. You nod, looking up at Rick with something like sparkles in your own eyes, and that’s when Carol clears her throat.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” she says, finishing her beer off. Daryl blushes bright red, because that means she saw him stare. What a fool he is.
Carol stands to walk away. “‘S how she looks at you too. Just so you know. You deserve what you want, Daryl.” And then she walks off. Fuckin’ Carol, he thinks, shaking his head to himself. She’s his closest friend, probably knows him better than Rick, and she’s got wisdom Daryl can’t even comprehend. He hates that maybe she’s right. It’s too much to think about.
Daryl knows you like him. Shit, he’d be stupid not to see it. He just doesn’t know what to do with that information. Can’t stop thinking about you, what you looked like against that fridge. Like he could do anything to you, and you’d thank him and ask for more. The way you looked at him, like you were seeing a rainbow or an open bar for the first time or some shit - why do you see him that way? What are you seeing when you look at him that he can’t see in himself?
Makes him fucking uncomfortable, but he can’t deny that it does sort of feel good.
Daryl can’t keep his eyes off of you the entire night. Watches you lose your ass to Eugene on the chess set in the living room, bites back a laugh when you ask to see Abraham flex his bicep as a joke, and Rosita nearly pushes you away. When you ask Tara if she thinks you’re hot, all teasing until she blushes - and as everyone trickles out to go to bed, you end up sitting next to Rick on your regular spot on the couch.
You’re such a tease. Such a flirt. Daryl wonders how you grew up, that you’re just so used to getting your way. So used to having people see you the way that you want, know that nobody would ever tell you no. Nobody can ever stay mad at you, or annoyed with you. You’re just…magic. Beyond the new feminine clothes that you picked up in Alexandria, even back when the group was on the road - there was something about you that was unlike any other woman Daryl had met.
Maybe it’s because of your father. Daryl can’t imagine growing up with a man like that. Especially as a woman as girly as you. Your father was cool - tough, strong, smart. Told war stories that made Daryl’s head almost explode, and he loved listening to that shit. Loved being able to trust another man, take some of the load off his and Rick’s back. But he was strict.
Always giving you a hard time. Telling you what to do. In a way, since he passed, it’s like Rick turned into him - took some parts of his personality at least, when it comes to you.
You’re a virgin, probably thanks to your strict father, because girls that look like you should not be virgins still. Daryl can imagine high school and college boys showing up at your door, pictures a nice suburban house, you all dressed up, waiting to be wined and dined and screwed on a Friday night. You deserve a life like that, normal, but you’re never going to get it. There’s no men your age even around now, which is maybe why you’re looking for something in him and Rick -
Or maybe you’re just looking for a daddy. Since yours is gone. Maybe you’re so used to it, being taken care of, that you want it again.
Daryl drinks and drinks and drinks until everyone is out of the house. It’s just you and Rick and him, the usual, and he never realized it until now, that people might be purposely keeping their distance from all of you. One thing, to see a girl like you with an older man, but two of them? Hell, Daryl would wanna keep his distance too.
Just the three of you. In the living room. You drape your legs over Rick’s lap and lean back against the arm of the couch, and Daryl just watches. Your legs are cute. The little bit of skin that sticks out between your shirt and your jeans where the button digs in is cute too. Sexy. Seeing your body fill out ever since you got to Alexandria is a turn on that Daryl didn’t know he had.
You’d look good at any size, any weight, in any outfit. Just that kind of woman. But seeing you gain some weight now that there’s proper access to food is nice to see. Makes Daryl happy, in a weird way, knowing you’re taken care of and -
“Daddy.”
Daryl and Rick both freeze, make eye contact across the coffee table and then both turn to you. With both eyes on you, you shyly giggle, and Daryl truly can’t tell if it’s a role you’re playing or if this is you.
“Come on now,” Rick says lightly, pushing your feet off of his lap. Gently, of course, but you plop them right back down. He sighs, but relents. You’ve really got Rick wrapped around your little finger.
“What? Just seems right to call you that,” you explain, and Daryl laughs. Can’t help but talk shit about Rick too, because honestly, he’s drunk enough for it.
“Yeah, man. She ain’t wrong. Got you doting on ‘er and adorin’ her. Takin’ care of her too. You sure you ain’t her daddy?” The playful mood of Daryl’s doesn’t come out much, but he and Rick have been through a lot together. They’re like brothers. Besides, it’s funny.
Daryl has to laugh so he doesn’t get hard.
Rick is embarrassed, but he laughs anyway. Shakes his head. “You’re one to talk, man,” he says, running a hand over his face. “Two words: Piggyback. Ride. You do a lot for this girl, Dixon,” he looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Daryl smirks, shrugs, and you furrow both eyebrows and tilt your head to the side.
“Piggyback ride sounds like three words. Piggy,” you hold up your fingers, attempting to count. “Back. Ride. Yeah, three.” Daryl and Rick are silent as they look at each other, and then they burst out laughing. You grin, which is how they both know you’re fucking with them. Playing that role you love so much.
It’s cozy in the house, and Daryl is suddenly hit with the itch he has to run somewhere less warm. Candles are lit, the heat is on, the wall is secure and everything feels pretty good right now. You’re all like family, have been through so much, and as much as Daryl wants to sink into this moment, he also wants to run away. You must catch the look on his face.
You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. Like you’re protecting yourself. You change the subject, before anyone can interrupt you.
“Have you put any thought into it?” You ask, looking at Daryl, then Rick. They’ve both got no idea what you’re talking about. You sigh, annoyed, then continue. “Taking my virginity. Will you do it?”
Shit.
You really were serious about that shit? Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that.
He thinks about what to say, but Rick cuts him off. “Still can’t believe that you’re a virgin,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing?” You blush so pink, Daryl wonders if you have superhuman speed and you snuck into the bathroom without him noticing to put on some of that weird pink makeup shit women love to wear.
“I’ve done…other stuff,” you say, as if to prove yourself. “Oral sex, and sometimes ana,” Rick will not let you finish that sentence, thank god. Daryl breathes a sigh of relief as he says, “Don’t. Don’t wanna hear about you letting boys touch you. You gotta lot bravery, kid, acting like a little tease when you’ve never even had a man inside of you. That Daddy shit too. You crazy or something?”
You’re still embarrassed, but you roll your eyes. Rick turns his body more towards you, likes the way you blink at him, lashes long and eyes wide, like you’re waiting for what he’s going to say.
“Maybe I just know what I like. I’m a modern woman and I -” you start going on and on, as you do. And it’s cute, really. Rick likes it, how much you talk, can pretend to be annoyed by it but he really doesn’t want to ever miss a word. But this time he zones out, and all he can focus on is the way your lips look, open and talking and nagging, and he doesn’t want to hear it anymore. Thinks that maybe, since you want it so fucking much - he should help you out.
Should put that pretty mouth to good use, shouldn’t he? Sounds like a good idea to him.
He stands up, liking the way you look up at him. Like you’re waiting for him to give you directions. He feels his dick swelling up - but then again, he’s been half hard ever since you said daddy. He nods his head to you, motions for you to stand up too -
And because he’s daddy, yeah yeah, he puts a hand out for you to grab it. He helps you up, while you and Daryl look at him like he’s a crazy person. Rick nods to Daryl too.
“You comin?’” He asks, nodding toward the stairs. He squeezes your hand. “Think we oughta give her what she wants now. Been patient, ain’t that right?” He looks to you, and you nod, so over eager you almost trip over your own feet. Rick looks back to Daryl.
“‘Bout time we give her what she wants.”
────
“Is it going to hurt?” You ask, because after all this talk, all this teasing, now that you’re really in Rick’s bed - you’re so scared of what’s to come. You’re not scared of Rick and Daryl, because you literally trust them with your life. You’re scared of what it’s going to feel like, having something inside of you that’s bigger than a few fingers.
You look at Daryl and Rick at the side of the bed. Daryl looks a little more hesitant than Rick, keeps watching you like he’s sure you’re going to say you don’t want to do this anymore, but you’d never, no matter how scared you are. Rick looks at you as he takes his belt off, leans down and rubs a hand comfortingly on your head, scratches at your scalp.
“Won’t hurt too bad,” he says a moment later, in just his boxers. “Gonna have Daryl lick you out, get you nice and wet so it’s easy for me to slip in. ‘Be easy to stretch you out after you’ve cum a few times, ain’t that right, Daryl? You cool with that?” Something about Rick ordering Daryl around is doing it for you. You’re scared, but you’re pleasantly tipsy, limbs loose and brain sharp, focused on the feeling of arousal pooling in your panties, stomach warm with the possibility of what’s to come.
“Sure have thought about this, man,” Daryl says in reply, and he walks to the edge of the bed to get on his knees. It’s funny, because he’s right - Rick’s been all, you’re too young for me, kid and I’d never go against your father’s wishes, he was my friend, but here he is, ordering the two of you around like he’s had this scenario planned out in his head for months. Maybe he’s just drunk, or maybe he’s just a born leader. Whatever it is, both you and Daryl obey, and your cunt drips at the thought. You make a whiny noise.
“You gonna get her clothes off or what, man? Think that’s a job for her daddy, ain’t it?” Daryl says, one hand looping around your ankle, wanting to pull you down to the edge of the bed to go down on you. You whimper, voice leaving your throat, because Daryl using that nickname in regards to Rick is making your head spin.
How many times have you had a finger on your clit with your legs tightened, trying to squeeze an orgasm out, with the only thought in your head daddy daddy daddy while you thought about Rick or Daryl playing with your pussy, ordering you around, fucking you so hard it hurt to talk? Too many fucking times. In your fantasies, you imagined your father finding out, wanting to get back at him for every horrible thing he ever did to you by fucking both of his friends.
Look at me now, dad, you think, warmth spreading throughout your body because you’re a sicko. It’s so hot, being bad, being grown enough to do this but young enough to know that it’s naughty and wrong.
Not that you only want to fuck Rick and Daryl to get back at your dad. No, they'd still be hot as hell even if you didn't have issues.
Rick sits you up. Maneuvers you like you're a fragile doll, all while you try to commit the look of him shirtless, skin slightly tanned, the scruff on his face, to memory. The look of Daryl at the edge of the bed, wanting to pleasure you. Rick’s calloused hands, fingers taking off your shirt and then your pants, handing them to Daryl to put off to the side. You can take your own clothes off, but Rick wants to, and for some reason that sends your brain blank.
This is what you’ve been waiting for.
“Lay back down,” Rick says gently, pulling his own boxers off. His cock is hard, and he jerks it for a second, holds the head of it loosely and rubs his thumb over the tip, spreads the precum around and lets out a soft breath. “You’re alright, sweetheart. Let Daryl get you nice and wet so I can fill you up. Can you do that? Know you want it,” and since you’re naked now, Daryl pulls you all the way to the edge of the bed, where he spreads your legs and keeps your knees under his big hands to keep them apart, licks a stripe from your hole up to your clit. “Know you’ve been thinking about it,” Rick says watching.
Rick has a nice cock, just like you expected. It’s big, pink and veiny, and under the dim lights in the bedroom the look of the head all covered in precum makes you lick your lips. Rick must see that, because he moves to sit by your head, chuckling like he can read you that easily even when you're spread open for his friend to lick your pussy.
You shiver.
Daryl pulls away, the warm feeling of his mouth gone, and it makes you ache. “Ain’t that something,” Daryl murmurs, head leaned against your thigh for a second. “Pussy just as pretty as the rest of ya’.”
Holy fuck. You lean back, gripping at the sheets of the bed, until Rick grabs your hand. He alternates between squeezing your hand and brushing your hair away from your face. You’ve had oral sex before, sure, but those times were all with preppy suburban boys who didn’t want to get dirty. You’ve seen the way Daryl eats. Slurps, fucking goes all in. He’s doing the same on your pussy, and his tongue is so warm, so wet, you try to close your thighs around his head because the stimulation is just too much but it’s impossible with the way he’s holding you down. Your back arches, and you squeeze Rick’s hand so tight you worry you’re going to break it.
“Not done yet,” Daryl scolds, pulling away from your cunt with a glossy chin. Rick tsks you as well, tells you to relax and take it, to cum all over Daryl’s tongue so he can fit his dick inside of you.
It only takes a minute more, of Daryl sucking on your clit while slipping a finger inside of you, prodding around like he’s curious, and for Rick to say, “Dirty girl, you are. Letting a man twice your age stick his tongue inside you. Daddy’s gotta keep an eye on you,” because woah. Just. Fucking hell. You cum with a cry, moaning Daryl’s name like a prayer while bucking your hips up, pussy squeezing his fingers that are prepping you for Rick’s cock.
Daryl keeps licking, sucking, until you thrash and cum again and Rick tells him to stop. Not because you can’t handle it, no, it’s probably because Rick is so ready to fuck you, his dick is literally leaking onto his fingers. Both of his hands are going to ache, from the way you’re squeezing one and the way he’s jacking himself off with the other. He grabs some of his own mess, sticky, and uses his pointer finger to spread it over your lips like lip gloss. He grins, all sexy and cocky - and you’re not even thinking, body so trembly and hot from Daryl eating you like you're his last meal.
Daryl Dixon eats pussy like it’s going to make him cum. You wonder if maybe it could, file that fantasy away for another time.
“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur in regards to the lipgloss, and you lick your lips to taste it. Tongue pink and wet, expression fucked out and he hasn’t even got his cock in you yet.
Rick - he’s gotta fuck you. Like, now.
When Daryl stands up, gets off his knees, you look up at him and ask him to take his clothes off. “Wanna see you, Daryl, please?” You beg, wanting him to get naked. You know he’s sensitive, about his scars and just his body in general. Doesn’t realize how fucking sexy he is, all strong and big and tough and perfect. But he shakes his head.
“Nah,” he replies, although his voice isn’t scolding. You can tell that he hates disappointing you. He helps Rick pull you up so you’re laying on the pillows, pushes your knees up so your feet are resting flat against the bed, giving easy access to your sopping wet cunt. “Tonight’s about you, girly. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” You pout, but you’re not going to pressure him. He sits beside you on the bed, right next to the pillows, and grabs your hand, looks down at you and for the first time ever:
Asks if he can kiss you. You nod, You’ve never kissed Daryl before, or Rick for that matter. Have been so focused on cock, you’ve never really thought about it, which is kind of embarrassing. Skipping some steps. You’ve always gotten ahead of yourself.
When Daryl leans down to kiss you, cupping your face with one big hand, you feel Rick grabbing at your tits. He’s such a gentleman, so traditional outside of everything that has to do with you, that his…freakiness is kind of unexpected. But you like the feeling, of him admiring your body, touching your waist and the little plush part of your stomach, rubbing his hands up and down before cupping your breasts, thumb playing with your sensitive nipples.
Your back arches off the bed, and Daryl’s lips, slow and soft as he dominates your mouth is such a stark contrast to the way Rick is touching you like you’re an object for his amusement, tip of his cock poking into your leg. “Fuckin’ beautiful, just like I imagined. Little body just made to be admired and touched,” he murmurs, and you moan into Daryl’s mouth, which makes more room for his tongue. “Almost feels like a shame to get you all dirty. Break your little pussy in until it craves my cock.”
You’re clinging to Daryl while Rick talks about you, feeling like you’re in heaven with the two men you trust most in the world on top of you. “Bet you want me to though, silly girl. Tell me you want me to ruin you. Want me and Daryl ruin you for anyone else.”
You pull away from Daryl’s lips as best as you can to whine, reach a hand out to Rick to get his attention, as if you need to do that. You always imagined you’d be a seductress in bed, know exactly what to say and do and be confident about it. But right now you can hardly form words, so overwhelmed with having Rick and Daryl hovering over you, it’s hard to even form thoughts - your pussy clenches though.
“Nobody else. Ever,” you say, voice soft and a little spaced out. You’ve always gotten like this after an orgasm, clingy and spacey and very, very pliable. You whine again. “Cock, Daddy. Please. Now.”
This time, Daryl pulls away, takes a good look at your body and palms himself through his pants. Perfect tits and a perfect body, cute hips and a bellybutton with a scar, must’ve had a piercing at some point, which fits just how sexy and cute you are. Your sweet little socks are still on and you’ve got a shiny anklet on during the middle of the apocalypse. You’re a perfect woman, and what you see in him, Daryl will never understand - but he’s not going to take it for granted. Isn’t going to overstay his welcome either. He makes eye contact with Rick, and yeah, this is uncomfortable. Slightly.
Because Rick has his dick out. But it’s not like Daryl’s looking at him, no, it’s all about you. He can’t wait to see the way you take Rick’s cock. Can’t believe that he gets to be part of this - because it’s always been Rick, you know? That’s who you wanted first. You want Rick, might even love him, if Daryl is reading the light in your eyes correctly. He wants that for you. Love. He wants whatever you want.
“Go gentle,” he tells Rick, to which the other man snorts, a noise kind of unsexy given the moment, but you still make grabby hands at him, grip at his biceps so hard and dig your nails in. Rick hisses. “Fuck, alright, alright, ‘m going,” he murmurs, then shoots Daryl a look. “Should tell her to be gentle,” he grumbles.
Rick positions himself at your entrance, looking at you closely. There’s something Daryl sees there, a spark, so magnetic it’s like a physical thing, the energy between you two. Feels like he’s intruding on something, but he leaves it, just squeezes your hand when you let go of Rick’s arms.
“You’re good, sweetheart. Gonna feel real good in a second. Hold onto Daryl’s hand, alright? Your Daryl’s got you. Trust him so much. don’t you? Daddy’s got you, gonna be, shit,” Rick pushes himself all the way inside of you, and holy fuck, he’s never felt anything like this before. Didn’t know a pussy could grip this tight while still being so wet. You’re fucking made for him, Rick’s sure of that now, because every thrust and every noise out of your mouth makes his head feel cloudy and his body heat up with nothing but love for you.
Goddamn, Rick loves you so much.
He looks down at you and sees a beautiful woman who’s been given the short end of the stick in this life. Deserves so much more than this world, deserves so much more than Rick, and maybe that’s why the idea of Rick and Daryl is okay to him. You deserve it, really, you do - such a pretty young thing with a cunt and a body sculpted by a perverted old god somewhere, and dammit if Rick doesn’t want to protect you and give you anything and everything you could ever want.
When he cums, spills his seed inside of you and presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, he swallows your little noises and without even thinking, reaches for Daryl's hand.
All for you.
────
Daryl tenses up when Rick enters the kitchen, frozen like there’s an animal he’s not trying to spook. Only this time, instead of a deer he wants to make his dinner, his hand is frozen around the handle of a jug of water that’s in the fridge. Purified, because every house in Alexandria has one of these. Spoiled brat suburban people, Daryl thinks, even though he’s technically one of them now.
He waits for Rick to do whatever he’s going to do in the kitchen, but when he does nothing, just sits there and waits for Daryl to turn around, he knows the reason Rick is even in here right now is to talk to him. Daryl grumbles under his breath.
“Yeah, man?” He asks, putting the jug of water on the counter and closing the fridge. Rick looks frazzled as fuck. Face red, the buttons on his shirt not lining up, because it looks like he got ready in a rush. He rubs under his nose in a quick gesture he does whenever he’s stressed out. Daryl knows this man well now. Really well. Even knows what he looks like when he cums, and for that - he’s fucking glad Merle’s not alive to see the situation he’s got himself in.
After that night together, when good ‘ol Rick popped your cherry and Daryl watched on, comforted you - things changed. Without any further conversation, you must’ve taken it as all you needed to go forth and publicly claim Rick. And for that matter, Daryl too. It’s been weeks now, and everyone in the group stays clear whenever you’re all in the room together. You’re always kissing Rick on the cheek, sticking your hand in his jacket pocket to stay close, standing behind Daryl whenever he’s sitting with his back exposed, looping your arms around his neck just to get close or sitting yourself down on his lap at the most inconvenient times.
He likes it, deep down. ‘Course he does. Daryl fucking loves you, everything about you, even when you’re greedy and spoiled and just plain annoying. Too perfect to be real, and he’d do anything for you. It’s annoying as fuck, but it is what it is.
Just weird, wondering what people think of all of it. If anyone wonders what happens behind closed doors. When you wake up in Rick’s bed between them, after someone from the group has to literally seek Rick out because he’s been so distracted. Daryl will never forget the look on Eugene’s face, when he saw you in bed between them. Daryl could laugh just thinking about it.
But it’s not good, Rick being distracted. He’s gotta get his shit together, he’s -
Oh, Daryl can’t talk shit and he knows it. You’re distracting him too. Once you got a taste of cock, of sex, you’ve been insatiable. Daryl hears Merle’s voice calling him a fool in his head whenever Rick watch you go down on him, sucking his cock and cupping his balls while he sits on the edge of the bed. Rick stands behind you, egging you on, pressing the bottom of his shoe against your back to make you take his cock deeper, tells you in a raspy voice, “Atta girl, fuck, mouth made for sucking cock, is that right? Look at you. Making Daryl feel all good. Prettiest little thing in the world, baby. Can’t wait for my turn after.”
Rick’s a filthy bastard, even to Daryl’s surprise. But - it’s working. All of you. Together. Daryl doesn’t wanna see Rick’s cock any more than he has to, but he’s just happy to be part of something that makes you happy. Like he said, he’d do anything for you.
And deep down, he knows he’d do anything for Rick too. Man has got him through some of the hardest, toughest shit of his life. Is probably the reason Daryl’s still even alive. People always joke, calling Daryl his guard dog. It pisses him off, because he ain’t no dog, but - they’re not wrong.
After Daryl’s done pouring a cup of water, Rick answers. He’s fidgety, and Daryl doesn’t like it. What the fuck is his problem? Did something happen? Rick’s supposed to be the cool, calm, collected one. But lately he’s been losing his shit. Daryl wonders if it has anything to do with you.
Truthfully, Rick’s moods usually do have something to do with you.
Daryl’s stomach sinks thinking something happened to you.
“You seen ‘er?” Rick asks, looking guilt, like he lost a class pet he was supposed to be caring for or something. “She was supposed to meet me at Deanna’s for a meeting. She’s always runnin’ off, but something feels. I dunno,” Rick runs a hand through his hair, trying to remain calm. “Left Deanna’s and came to bed, thinking she’d show up, but I still haven’t seen her. I told her no more patrolling or guarding the gate, so I doubt she’s doing that. God, man, please tell me you’ve seen her,” Rick really sounds pathetic, Daryl thinks.
Which scares the shit out of him. Where the hell are you? You’re always running off and doing stupid shit, which is annoying as hell because you’re smart. You know better. It’s almost like you’ve got something to prove to everyone else, especially now that everyone’s been so weird about you with Rick and Daryl. Maybe you left, went on a run without telling anyone? Took a shift patrolling even when you’re not supposed to, just to show you’re tough?
Daryl nods at Rick, like he understands, and then motions towards the door. “You wanna,” he’s about to ask if they should go look for you, but Rick nods, doesn’t even need Daryl to finish.
They start walking, but it’s dark and Daryl doesn’t know where to find you. He asks, “You check with Maggie and Carol next door?” But he feels like a dick for even asking that. Of course Rick did, he’s not a fucking idiot.
Rick nods, looks like he’s thinking the same thing, and then it’s silent except for the scuffing sound of them walking along the dirty streets. Rick makes a mental note to talk to Deanna about cleaning them up, figure out how to do so without taking too much energy out of everyone when there’s other important labor that needs to be done.
“She’s drivin’ me crazy, man,” Rick says, shaking his head when Daryl looks over. He obviously knows Rick is talking about you. “So much shit going on, and she chooses right now to go missing? To not listen. It’s cute an’ all, sometimes. Gotta admit. That stubborn little streak, but hell,” they stop walking for a minute, turn to each other. “She’s fuckin’ killing me.”
Daryl gets it. Rick knows he does. But there’s nothing he can say that will make the situation better. Besides, as much as they get along, learning to properly share you and not get all up in their feelings about it - the boundaries are still a little blurred. Need to be discussed. Is Daryl allowed to tell Rick what to do when it comes to you? He’s got some thoughts, wants to tell Rick to stop spanking you for fun and instead use it to properly teach you a lesson.
But he thinks that’d be overstepping his boundary. It already happened once, when Daryl walked in on Rick fucking you one morning. He was spooning you, dick buried deep inside of you, gripping your jaw while he told you filthy things that turned Daryl red. He didn’t mean to watch, but shit was going down with Deanna and Rick was nowhere to be found so of course Daryl went looking, and then he saw Rick hit you lightly in the face and Daryl couldn’t just stand by and watch that.
Not you, so sweet that you spent last night massaging Daryl’s back even when he tried to scare you off of touching him like that multiple times. You kissed his scars, made up fake stories about where each of them came from - shark bite, alien surgery, some other bullshit that made him laugh. You said the truth about their origin made you sad. You cuddled him and kissed him and told him you love him, and he still feels like a dick for not replying. Not saying it back.
Daryl’s just not good at that shit. Hates himself for it, but he’s just not. ‘S why he doesn’t deserve you.
But you and Rick are fucking weird. Sexually, Daryl is still learning. Rick made him look under the covers that day he smacked you, made you tell him how wet you were, how much you liked it a little rough just so Daryl wouldn’t beat his ass for putting his hands on you. And don’t get Daryl started, when you start sucking on his fingers, trying to have a normal conversation with Rick over a beer while you lick and suck his digits until one of them gives you the real thing - dick.
You’re a force, that’s for sure. And when Daryl and Rick hear your laugh by the opening gate of Alexandria, they both know that, once again - you went against their wishes. If you’re putting yourself in danger just to get punished, they need to have a talk with you. Because it’s not that you’re not qualified to stand watch - there’s just no need.
Daryl would happily take any shift of anything if it meant you were safe. But you just don’t fucking listen, and every step closer to you is making Daryl, and Rick, for that matter - more and more pissed.
“You’re a pretty little thing, you know that? Tell me, who’s in charge here? Certainly can’t be you. No offense, you’re just,” a pause, and when Daryl finally sees who it is you’re talking to, the voice finishes, “Too fuckin’ pretty.”
Rick and Daryl find you, weapon in hand, but you’re relaxed and casual and talking to someone on the other side of the gate. You wouldn’t be able to defend yourself while you’re all loose and giggly, when this is probably the most serious job in the fucking community. Daryl wants to haul you over his shoulder, take you home and smack your ass blue. He’s never been so pissed, and who the fuck is in the watchtower letting this shit happen?
The voice talking to you belongs to a man, tapping a baseball bat against the fence with a smile on his face. But it’s not just him. There’s at least three trailers behind him, spread out, and Daryl doesn’t even have to look at Rick to know he’s about to go psycho.
Good, Daryl thinks, he’ll join him. What the fuck were you thinking, not calling for backup?
“Not exactly taking in new people right now. Supplies are…tight,” Rick lies, but you jump in, and it’s the first time Daryl has really seen how naive you are. Realizes that he and Rick have been putting you at a disadvantage - first you had your father, making all the choices for you, protecting you. And you got lucky with Rick and Daryl. Have never actually met a bad man in your life.
Just because someone is smiling, doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Are you - no, because Daryl doesn’t want to think anything mean about you, but surely you don’t think because the man standing behind the opening to the community is handsome, that he’s safe? Maybe you heard Rick talking about the community needing more men? But this is - goddamn, you have to understand that it didn’t mean letting random men into the community? At night? While you’re all alone?
They’ve got to teach you better. Daryl is kicking himself right now.
“Rick, he’s friendly. They just need a place to stay and,” Rick cuts you off, grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you behind him. Sort of rough, but in this case? Daryl is glad.
“No,” Rick says firmly, standing tall and firm. His hand is clenched into a fist so tight, Daryl worries he’s about to shatter the bones in his hand. His other hand is on his gun, and Daryl wonders where this is going to go. “C’mon,” he tells you, grabbing at your hand, but you slap it away.
Oh, you’re going to fucking get it when you’re back home. You’re going to wish Rick was the one spanking your little ass, because Daryl has never been so pissed at you.
The man at the gate laughs, tip of his bat digging into the dirt. Daryl’s pretty good about picking up vibes of people, and this person is making his stomach sink and his skin crawl. Especially when some other men from the trailers walk up.
“We don’t mean any harm,” the man says, and that’s sarcasm Daryl detects. He’s about to just start shooting, has a loaded gun on him for a reason, but then the man starts talking again. Directed at you.
“Tell your daddy what we talked about. He is your daddy, ain’t he?” He asks, another joke that you don’t understand, nodding towards Rick. You shrug, biting on your bottom lip. “No. Well, yeah. Something like that,” you reply, and before anyone can stop you, you reach around Rick to open the gate.
thoughts on a part two? 💓
#daryl dixon ㅤ♡#rick grimes ㅤ♡#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#twd daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#twd daryl#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon smut#daryl twd#twd fanfiction#twd x reader smut#twd x you#twd x reader#twd x y/n#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#daryl dixon x reader smut#Daryl Dixon x you smut#daryl dixon x female reader#the walking dead#twd#daryl x reader#rick grimes x reader#twd rick grimes#rick grimes fanfiction#twd rick
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Mary Anne "Polly" Pockett being sent off to boarding school by her vindictive stepmother is rotatoing in my head
#random thoughts#polly pocket#she meets her og cast at boarding school and they make a friend group#they discover there was an old group of students who went there years ago who wielded magical music powers or smth#turns out there's an ancient demon locked away under the school by the old group which was led by lorelai#or maybe she wasn't the leader idk but she was in it#and she succumed to the promise of power and tried to release the demon (failed obs)#and her group thought she died but she survived and is now trying to get polly to release the demon#OOO MAYBE BETH IS LORELAI'S DAUGHTER AND POLLY'S STEP SISTER#like lorelai raised beth as like The Chosen One who will Free Our Dark Lord#(maybe she's also the daughter of the demon and has demon powers but like. not sure if i wanna do that since polly's 10)#(and lorelai was the same age when she went to school and that just seems a bit too groomy even for a patron of the devil)#(idk maybe she thinks she's the demon's daughter or lies about it or smth because she's insecure about not having a dad)
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You know what's sick as hell about the design of the Briar Senates??? It's that their design mirrors the weapon of the Draconias 😭✨
I know they're getting flak rn bcs they feel like "boomers who's against any progress because they value toxic tradition" but i don't really think they're like... entirely evil lol or the root of every bad thing that happened in Malleus'/Lilia's life (though im side eyeing them as one of the perpetrators still lol)
Tbh, removing them would also cause more harm (just some social issues inside the fae society tbh) than good imo, (I know many ppl say this bcs they think removing the Senates would make it possible for the peace between human and faes, but the thing is, the Senates aren't the only group that thinks this way, almost the entirety of Briar Valley does lol so forcibly removing them now would only come off as "Malleus forcing "human ideals" on the faes just because he has spent 4 years with the humans"(plus is the understanding between humans and faes truly achieved if you try to silence one group(even if that group is kinda disagreeable with anything human related lol), plus realistically the faes would trust their fellow faes first rather than some humans,
so for me, Briar Senates doesn't give off the vibe of toxic old people who drags others down in their toxic practices (while that can be an accurate description i feel like it generalizes too much about their behaviour), rather than that, Briar Senates feels more like thorns, like thorns that surrounds Briar Valley, they're not exactly harmful unless you go against them, but ultimately they're still protection for Briar Valley.
Which makes it fitting that their design has a similarity with the Draconia's weapon, they're the thorns that protects the Draconias, even if it means sheltering them.
And, tbh, if the Senates other job is to ensure Draconias lives, they're kinda doing a "decent job"??? If we can assume through Maleficia's (and Malleus' case), since we didnt hear about her leaving the Senate's side, she managed to survive for so long, unlike Meleanor😭 Also could explain why they're so enraged when Lilia arrived with the news that Meleanor died and why they hated the weak bcs what would weakness could protect JJDSJD Kinda wish their hatred against Lilia wasnt that he was a weak bat fae, but rather they doubled down on the fact he failed protecting Meleanor, imagine if Gen. Lilia wasnt as great in magic as the fae nobles were, yet he still managed to earn a position beside the Princess, all that hard work only to fail at the most crucial time, it wouldve make sense in the Senates' side to say, "Meleanor shouldnt have appointed him" (because "he's weak from the start")
oh additionally, this is just my assumption, bcs I felt like the way the Senates recoiled when Lilia hatched the egg was kinda... random?? so this is my made up reason lol Remember, the Senates were adamant that Maleficia should only be the one to hatch the egg because she's a Draconia, but Lilia did it and he's not a Draconia, What if because Lilia hatched the egg, it also affected the development of Malleus?? Like maybe for instance, it affected Malleus' lifespan, maybe he still lives more than one thousand years but he won't live for another thousand years like a pure Draconia because he's been hatched by Lilia as opposed to who they wanted it to be, which is Maleficia, OF COURSE Lilia hatching the egg is heaps better than Malleus dying before being born, but this is just my auto thoughts regarding the random hate reaction the Senates did when Lilia hatched Malleus lol
Interestingly, the placement of the stone of Draconia against the thorns (of the Senates) can also be hinted at their relationship with them??? In Meleanor's case, her stone is on top of the thorns, which may indicate that she's not under the Senate's commands or that its just telling she just lived distantly from the Senates, most importantly her stone is bigger than the thorns which may tell the fact that the Senates worships her because she's powerful and greater than them, and she's not someone who can be trapped/ordered around within the Senates. But, tragically, in Malleus' case, his stone is under the thorns, like its telling that he's under the Senates protection at all cost and his stone is little compared to Meleanor's because he's still young.
I also have a theory that the Senates are part of Briar Valley's land, like its been canonically said that they're the dead faes of Briarland, which makes think that their death is similar to the death of Conall from Maleficent 2, when Conall was buried, his body literally morphed to the land, which makes me think this is how the Senates used to be buried, when they die, they become one with the land, that's why you can't just remove them, when they are literally the Lands of Briar Valley,,,, get it lol

Though this is making me think that if this is the case then Maleficia's city,,, if the Senate's presence are the strongest there bcs that's where they're nearly buried, does that mean around Black Scale Castle is just lowkey a graveyard.... Is that why Halloween is special for Briar Valley bcs they have close ties/respect for the dead and Halloween is essentially about honoring the dead 😭✨
Off topic, but maybe the thorns part of the Draconia's staff may also tell about their age. Notice how Meleanor's staff has 3 twists which may tell that she's atleast 300~ years old, (if each twists signifies a century), while Malleus' staff only has one twist on its thorns which is accurate considering he's only 178 years old (one century).
If this is true, I'm kinda curious about Maleficia's staff... does that mean hers will be convered in thorns (she needs at least 7 twists (7 centuries~ and more) there on her staff 😭✨)
#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twistedwonderland#malleus draconia#disney twst#twst malleus#lilia vanrouge#lian notes#twst malleus draconia#twst maleanor#twst maleficia#twst diasomnia#twst headcanons#twst theory#maleficia draconia#meleanor draconia#maleanor draconia#twst meleanor#briar valley senates#twst theories#twst wonderland#i love you bitter old people (senates) they deserve the worst <3#(by worst i mean them experiencing the good side of humanity and reflect about how awful their#generalizing on them have been lol)#overthinking about briar valley politics again at 1am#even though i knowww full well TWST would never expand on the Senates' morality deeply like this lol
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SECOND CHANCE — TYLER HARRISON
SUMMARY: Let’s pretend the group survives because Tyler finds out his ex-girlfriend had his baby, so Tyler decides to stay.
WARNING(S): angst, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, back-and-forth banter
WORD COUNT: 6,603
PAIRING: Tyler Harrison x fem!Reader
A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Don't ask me where this idea came from, I don't know either. Feedback is always welcomed! <3
MASTERLIST
“Y/n?” You paused mid-step as you slowly turned around to garner the attention of Kay. You thanked the vendor and placed the meal inside your bag. Her curly hair wasn’t hard to miss amongst the colony.
“Kay…hi.” You offer her a small grin.
“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long. What’s it been like three years.” You didn’t mind the hug she gave you as she stepped forward.
“Four actually.” You grin with a faint laugh patting her back gently. You can’t stand to bear a second of the awkward silence so you continue. Asking the dreaded question Kay had hoped to hear from you to report back to her brother when she returned home. “H-How is…everyone? Navarro? Bjorn?…Tyler? Yeah, what’s he been up to lately?” You pocket your hands into your coat.
“Miserable, lost without you.” You roll your eyes at her exaggerated confession. “It’s true!” Her grin widens. “He can’t shut up about you not since you broke up.”
“Sure…” You hum in genuine curiosity.
“He misses you. We all do…” You give her a faint smile, it not entirely reaching your eyes.
“When’s the last time you’ve seen Rain?” Thoughts of how her and Tyler had a small thing going flooded your mind. “I haven’t seen her since I left.”
“Rain?”
“Yeah?” You nod.
“I haven’t seen Rain since her parents died.”
“Oh…that's awful.” You gape in shock. “I hadn’t known.” You muttered.
“We didn’t either till the news spread. News around here travels fast.”
“Hopefully not too fast.” You breathe a laugh.
Kay stood back watching how your posture used to be better and how your comfort showed itself amongst the people. You had never shied away from anything apart from public speaking, looking at you now was like staring at your ghost. A hollow version of what she knew you to truly be like. For her, for Kay, news traveled at lightning speed, and you try to play it off as though motherhood doesn’t define your entire being at the moment. Kay was well aware of the secret you thought you did well to keep.
“How is she?” You don’t even look at her to try and understand what she means by ‘she’. You knew you had caught sight of her curly locks all those years ago when you picked Jup up from her lessons. You close your eyes, a heavy weighted sigh leaves you as you fight the urge to cry out.
“I assumed it was you. No one else stands and lingers like a creepy stalker.” You muster a faint laugh.
“Would it have made any difference then, from now, knowing about her?”
“No.” You look off to the side. Watching as the hustle and bustle of your colony’s people flowed and moved. “I still wouldn’t have told you…or him.”
“I think you should.” Kay suggests.
“I think you need to stay out of my business Kay.” You try and shove past her, but she doesn't let up easy.
"Y/n-" She grabs you by your arm.
"He left!" You whip around in her face. "He left, Kay. He was scared to be more and he walked away and got with Rain. I don't hold anything against her for it. She'd be stupid not to fall in love with him...I fell in love with him...and yet I was stuck trying to survive and eat for two on this stupid mining colonization." Your facade falling. “She’s three Kay…She'll never get to see the sun.” Your arms fall against your sides in a slump.
"Then come with us...we have a plan. Tyler has a plan!" Kay pleaded. "But you have to tell him. You have to tell him about her!"
"I don't think I can Kay, not now at least. I got to go!"
"No wait we can figure this all-"
"Kay, I got to go." You pleaded, then took off. Knowing it was never good to leave Jup on her own. She knew to stay, but even then, if you took longer than usual, she'd wake up and begin to wonder where you were.
-
You had pushed through your shelter's door with a huff as your frantic mind gazed at the empty cot. "Jup baby, I'm here!" You call out to her.
"Who goes 'dere?" You whip around. The voice was far from intimidating as the high-pitched tone suddenly appeared from under a sheet on your small dining table meant for two, and two only.
You emit a sigh of relief as you lower yourself to her eye level. You tilt your head at her weapon of choice. A spoon...
"Do okay?" She wonders as she peers past your shoulder. You had taught her in a manner of speaking that only her three-year-old mind could come to grasp and knowing your baby girl she was quick to catch on. Your heart melts at the anticipation behind her eyes. The braved expression she held for you, but it was her eyes, ones you wouldn't dare admit to Kay that you missed, that gave Jup away. Where she tried to be fearless, she was still just your baby, fear hidden behind those brown eyes– like his.
"Just like we practiced..." You haul her up into your arms and press a greeting onto her cheek. "How was your nap?"
"Good..." She murmurs.
"Yeah? That's good. Hey, guess what I brought?" You gasp enthusiastically. "I got us breakfast and dinner for this whole week!" You cheer, bouncing her on your hip. She brings her hands together and claps in excitement. "Maybe, next week we can score ourselves a rare steak. Heard those are hard to come by." You set her down and begin to unpack your bag with the food you were able to trade for scraps and material you had.
While you worked, Jup sat on your bed and began to play with her stuffed toy, a black bear made up from scraps of fabric and stuffed with leftovers of some pants that no longer fit. Jup's long dark hair is tied into a messy ponytail as she mumbles to herself quietly. You smile at her playing mindlessly.
You move around your small kitchen keeping one eye on her and the shadows of those that pass your shelter. You would wonder if Tyler would show up on one random night, knocking. You'd open the door and his gaze would meet yours then slowly meet that of the little girl whose hair and eyes reflected his own. You knew you'd never truly be able to get away from him. From the inevitable introduction of a father meeting his daughter for the first time. You just hoped that if the time ever did call for it. He wouldn't hate you for it like he does fiercely in your dreams.
After a little while, it's almost time to eat, so you go over to Jup and scoop her off of the bed. "Hey little lady, you hungry yet?" You ask her as she nods her head, her messy hair bobbing with her movement. You kiss her head and set her down in her seat at the small table. You give her a little portion of her dinner and a tall cup of water, then you take your seat. You sit in silence. Small sounds of chewing as she does her best to reach the tabletop. You offer her a smile as you poke at another stale cauliflower. It wasn't the best but there was more to complain about than the food on Jackson Star.
Jup begins to drink from her cup, but her interest is piqued when suddenly there's a knock at the door. She takes a small sip as she places the cup carefully back on the table, and looks to you for reassurance.
You were slightly taken aback. You hadn't been expecting anyone. For the most part, the only person who ever came to your door was your neighbor, Sue, she lent you stuff she thinks you'd find useful for you and little Juniper. But the knock sounded different. Heavier. You glance down at Jup then haul her up the seat. You tense hearing another knock before you make up your mind and decide the small closet is your safest bet. You set her down and go to close the door behind you. "Baby, you stay right here and stay quiet, I'll see who it is, okay?" You tell her as you slowly begin to stand up.
With one last glance at her, you close the door behind you. Another knock rings out and you take a small, deep breath in. Though another glance at the table you hastily store her leftovers away on the kitchen counter.
You walk over to the metal hatch door and unlatch it slowly. It opens with a small creak, revealing not your neighbor, nor an unfamiliar face, but Tyler. Your heart feels as though it's about to give out in your chest. You were frozen in place as you took in the sight of him. He never seemed to stray from the whole dark, tall, and handsome stereotype. It almost made you want to laugh, but you kept still as your hand gripped the door handle. "Ty?"
Tyler breathes out at the sight of you. How lovely you are. How beautiful you are. He never stopped reminding you how you'd always find ways to render him breathless. Albeit, it'd get him a punch or two in the shoulder but he would have complimented you over and over if it allowed him to see you smile once more. How he wished for it now, seeing your weary-eyed expression. You were breaking his heart and all you had barely done was look at him and call him 'Ty' after four years.
He didn't know quite how to approach you now. The look he earned from you was one of exhaustion. He could hardly read you, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. Not only was the thought of talking to you after so long terrifying, but the thought of messing it up terrified him further. "Hey." He mumbled through his thick accent, his eyes scanning how you had the door only slightly open. "Mind if I come in?"
Tyler almost grimaced seeing how you had closed the door an inch more, limiting the space between you both. He knew then and there the forward approach had been the wrong approach, especially when it came to you. You instantly put your walls up around you. He could see it from your tensed-up shoulders that you wanted to get him out of here as fast as you could.
The silence was loud between both of you. He wanted to say something. Maybe a compliment would get you to crack, but he wouldn't take the risk. He wouldn't risk scaring you off. Tyler's eyes had a look in them that showed his desperation to keep you from shutting the door in his face. He wouldn't hold it against you if you did. He could tell you wouldn't let him in. "Y/n-" He began.
"What are you doing here, Tyler?"
He almost visibly winces at the tone of your strained voice. He looks past you, into your home. Tyler's gaze lands on the small table with only one setting and his heart sinks. You notice his look and your grip tightens on the door. He couldn't help it. He had to ask. "Are you…alone right now?"
He almost visibly winces at the tone of your strained voice. He looks past you, into your home. Tyler's gaze lands on the small table with only one setting and his heart sinks. You notice his look and your grip tightens on the door. He couldn't help it. He had to ask. "Are you…alone right now?"
The look on your face doesn't waver. You know exactly where he's going with the question, yet you can't bring yourself to shut the door. You're frozen, but you refuse to answer him. It takes everything in you to keep your cool. You bite the inside of your cheek and avert your gaze.
He had wanted to say so much to you. To apologize for the way he had left you and treated you. To tell you he had missed you and to see you again without the fear of you shutting him out. But he found it hard to find all the words that he wanted to say. "Y/n, let me in." He stepped over the threshold as your hand shot out to stop his entry.
"Y/n-"
"What did Kay tell you?" You asked with grit in your voice. "I haven't seen your face in four years, why now? What the hell did she tell you?" You shove against his chest.
Tyler catches your arm as you shove him, he's holding it between you. He's taken by surprise by your reaction to him showing up. He looks down at you with his widened eyes as he tries to come up with the words. "She didn't- Y/n, just stop." He grabs hold of your wrists, stopping you from pushing against his hold. "I just want to talk to you. Just let me talk to you." Tyler pleads. He was scared. The anger you're releasing was almost unexpected but not unwelcome. Anger was something he could deal with. Anything was better than silence from you.
"Don't lie to me, Tyler." You say through gritted teeth, trying to pull your arm back to yourself. "Why are you here all of a sudden, huh?"
"Huh?" You go to shove him again. He grabs your wrists and uses his strength to shove you against the wall next to your door, pinning both of your arms on either side of your head. You look over in time to see him kick close your door. The slam drowning out your heavy breathing. Tyler looms over you, his chest rising and falling.
The air between you is thick and charged as he keeps you held against the wall. His chest was flush against yours and he held your wrists over your head as he stared down at you. You watched his gaze move from your eyes which burned into his own. He's staring at your heaving chest, the curve of your collarbone before he looks back down at your face. His own heart was pounding, so loud it almost drowned out the sound of your own. You could only hear one another's heavy breathing.
"Get out…" You slump back against the wall.
Tyler's expression falters. He doesn't listen, of course. No, he only grips your wrists tighter in response as he leans in closer. His body pushes against yours more until there's almost no space between you both. "No." He says to your request, his voice is heavy and deep. There's a desperation in his tone. "I'm not leaving till you talk to me." His lips are close to yours and he doesn't miss how your eyes lower to glance at them. "Only if you talk to me."
"The nerve you have to show your face now-" You begin to give it to him.
He takes it as he keeps you pinned to the wall. He almost flinches at the harshness in your voice, but he doesn't say anything about it. This was nothing new. Tyler always seemed to love it when you gave him an earful. He enjoyed seeing the frustration in your eyes, how your lips would get in a pout. He watched as you opened your mouth again only he spoke before you could voice your opinion. "Just shut up for a second and listen to me damn it!"
That shuts you up for him. He almost smirks but catches himself, though you can see him almost enjoying the look of annoyance in your eyes. He didn't miss the way your eyes once again glanced down at his parted lips. "No more yelling. Just listen." Tyler mutters, his head moving slightly closer.
"You're yelling though…" You furrow your brows at him.
He almost chuckles, almost. How stubborn you still were. But he was trying to be serious with you for once. He lifts his hold around your wrists, his nose almost touching yours. "Because you're being stubborn-headed." He lets his voice soften as he looks at you.
"I think you're just being a gigantic dick."
Tyler raises an eyebrow at you now. He almost wanted to laugh at you. What he does instead is tighten his grip on you again as he stares down at you. "And you're being a pain in my arse." He responds to you with a huff. "Always have been, always will be."
"Tyler…what did Kay say to you?"
That stops him and his cocky demeanor suddenly falters. Tyler is silent for a moment, his lips in a straight line as he refuses to meet your gaze. "She said…" He begins to say but almost feels ashamed to tell you. "She said that I have-"
"Mommy…do good?"
Too engrossed by each other you had forgotten about the small human you had tucked away from sight. Her voice was small and curious. You look past Tyler, your eyes instantly falling onto Juniper.
You almost gasped, as did Tyler as both of your heads snapped to look at Jup in the moment of surprise. She was standing by the small little counter you had, still holding her stuffed bear tight in her grip. The sight of her causes Tyler to slowly step back away from you, his eyes are widened in disbelief.
"-a daughter." He freezes, and his shoulders drop as does your heart at the sight of Jup who was supposed to stay hidden, and in that moment Tyler looks back over at you. He watches you as he sees the guilt wash over your features.
You grimace as you go over and haul her up into your arms. Her head laid against your shoulder, clinging to her bear in her little hands.
"Ty, this is Juniper. Your daughter."
Tyler's mind went a mile a minute as he took in the sight of the little girl staring at him from the safety of your arms. He could see the guilt in your eyes, almost as though you were caught doing something you weren't meant to be doing. He looks down at his daughter, her messy black locks and big dark eyes. The girl was a mini version of himself. Apart from her ears, smile, and nose. She was his.
"I almost tore a new one into Kay after she got home and told me. Almost didn't believe her." His laugh fainted. "All this time?"
You had gotten her tray of food and sat her down on her chair. Juniper obliged but still kept a cautious eye on the random man in her home. "Tyler, you didn't want this." You gesture between you both. "You wanted an out, so I let you go."
Tyler couldn’t take his eyes off of the little girl. His daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He knew Kay was never one to lie about something so big, but to see it right before his eyes was a completely different story. “You could’ve told me.” He said, more quietly than he thought possible.
"You would have stayed for her. When I needed you to stay because of her, and because of me. But you didn't want anything serious, and I wasn't gonna sit by and watch you stay for a baby, not when you couldn't even look me in the eye anymore."
Those words hit him hard, almost like a punch in the gut. He wanted to defend himself. You were right. He couldn't deny that you were. He had wanted freedom, he wanted off this colony, a new life. No strings attached. But now standing there, he wasn't so sure anymore. He could've had so much more than what he had settled for. He had pushed you away and ran because he was scared of something real. And as he looked at his daughter, he could see the proof of his cowardice.
“You should have told me,” Tyler repeated, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He looked back at you. “I had a right to know.”
"No Ty, you didn't. Not then." You deny.
"And why not??" Tyler's voice rises. He couldn't believe it. He had a daughter this whole time. He had gotten you pregnant and ran away and you hid that fact from him for almost four years. “You decided that on your own.” He retorted back. Tyler took a step forward, his hands went to his pocket, in a desperate attempt to look indifferent. He watched as you sat down beside Jup, running a hand along her messy hair. "I should have been a part of her life. I should have been with you- Y/n, I had a right to know about her, damn it.”
"You left me. You gave me no other choice." You peer up at him through watered eyes. "I needed you…"
“And I needed space goddamn it.” Tyler snapped. He took a step back, as though to distance himself from you. But when he saw the tears in your eyes, something inside him ached. He wanted to walk over and comfort you, but he didn’t. He stood there like a jackass, watching you fight back tears. “I just needed time to think…I couldn’t breathe when I was with you. You overwhelmed me.” He admits, his shoulders slumped.
"Oh…" Your voice dies down at his words. You muster a nod before you look over at Jup watching the scene unfold before her.
She was watching with big curious eyes, taking in the atmosphere of this new man that was in her home. Tyler could see the similarities between himself in the little girl. How she looked and moved, it was as though he was looking at a reflection of himself in the small child. He watched as you smiled at her, reassuring her that everything was fine.
Tyler’s breath gets stuck in his chest as he watches how you are with his daughter. The two of you looked and moved naturally together. And here he was raising his voice wondering if she thought the worst of him. He notices your change in demeanor and suddenly, he’s kicking himself. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. He hadn’t meant for those words to be backhanded. But they were and he hurt you once more.
"I'm sorry." You glance up at him as he starts. "That came out wrong, I didn't mean for it to. Heat of the moment…" He palms his face. Tyler sighs his mind and heart racing. He’s hurt you by saying that. He hadn't meant it in that way, but he knew how it sounded. “Y/n, that’s not what I meant.”
"Yeah, but you still said it Tyler. Such a shitty thing to say too!"
“Yeah, I did and I’m sorry, okay.” He lets out a frustrated sigh as he runs his hands along his face again. It was frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. Everything about this was. He was frustrated for hurting you, for saying those words and he was frustrated for having a daughter that he should have known about years ago. “Damn it-“ He mumbles, shaking his head.
"You know the more you keep swearing in front of our kid, the more bad habits she'll be likely to pick up."
That shuts him up.
Tyler lets out a huff as he looks down at his daughter. He takes a few steps towards you and Jup. He’s watching you, how you caress back her hair and keep her reassured as you try to act like everything is normal. He stops to stand beside her. He looks down at her, taking in the details of her face now that he’s up close to her. He smiles softly for her, hoping to appear as less of a threat to her.
"You're still a jackass..." You mutter under your breath, but the smirk that grows on his lips tells you he heard you loud and clear.
He snorts softly at that, unable to deny it. Tyler doesn’t hesitate to lean down and whisper a response back to you. “And you’re still the love of my life.”
You still. Frozen from the shock and complete obscurity of his words.
Tyler grins at your reaction. He straightens up, hands back in his pockets. His eyes are almost mischievous as he watches you falter. “Perhaps I should have kept that to myself.” He teases.
"Yeah, that might've been wiser." You huff with a laugh.
“Yeah, I’ve never been one to make smart decisions.” Tyler chuckles. He leans himself against the table, keeping his eyes on you. He’s watching how you still have a hand on top of Jup’s messy hair as a reassuring touch. He nods his head at the sight. “She looks like me, but it’s your ears.” He teases. "You're smile and nose."
"Well thank god, it wasn't your ears."
"Hey, what's wrong with my ears?" He says as he puts a hand over his heart, the other one goes to his ear and acts offended by your statement.
You feign a grimace.
Tyler huffs under his breath at your expression. "Oh, real mature." He grumbles as he crosses his arms, a pout visible on his face. "You never had a problem with my ears before."
You surrender.
Tyler grins at the sight, watching you throw in the towel. He takes his hands from his chest and ear, leaning himself down again so he gets close to you.
“I do mean it though. You are and always have been the love of my life."
"I'm a loss in your life, Tyler." You correct.
His head almost snaps back in disbelief at your statement. Tyler shakes his head. "No, you have never been a loss to me. You are- you have only ever been the best part of my life. I just-" He pauses as he suddenly feels himself get frustrated with himself all over again. "Damn it, can you just stop putting words in my mouth, and listen to the fact that I never stopped loving you! Even when I left to train. Even when we were over. I never stopped."
"Tyler this is crazy-"
"No this isn't crazy!" Tyler snaps again, but his tone quickly deflates as he looks to make sure that Jup hasn't heard him. He takes a breath as he runs a hand over his hair again in frustration. "It’s not. You're everything I want. Everything I have ever wanted. You're the light of my life, and I can’t let you go again. I have spent so many years miserable that-"
"Kay did mention that." He gave you a look. "Sorry."
"-I was never happy when I was away from you, I didn't know how miserable I truly was until I left."
"It's not that easy for me. Tyler, you just told me a few minutes ago that you couldn't breathe around me, that I overwhelmed you. Make it make sense!"
"You do overwhelm me, damn it!" Tyler snaps again, he stands straight now, and he can feel a rush of adrenaline suddenly running through his body. "You make my heart race a million miles a minute. You're the only person who can piss me off and make me feel like a damn fool in love. You don't take my shit and make me want to kiss you every time we've argued. You make me feel so much all at once and sometimes I can't handle it. But I don't want to feel numb anymore! I didn't know what I had until I lost it. Until I lost you. No one else makes me feel that…god not even Rain."
"Oh god...Tyler." You ran a hand down your face.
Tyler sighs as he watches you, seeing your expression change yet again. "I got my second chance right here with you. With Juniper. Us."
You tilt your head hearing his words. "Ty…"
Tyler reaches over and grabs your hand, it surprises you by the sudden touch. He gently pulls you back up to your feet, getting you to stand in front of him. He’s got a tight grip on your hand like if he lets go you might disappear. "I want us. I want you. I want you and our kid and I-" He struggles for the right words that he so desperately wants to say. "I want this family more than anything."
"You do?"
Tyler can hear the uncertainty in your voice. He hates it. He reaches up and cups your face with his hand, forcing you to look at him directly. He gazes into your eyes, almost pleading for you to see that he’s being sincere. "Yes," He answers simply, quietly. He leans in, resting his head against yours. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."
"Tyler if you leave us, I will never forgive you-"
"I won’t." He exclaims. He’s gripping your hand in his like a vice. "I’m not leaving. Not this time. I made that mistake before, you’re not getting rid of me." He gently presses his forehead against yours. He’s looking at you carefully. "…do you believe me? Do you trust me?"
Your faint nod had him relaxing.
Tyler lets out a relieved sigh at your nod. He’s got all of this energy, adrenaline, and fear coursing through his body and it takes all of it to not just grab you and kiss you. Instead, he just pulls you against him and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. He closes his eyes as he buries his face in your hair, pressing kisses into your skin.
You wrap your arms around him and inhale his scent. Your hug only lasts so long when Juniper has you both pulling away again. "Mommy."
You can both hear her soft voice and when you and Tyler pull away from each other, you see that little Jup has come to stand beside you both. Her bear and now a picture you were all too familiar with in her hands. She’s looking up at you with her big brown eyes, and her messy hair. She tugs on your shirt with a soft pout of her lips.
"What do you have there baby? Is this for me?" You haul her up into your arms. Tyler lingers behind you, watching your interactions.
Jup happily climbs up into your arms and she is careful of the picture she’s holding as she tucks her face into your neck. She’s still holding onto it tightly between her little hands as she mumbles something against your skin, but her words are muffled. She pulls back slightly so she can hold up the picture to you.
Tyler registers what is it before you can turn it over. "You kept it."
Your eyes are now fixated on the picture in your hands. It’s the picture you had taken the day you found out you were pregnant with Jup. Your hair was done, and you dawned one of your nicer shirts. Both you and Tyler were looking at each other while his arms were wrapped around your waist and his chin was resting against your shoulder. He had kept the picture in the inside pocket of his jacket for a while. Now you held onto it.
In the picture, the essence of your happiness had been captured. It was one of the happiest days you had ever felt. The month that followed after that day. You tried to forget it ever happened.
Yes, you had kept it. You’d kept it under yours and Jup's cot all these years.
"You gave it to me remember."
"I would've thought you'd thrown it out by now."
You were both silent for what felt like an eternity as you looked down at the picture, running your thumb over your faces.
"No, I couldn't." You admit, softly. "It meant too much to throw away. Besides, it's the closest thing I got to an ultrasound around here." You shrug.
Jup peers out of your neck as she watches the two of you talk, still not quite registering who this man is. “Who?” She says, with her head at a tilt.
"Jup this is Tyler, Tyler…He's your-" You peer up at him not knowing what to officially label him as.
Tyler clears his throat as he’s suddenly put on the spot. He looks at her, seeing how she looks at him with such curiosity. He feels his heart suddenly flutter again when he hears the word your, like some sort of proof of belonging.
“I’m your dad,” He answers confidently, smiling softly at her and her messy head of hair. "Your daddy." His accent coming through. "I'm here to stay if you'll have me. If your mommy will have me." He peers cheekily into your eyes, where you have to fight the urge to roll your own.
"What do you think Jup. Should we let him stay?"
Jup’s eyes go wide at the question and her interest is perked by the sudden proposal. Her head suddenly pops away from your neck as she looks at you and she nods her head, with her messy hair flailing. It was a rather eager nod on her part. "Yes!"
"Yeah?" Tyler's grin widens.
Jup nods her head. "Yes!" She confirms again, more excitedly this time. She's looking down at Tyler with those big brown eyes, and she's got a smile on her face. Tyler leans in and pecks her curls, grinning from ear to ear, knowing he has her approval. "Looks like I'm sticking around then, Jup's orders," He replies, meeting your gaze.
"Guess so, soldier."
"Guess so." Tyler repeats back, with that damn smirk of his. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s watching you like you’re something he's finally got to have again. It makes his heart clench.
Tyler takes you by surprise when he’s suddenly close enough to touch you. He brings his hand to your neck, cupping it in the palm of his large hands as he leans in, using the leverage to pull you into him. His lips are on yours in an instant, firm and eager against your mouth. Your surprised gasp has your mouth open to his and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
You use one of your hands to pull him closer.
Tyler pulls away, breathing heavily against your lips. "I've been wanting to do that since you opened the door." His chuckle makes your grin widen.
"So stupid…" You shake your head.
Tyler lets out a huff as he grins. He cups the side of your face with his hand, resting his forehead against yours. “Damn you. You drive me mad, woman.”
"Yeah? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it around here."
"I think I'll manage. I'm tougher than I look." Tyler grins as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. He's close enough that you can hear his accent through his words as he peers into your eyes.
"No, you're not…"
"No?" Tyler’s eyes were narrow as he picked up a bit of a teasing tone in your voice. "Oh, it's like that then, is it?" He says as he raises an eyebrow. "You hear this Jup, your mum says I'm not tough." He feigns hurt.
"Tuff." Jup repeats back to him. "Tuff, tuff, tuff."
Tyler grins. "That's right, Jup." He says as he gently reaches out and boops her nose with his finger, earning a little giggle out of her and the sound makes his heart warm.
"Please don't encourage her. She doesn't need to learn bad habits from her dad."
"Oh come on, she’s not going to pick up my bad habits…" Tyler glances between you and her. "Besides, she already has your cautiousness, so it's too late."
"Well, I'd rather that than have her watch your macho tough guy act unfold. Jackson Star knows I've seen enough of it."
Tyler huffs. "It’s not macho. It’s called having a backbone." He snaps back, with a tone that you know is more playful than serious. "I’m teaching my daughter to be strong."
"I think you mean thick-headed, excuse me it's time for her bedtime." You walk around him to get her settled onto the cot.
"Hey! I'm not thick-headed." Tyler protests as he gives you a look of disbelief. He glances over at Jup who is sitting quietly in your arms and suddenly he looks concerned. “W-Wait, bedtime? How early does she sleep?”
"Tyler, It's a quarter past eleven." You gesture to the hologram clock on the small counter. Tyler turns to look at it.
He blinks. "It’s that late already?" He exclaims in disbelief as he looks from you to the clock and back again.
“Quarter past eleven. No wonder she’s so tired,” He muses as he looks back over Jup. Sure enough, your daughter is fighting to keep her eyes open, and her head is slowly drooping against your shoulder. "Damn, I guess I didn’t realize we had been talking for that long."
You shift her so that her head is on the pillow you share. "I put her down early, but you showed so I really couldn't at the moment. The best I could do is get her to eat her meal."
Tyler steps to your side as he watches you gently arrange her on the cot. He can’t help but smile as he watches you make sure Jup is comfortable before you give her a soft kiss on her forehead. “She’s a big girl.” He muses, softly, as he watches her little head fall back against the pillow and the even little puffs of her breath.
"I wouldn't say that. She still needs mommy to tuck her in."
Tyler glances at you as he grins. He lets out a huff of a laugh. “I’m guessing she inherited that from you, huh?” He teases. "Does mommy need daddy to tuck her in?"
"No." You huff with a laugh, shoving his shoulder.
Tyler laughs as he rubs his shoulder. “Ow.” Despite it being a very soft shove. He glances down at you, his eyes scanning over your features. "You are just as stubborn as I remember you being. I'm telling you, love." He muses as he steps closer to you, using his height to try and intimidate you.
"Just like you remember?" You hum.
"Yeah…" Tyler slowly nods as he takes another step closer to you. He stands in front of you, and you have to have your head tilted back to look up at him. "Just like I remember. Stubborn. And beautiful. A deadly combination, I’m telling you."
"I'm glad you came." You admit. Tyler’s smile softens at your words. He reaches down and takes your hand in his, squeezing it.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” He apologizes, softly.
"Took you about four years...but who's counting." You shrug.
Tyler rubs the back of his neck embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry it took me a while to get my head out of my own arse." He glances at you, looking sheepish. “I’m here now, though. I’m not going anywhere else.”
"Good, 'cause if you do. I’ll throw you into outer space." You lean in and peck his lips for a sweet kiss.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you would.” A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest.
#alien romulus#tyler harrson#tyler harrison x reader#tyler harrison x fem!reader#tyler harrson imagines#tyler harrson imagine#tyler harrison x you#tyler harrson oneshot#alien romulus tyler#alien romulus tyler harrison#my gif#writings by juls: tyler harrison#writings by juls
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SILU’S STILLBORN WEBCOMIC PART 1
Unorthodox apocalypse is a now abandoned comic project I worked on with some friends in 2023-2024 about a cultist team of cheerleaders lead by antichrist Barbie set in a mid-biblical apocalypse world in a town named “Craterview” on the ledge of crater lake. The stagnation of the apocalypse had consequences namely the presence of “beasts” and plunging the world in the shadow of god- so no “good” things/people and no creativity. The cultures of the 20th century seems to repeat over and over, ergo the 80s aesthetic despite it being 2285.
The town’s high schoolers are all divided into classic teen movie cliques and have decided to kill each other about it. Generally the cheer squad and the jocks are considered important enough to the town that they can’t get murdered in pure impunity but everyone else is on the table. The only nerds with any sort of manpower are the marching band who have organized themselves in a casi-military structure.
The cast’s main objective was to use the protagonist as a vessel to bring a demon into the material plane to fuel their magic bullshit. The tone was pretty crass a little edgy and very over the top. I still think of it fondly even if it didn’t go anywhere.

The members are paul, max, cain, evelyn, Pam, Jessica and judy. Their daily activities consists of turf wars, bullying, witchcraft, black mailing people, intimidation and lesbian situationships. Everyone listed sucks here.
The two main characters are Judy and Jessica.
Judy is a standoffish self serving asshole. She’s a “do anything to survive” type but also feels morally superior to everyone around her. She thinks hobbies and responsibilities are frivolous. She gets kicked off the marching band and is coerced into joining the cheerleaders. She spent her early childhood living in the woods with her hippie parents until her dad died, after this they moved back into town, so her family are sort of the town’s pariahs.
Within UA there’s an avatar cycle type thing but for the antichrist. What a sentence. Since the apocalypse never ended it kept being reborn. Jessica, unbeknownst to her, is one of those incarnations.
She’s mean and attention seeking manipulative and egocentric to a fault. She doesn’t have the complete range of human emotions. She had an evil scientist thing going on too. She’s my baby girl ❤️
Pam is Jessica’s childhood best friend and the biggest example of her negative influence.
She’s a self-in-forced Patrick Bateman type. She’s conniving and secretive. She likes to think of herself as a heartless mastermind but she’s just as stuck here as everyone else. She’d never admit it but the craving for Jessica’s approval is what lead her here.
She had a werewolf boyfriend too that was kinda fun.
Evelyn aka eve is a freshman and has a massive crush on Jessica. She’s the one who believes in the “message””” of their cult the most.
Cain’s an ex punk and dumb as a rock. loves to have fun only really joined cause she thought Jessie was hot. Had a thing with max ?

Max ! There’s way less content with her. She was supposed to be the straight man of the group. Shes what Judy aspires to be. She’s very gruff.
And lastly Paul. Paul fucking sucks. Ex-football team member. On paper he’s supposed to be “learning to respect women” but it’s really just his ex-captain trying to get him killed because he thinks he’s that annoying, something he’s completely oblivious to because he’s desperately pining for him. He’s the only one with a car so they HAVE to make him chauffeur them to wherever.
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hi!! what wips do you have atm?
Hiii! Thank you for asking. Now I have a reason to do another WIP update post lol. So once again, thank you for giving me the opportunity to yap about my upcoming WIPs 💜.
These are all in the order I’m focusing on right now. It might change in the future if I get inspired for another WIP more than the other, but for now, this is the order.
A Glimpse Of Us | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: “Amnesia”. Noun. Meaning a partial or total loss of memory. You knew what the term meant, felt sad for people who had to go through it, felt for the people who were forgotten by the loved one that experienced amnesia. However, you never expected to actually know what it felt like to be forgotten by someone you loved, to cease to exist in their mind. Not until you were sat beside that bed in the ‘hospital’, seeing the man you loved looking at you like you were nothing but a mere stranger, not remembering a thing about the life you were building together. But a midst the heartbreak you felt, there was something else as well—determination.
Or the three times you tried to help Joel remember, and the one time he finally did.
Genre: Angst.
Era: Jackson.
Warnings: Swearing, angst, memory loss, blood, near death (Joel lives. He never died. I have no idea what y’all are talking about), extensive injuries, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, age gap (reader is in mid-late 30s, Joel is 60. Reader was in her 30s and a consenting adult when they met and eventually got together).
Sneak peek: Your eyes were trained on the empty spot on the bed beside you. Still covered with enough blankets to to build an entirely separate bed, your head resting on your tear-stained pillow, you observed the ruffled bed sheets with glassy eyes, your heart heavy and guilt-ridden at the realization of why the spot was empty. Of why Joel wasn’t there with his strong, muscular arms wrapped around you, his breath fanning across your neck, his body warm and solid against yours as you both ignored the responsibilities waiting for just five more minutes. Always just five more minutes.
Butterflies | Quarters Of The Undead

Summary: Following her initial meeting with Daryl, Georgie found herself spending more and more time with the crossbow-wielding archer. She started forming an unlikely friendship with the man who swore he preferred to be on his own, but for some reason sought out her company, despite trying not to. And somewhere along the lines of hunting trips and campfire conversations, the dynamic between them seemed to be changing at a steady rate—despite the denial.
Genre: N/A.
Era: Quarry.
Warnings: Swearing, hunting, more TBA.
Sneak peek: The smile that spread across Georgie’s face was bright, soft, genuine. It was the type of smile that Daryl found himself growing more fond of with each passing day, and he felt his heart skip a beat.
What the hell was that all about?
Yielding Isn’t My Middle Name—Chapter Seven | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Back in Alexandria, after escaping the Sunny Meadows community—that definitely did not live up to its name—you could not rest. Liam Davis—your captor—was locked up, Daryl was a nervous and angry wreck, and to add to the stress, you had no idea whether your baby had survived the torment and suffering you were put through. That all had to be determined with time—after Liam was finally taken care of for good.
Era: Alexandria, no saviour arc.
Genre: N/A.
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of being captured and tormented, torture, more warnings tba.
Sneak peek: At the thought of the life that was growing inside of you, your hand trailed down to rest on your stomach, praying to whatever god was listening that your baby was okay. There was no determining if they would be okay for at least another day or so. The ultrasound machine that had been used back at Sunny Meadows would be brought back with the group that went out to gather the supplies there, as well as talk to and determine which people could be trusted enough to be brought back and join your close-knit community.

Summary: You knew exactly what you expected when you moved to Atlanta. You expected to get a 9-5 job, to live on your own in an apartment with your dog and live your life on coffee and instant noodles. Meeting a handsome guy at a bar one night was just an added plus. However, what you did not expect was for your life to change simply because of a guy you hooked up with. Pregnant? No, nothing like that. No, you became an overnight sensation for hooking up with one of the top ten most desirable bachelors in Atlanta—top 50 overall in the US.
• No apocalypse AU, potential multi chapter series.
Warnings: Swearing, smut, the paparazzi being the worst, gossip blogs also being the worst, internet bullies, more TBA.
Sneak Peek: “No, you listen! You’re this famous millionaire guy, which is fine, and I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that you neglected to tell me about the likelihood of my face getting plastered across every gossip blog and article! For fuck’s sake, I can’t even go to the grocery store without getting bombarded!”
#𝑘𝑟𝑦𝑠’ 𝑤𝑖𝑝𝑠 ࣪𖤐.ᐟ#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon x georgie hawkins#joel miller x reader#joel miller#daryl dixon#current wip
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Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P11
pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader
summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?
a/n: My babies I'm sorry for the last chpt but it gets a little better (not really I'm a liar). Y/n is struggling in this and I love Sarah she's my queen. I hate y/n's mother, no further debate. Topper and Kelce blessing the situation with their dumbasses but most importantly what we've all been waiting for, will Rafe and Y/n finally talk it out even though they're stuck in a sticky situation.....? Read and find out BAHAHAHA.
p.s: I made a reference to a TikTok meme that's so big rn and a movie that's one of my favourites all in the same scene, see if you can spot them ;)
warnings: hospitals, mentions of sa and non-con, bad mother daughter relationship, being held in custody, emotional turmoil, tense conversations, crying, mentions of violence, alcohol, panic attacks, soft!Rafe (about damned time)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rafe sat at the cold metal table, his hands were cuffed, the sharp clink of the chains echoing in his ears everytime he shuffled his hands. He could still feel the adrenaline coursing through him, though it had long since faded to exhaustion. The night had gone from confusion to chaos, and now, sitting here, he couldn’t fully grasp how it had gotten this far. He tried to keep his composure, but every time his mind wandered, it drifted back to Y/N- how she looked… covered in bruises. His stomach twisted at the thought. How could anyone do that to her? And then Cooper- he’d done what had to be done, right? He’d stopped him, even if that meant the boy was left barely breathing.
He didn’t regret that for a second.
The door opened with a creak, and Shoupe walked in, his heavy boots making soft thuds as he approached. He wasn’t a stranger to Rafe, or to the rest of the group for that matter, he knew them all too well, and he had a stern look on his face as he took a seat across from the boy.
“Rafe,” Shoupe started, his voice calm, “you’ve been here for a while now. You want to tell me what happened?”
Rafe looked at the sheriff, his chest tightening. He didn’t know how to explain himself- not without sounding like a guy trying to justify his own uncontrolled anger.
“I was just protecting her.
Rafe’s voice was low, his eyes meeting the sheriff’s. Shoupe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “I know you were trying to protect her, but you’ve got to understand, the way you went about it…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.
“You beat the hell out of him. That’s not self-defense.”
Rafe clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing. “What was I supposed to do, huh?”
I should have killed him that's what
Shoupe studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “I know you did what you thought was right, Rafe. But you have to understand, beating a guy into the ground like that? The law doesn’t care about intentions. It cares about actions. And right now, your actions don’t look too good. Cooper’s in the hospital. He’s unconscious.”
Rafe felt his chest tighten at the thought, if he died he was done for- so he hoped the boy survived, for his own sake of course. Rafe’s voice broke slightly,
“He was hurting her… and I had to do something.”
“You did something alright.”
Shoupe said, sitting back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Now the question is, what’s gonna happen because of it. What’s your story, son? You’re lucky that Y/n is okay but you might be facing some serious charges.”
Rafe wanted to lash out, to argue, but the words got stuck in his throat. He could still see Y/N in his mind, trembling, crying, covered in blood. He couldn’t think straight.
“Did you talk to her? Did she tell you what happened?” Shoupe’s voice broke through Rafe’s thoughts.
“You know, if she doesn’t back up your story, it could get a lot worse for you.”
“She’ll back me up.”
Will she?
Rafe said firmly, though there was doubt creeping into his mind. What if she didn’t? What if she was too scared to speak? He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through right now, after everything.
Shoupe’s gaze softened. “I hope so, Rafe. I hope so.” He paused, then looked at him seriously. “If you want to have any shot at getting through this without more problems, you need to get your story straight. Don’t try to make excuses, be honest with me.”
Rafe nodded, feeling like he was in way over his head. But he didn’t care about anything else right now. He just wanted Y/N safe, he would face whatever consequences came his way as long as she was okay.
“I’ll tell you everything,” Rafe finally said, his voice quiet but resolute. “I’ll tell you the truth, I’ll uh- tell you what happened.”
Shoupe stood up slowly, giving him one last look. “Good. We’ll see what we can do from here. But right now, you’re staying here. Just… think it over.”
Shoupe left the room, leaving Rafe alone with his thoughts. He leaned back against the cold metal chair, his mind racing. He could only hope that Y/N would understand, that she wouldn’t be too scared to tell the truth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sterile smell of the hospital room was almost suffocating. It clung to the walls, to the sheets, and to Y/N. She could barely focus on anything- her mind was swirling in a haze of confusion and fear. She should be relieved that she was away from Cooper, but all she felt was numbness, like her body had turned off in self-preservation. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the thin hospital blanket wrapped around her. She couldn’t stop shaking, despite the warmth of the room. The whole process of the rape kit had been a blur- cold, clinical, invasive- but the worst part was the silence that followed; the silence that consumed her now, sitting in the hospital bed, as she tried to process everything that had happened.
Sarah was sitting quietly beside her, offering her some semblance of comfort, but Y/N couldn’t bring herself to talk. She wasn’t even sure what to say. What was she supposed to feel? The guilt that gnawed at her stomach, the shame that twisted in her chest, and the confusion about what was happening with Rafe- she couldn’t sort through it. Sarah tried her best to fill the silence, her voice gentle and soft. She spoke about random things, about the date she'd been on with John B, about how JJ had almost burnt the chateau down trying to make an omelet, her tone casual and light; but Y/N barely registered it as she nodded absently, staring at the covers of the bed. Then, the conversation slowed, Sarah’s voice quieted, and Y/N could feel her friend’s gaze on her, like she was waiting for something. Finally she spoke again, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant,
“Y/N, I… I called your parents.”
...
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and her head jerked toward Sarah as the shock hit her,
“What?” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and rising anger.
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
Sarah flinched at her sudden outburst, but she didn’t pull back. She looked at Y/N, her expression a mixture of concern and understanding.
“They deserve to know, Y/N… you’re their only child. They need to know what happened.”
Y/N couldn’t comprehend it. Her parents were miles away, on a business trip, and the last thing she wanted was them to find out about this. She felt a sickening knot form in her stomach, her chest tightening even more. “No, Sarah. No.” Her voice broke, thick with a mix of fear and rage.
“Why couldn’t you just leave it? I don’t want them to know. I can’t have them knowing what happened-”
Her voice cracked as she trailed off, her eyes returning to the bedspread, her hands gripping the fabric of the hospital gown as though it could hold her together. Sarah didn’t press her further, but all Y/N felt was shame.
Deep, overwhelming shame.
Shame that she wasn’t able to protect herself, shame that someone had hurt her so violently, and now, even worse, that her parents would have to find out. They’d been away, living their busy lives, not knowing the horror their daughter had endured. Y/N’s vision blurred as her tears began to fall, quietly, silently. She wasn’t even aware of them at first until the cold wetness hit her cheeks. The shame was unbearable, her shoulders shook slightly as her body began to tremble again, the pain of it all seeping through every inch of her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them, “I’m so sorry I yelled at you.”
“Y/N,” Sarah’s voice was soft, trying to soothe her, trying to offer any kind of comfort. She gently placed a hand on Y/N’s arm, her touch warm.
“It’s okay you don’t need to apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But Y/N couldn’t believe that. How could she not have done something wrong? Her mind screamed at her, telling her that she should have fought harder, should have screamed louder, should have somehow stopped what had happened. She didn’t want her parents to know, but a part of her knew that she had to face it. They deserved to know. But the fear- the fear of their disappointment, their anger at tainting the family name- was too much to bear.
“I’m scared Sarah.”
Y/N whispered, barely audible. Sarah’s fingers gently squeezed her arm in reassurance. “We’ll get through this, okay? One step at a time, I promise.”
But even as Sarah said those words, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was alone. Alone in this hospital bed, with everything she had endured, with everything that was about to happen. She sat quietly in the hospital room, the weight of the hours passing pressing heavily on her chest. Nurses would come in and out of the room, asking her how she felt, talking to Sarah, checking her vitals, but her thoughts were scattered, her mind in a haze. Sarah sat next to her, quietly trying to comfort her, but Y/N couldn’t fully engage with her because her thoughts kept drifting back to memories of the night- of what she could’ve, what she should’ve done differently.
Get me out of here
She was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the door open. Her heart dropped, as she looked up to see her parents standing in the doorway. Y/N’s mother, her perfectly done hair trench coat buttoned up to the top, looked as if she were about to burst into the room with the composure of someone who had rehearsed the scene in her mind. Y/N’s father followed behind her, his stern expression softening when his eyes landed on his daughter.
“Y/n”
Her mother said, her voice strained and much too formal. Y/n didn’t miss the way her mother took in the state of her, her eyes scanning the room quickly before locking onto her daughter. There was concern there, but also something else, something distant. Y/N felt her anger welling up, a bubbling knot in her throat. Sarah stood up, giving her space but staying lingering by the doorway, close enough to offer support. The silence between them was thick, her father stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a silent comfort but she shivered at the feeling on his hand on her skin. His voice was gentle as he spoke,
“My sweet girl.” Her father leant down, softly placing a kiss on her forehead, his voice low and reassuring.
“Whatever you need, we’ll help you through this.”
Her mother, though less expressive, sat beside her on the bed. She reached out, placing her hand on Y/N’s wrist in an attempt at comfort. It was a gesture that felt stiff, like she didn’t quite know how to be vulnerable with her own daughter.
“I’m so sorry this... happened.” her mother said, her voice wavering slightly.
“We’ll make sure you’re taken care of, I spoke to the nurse about moving you to a more… secluded room.”
As much as Y/N wanted to accept their comfort, the weight of what had happened was still clouding her mind. However her misery was forced down by a bitter feeling of hatred, of anger, of irritation that she was now stuck with this burden leering over her. She took a shaky breath, then spoke with quiet determination, her voice thick with emotion, her words falling into the silence of the room
“I want to press charges.”
Her father’s expression softened, and he nodded in agreement, “Of course Y/N, whatever you want.” His hand smoothed over her hair delicately as he looked down at the girl, a small smile on her face, Y/N felt a flicker of relief at his words. But then her mother spoke, her tone skeptical and weary as she pulled her hand away from the girl and stood up, straightening her coat,
“Is that really the best idea, Y/N?”
Her voice lacked the softness her father’s had, and Y/N’s heart sank as she looked at her mother.
“W-what do you mean?”
Y/N asked, confused. Her mother’s gaze was distant, avoiding her eyes. Her mother spoke, her tone a bit too controlled, too measured,
“It’s just… you pressing charges will cause all this public attention. The media will make a circus of it. Do you really want the whole island knowing about this.”
Her mother’s words hit Y/N like a slap. She blinked, staring at her mother, unable to process the implications of what she was saying. “What… what do you mean?” Y/N repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You want me to just… let him get away with it?”
Her mother sighed, a long, heavy sound. “I just think it would be better if we kept this quiet. The less people know, the better. No one needs to know about this. We can handle it… privately.”
“Marie-”
Who are you?
Her father spoke out looking at his wife with a displeased expression across his face. Y/N’s heart started to pound in her chest. She shook her head in disbelief, she had never expected this reaction from her mother,
“Are you serious? You want to cover this up?”
The words felt like acid in her mouth. Her mother’s eyes hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“I’m not saying it didn’t happen don't put false words into my mouth Y/N, I’m just saying… we need to think about the bigger picture here. Our family’s reputation, your future… This could ruin everything.”
Y/N felt as if the room was spinning. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her mother was more concerned about the family’s image than about her daughter’s pain and suffering. The hurt and anger surged up in her chest, threatening to overtake her.
“Are you kidding me?” Y/N muttered, tears welling up again. “You’re more worried about how this will look than about what happened to me?”
Her mother stiffened but didn’t respond right away, her gaze flicking to her father, as if searching for some sort of support but his eyes were already looking at his wife, narrowed slightly. Y/N could feel the distance between them widening, her own mother now a stranger in her eyes. Then, through the rising tension, Y/N spoke, quieter now, her voice small,
“Do you even like me?”
Her words hung in the air, fragile, desperate for an answer. Her mother paused, the words seemingly caught in her throat. After a long silence, she hesitated before speaking.
“Of course I love you,” she replied, but her voice lacked the certainty Y/N had hoped for.
“But do you like me?” Y/N pressed, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions.
Her mother exhaled sharply, clearly unsure of how to respond. “I… I want what’s best for you, Y/N.”
No you don't
The room fell silent once more. Y/N felt a sting in her chest, her heart aching as the reality of her mother’s words sunk in. She didn’t have the strength to argue, her father, sensing the tension, stepped in.
“We’ll talk about this later. Right now, let’s focus on getting better, yes?”
Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her body felt heavy, like every ounce of energy had been drained from her. Her anger was still there, but it was buried beneath the overwhelming sadness that had taken root.
She turned her gaze away from her mother as the woman walked out the room, looking at the window instead, as if trying to escape the four walls of the room she found herself stuck in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rafe’s palm rested against the cool brick wall, his fingers clenching the phone tightly, his heart pounding against his ribs. He didn’t know what to expect next, but there was one thing he couldn’t let go of, one person he needed to reach.
I need to talk to her
His eyes darted to the clock on the wall. It'd been hours since he'd been taken in to the precinct and he had no clue if she was okay, if they'd cleaned her up, helped calm her down. The last thing he remembered was her panicked eyes before he got into the police car, Shoupe roughly shutting the doors behind him. Yet most importantly, he didn't even know if she wanted to speak to him, would she refuse to take the call, what if he couldn't hear her voice from the other side of the phone.
“C’mon”
He muttered under his breath as he dialled Sarah’s number, his voice shaking with frustration. The sound of the dial tone rang in his ear, followed by the faint click of the line connecting. After a few moments, Sarah’s voice answered,
“Rafe?” Her tone was laced with concern, “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
He swallowed hard, “They’re arresting me Sarah. I don’t know how long I’ll be here-” His words rushed out, "-just give the phone to Y/N, I need to talk to her.”
There was a slight pause before Sarah responded, her voice soft and understanding. “Yeah, yeah okay...”
He heard the rustling of the phone being handed off, then a soft, shaky breath. The sound of Y/N’s voice was all he needed to hear. It cut through the haze, grounding him.
“Rafe?”
Thank God
“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied, his tone soothing, though he could feel the knot in his chest. “I’m at the station, they’re holding me but I’ll be out soon.”
Y/N paused before responding, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. “Are you alright? Are your knuckles okay? I remember they were bleeding.”
Always so observant
Rafe felt his chest tighten at the question. He’d forgotten about the pain in his hand, but hearing her bring it up made his heart stutter, reminding him of times when she would patch him up after things escalated at the boneyard.
“I’m fine, they’re not bad just bruised up, nothing I can’t handle.”
She wasn’t convinced but let out a small hum of acknowledgement. The question was burning in her but she hesitated, unsure if she should say it, her voice was tense as she spoke out,
“Has... has he pressed charges?”
The question hung in the air, and Rafe swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. “No, he hasn’t pressed charges yet. But I’ll make sure we do what’s right for you, okay? I’m just… I’ll be okay, don't worry about me alright- are you okay?”
Y/N paused, the questions weighing heavily on her.
I don't know...
“I'm fine, Rafe. I’m just… trying to figure out what to do. I’m worried about you, I don’t want you to stay there.”
Rafe’s heart ached. “I’m not going anywhere. Just stay strong for me, yeah? I’ll be out of here soon.” He knew the girl was lying, no one would be okay after experiencing what she did, but deep down he knew she was saying so not to worry him further.
“Y/n” He sighed, hand thumping against the wall in front of him, unsure if he should ask her this now, but he needed to know.
“Are you going to press charges against Cooper?”
Y/N’s silence spoke volumes. Rafe knew she was processing everything, trying to figure out what was right. He waited for her to respond, his heart pounding in his chest, he didn’t want to push her but the time on the phone call was running out. Finally, she spoke softly.
“I don’t know, Rafe. I… I don’t know what’s best.”
Rafe clenched his jaw, frustrated with how helpless he felt. “Whatever you decide, I’ll… -I’ll stand by you, no matter what you choose.”
Y/N took a shaky breath, her tone still steady but full of worry. “Just be careful, Rafe, don’t do anything stupid please.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised, a soft chuckle escaping him at her concern. “But you’re my priority, yeah? You need to focus on yourself right now. I’ll handle this.”
“I just… I don’t want you to get hurt,” she replied, her voice soft.
I care about you
“I know, I- I won’t. I promise.”
They shared a quiet moment over the phone, both of them trying to find comfort in each other’s words, even though the situation was anything but comforting. As the conversation started to wind down and the phone was passed back to Sarah, Rafe’s voice became more urgent. “Hey, Sarah?” he said, his tone firm but still laced with the stress of the situation.
“This was my one call, so you need to call dad and tell him to come down and get me the hell out of here, I don’t care how, just- I need to get out okay?”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before Sarah responded standing from the chair near Y/n's bed and walking over to the window of the room, her voice lower now, not wanting to alert the girl,
“Yeah, I’ll call him,” she said, her tone resigned, “don’t worry, he’ll get you out.”
Rafe exhaled a shaky breath, relief and frustration mixing in his chest. “Thanks.”
“Just… hang in there.”
He let out a small sigh before speaking again, softer this time. “Tell Y/N I’ll be out soon, I don’t want her worrying about me, she doesn’t need that shit.”
“ 'course,” Sarah said, her voice softening at the mention of the girl. Sarah paused, and when she spoke again, her tone softened slightly,
“You know Dad will come through.”
He took a moment, her words sinking in. For the first time, he let himself lean into the comfort of her confidence, even if just a little. But it didn’t erase the gnawing feeling in his stomach.
“Yeah.. this whole thing… it’s just so fucked up.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it faltered slightly.
“I know, Rafe,” she said, her voice softening with a touch of concern, “but you did the right thing- well maybe not entirely but you kept her safe.”
Rafe sighed again, hand rubbing over his face as more out of frustration than anything else. The phone beeped indicating his time was coming to an end, he muttered out,
“Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone sees it that way,”
“I’ll take care of it. Just don't do anything stupid, dad’s coming.”
Rafe ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’m waiting.”
The phone call ended with a quiet click, and Rafe leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but no matter the cost, he’d make sure that that nobody ever placed their hands on his girl again.
Get me the fuck out of here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The adults were deep in conversation, their voices rising and falling in heated debate over the next steps. Marie and Ward seemed to be clashing again, Andrew attempting to mediate, while Rose sat quietly, interjecting with the occasional remark. The legal jargon and logistics were swirling around Y/N like a cloud, but she wasn’t listening anymore.
She had moved from the couch to the window, the noise behind her fading into a dull hum as she stared out at the darkened sky, palm trees dancing in the growing wind. The faint reflection of the room in the glass showed her parents gesturing animatedly, but she couldn’t focus. Her arms wrapped around her body instinctively, trying to hold herself together. It had been a week since she’d been discharged from the hospital, Ward had gotten Rafe out of jail, although at a high price, and it was clear that Cooper’s family was anything but pleased at the Sheriff's actions. Now, both families were collected at Tannyhill, debating what they were going to do with the situation at hand.
“Hey.”
The low voice startled her, and she turned to see Rafe standing a step away, his expression soft. “You okay?” he asked gently, his hand reaching out to touch her arm.
She flinched. It wasn’t dramatic, just a slight jerk of her body, but it was enough for him to notice. His brows furrowed, and he quickly pulled his hand back, letting it drop to his side.
“Sorry,” he murmured, taking a step closer but keeping his distance.
“No, I’m-” Y/N cleared her throat, trying to steady her voice. “I’m fine. Really.”
But Rafe could see through her words. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure the others were still distracted before returning his focus to her.
“You don’t have to be fine Y/n...”
Y/N shook her head, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just-” She hesitated, her voice cracking slightly. “I just want to make sure Cooper gets what he deserves, I want him in jail. I want him...”
I want him dead
Rafe studied her for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said finally. “He does deserve that but this,” He looked faintly to the room, to the chaos of discussions and decisions swirling around them. “this is a lot, Y/N, for anyone.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
Does he think I'm weak?
Her jaw tightened, and she looked up at him her eye's narrowing slightly, “I can handle it.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded slowly, his voice calm. “Okay, just… don't push yourself too far, too fast. Whatever happens, I’m here alright?”
She blinked at him, her irritation at him faltering, “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Always.”
They stood there for a moment in silence, the tension in her body softening under the weight of his steady presence. Behind them, the voices of their families carried on, oblivious to the quiet moment by the window. Their relationship was rather bizarre. Of course both of them knew there was a distance between them, the event’s of Y/n’s party had not gone forgotten, however the girl was less hostile towards the brunette, her gaze often staying on him a second too long so he’d catch her eye. But she wasn’t ready for things to go back to normal between them, just because he’d… intervened on the night of halloween did not mean she’d forgiven him, not fully anyways; his words would sometimes linger in the back of her mind and after what had happened she couldn't help but think they were true.
The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken anxieties, Y/N sat on the couch, her legs curled under her, as Sarah perched beside her, offering silent support. Across the room, Ward paced restlessly, his powerful presence dominating the space. Rafe stood against the wall, his bruised knuckles wrapped in gauze, a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface. Rose, sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her serene demeanour masking the tension she felt, Marie mirroring her expression. However Andrew, Y/N’s father, exchanged worried glances at the young girl on the couch, as though silently debating how far they should push his daughter on such a delicate subject.
“This isn’t just about what happens next,” Ward said, breaking the silence. “We need to think about the bigger picture. Rafe’s already been charged with assault, and if this goes to trial, it won’t just be about him. It’s going to pull Y/N into the spotlight too.”
Y/N straightened slightly her voice soft, “Because of what Cooper- did…?”
Ward hesitated before nodding. “Yes. That’s going to come out, whether you’re ready for it or not,” his eyes looked at the girl as he spoke out, yet she had to avert her gaze, looking away, feeling oppressed by the man's cold stare.
“She’s not the one who did anything wrong,”
Rafe snapped, his voice sharp as he noticed his father's gaze at the girl, “Why does it matter if it comes out?”
“It shouldn’t matter,” Sarah interjected, her voice rising slightly as she fiddled with the blanket placed between her and Y/n, “but you know how people are, they’ll twist it into something it’s not.”
Andrew leaned forward, addressing Ward directly. “So what are you saying? That Rafe shouldn’t fight this? That he should plead guilty?”
“Of course not,” Ward said with a scoff, halting his pacing.
God forbid someone stains the Cameron name
“But we need to be strategic. If Y/N presses charges, it could complicate Rafe’s case. They’ll try to paint him as an angry kid looking for a fight.”
“That’s not what happened,” Y/N said, her voice wavering as she looked at Ward shaking her head with a small frown, “he was protecting me.”
Rafe’s heart clenched at the girl’s words, his eyes finding hers amongst the uneasiness of the room. Ward sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. We know. But the court doesn’t always care about the truth. They care about what they can prove and how it looks to a jury.”
“Why are you all acting like I was in the fucking wrong”
Rafe said angrily, stepping forward as he gestured around to the parents at the table. Rose spoke for the first time, her voice gentle.
“Rafe, no one is questioning why you did what you did. But the law can be difficult.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Y/N asked, looking directly at Ward. “That I shouldn’t press charges because it might hurt Rafe’s case?”
“No,” Ward said firmly. “I’m saying we need to think carefully about how we handle this. Your testimony could help Rafe, but it could also backfire if they twist it the wrong way.”
Andrew nodded. “He’s right. If we’re going to fight this, we need to be ready for anything Cooper’s lawyers throw at us, and considering their family deals with law I suspect they've already started planning.”
Marie, who had been quiet until now, glanced at her daughter, her lips pressing into a thin line. She rose from where she sat walking over to her daughter placing her hand on the girl's shoulder as she asked,
“Y/N, maybe… maybe we should handle this quietly hmm? I know it’s not what you want to hear, but think about how much worse it could get if it goes public.”
Seriously?
Seriously?
Rafe's brows pulled down into a frown at the older woman's words, Y/N stared at her mother in disbelief. “Are you saying I should just let this go?”
Marie sighed, tightening her grip slightly. “I’m saying… it might be better to keep this private. No one needs to know.”
“No one needs to know?” Y/N repeated, her voice rising. “He- He assaulted me. He-"
Don't say it-
"Either way if no one does anything, he’s just going to do it again, if not to me then to someone else.”
Rafe moved closer, his voice low and full of conviction. “She’s right he deserves worse.”
Ward looked at Rafe sharply. “Justice isn’t always that simple. You know that well enou-"
"Okay!"
Sarah leaned forward, her hands resting on Y/N’s knee. “Can we just stop acting like this is a chess game? Y/N deserves to make her decision without feeling guilty about how it affects Rafe’s case.”
Rose nodded in agreement. “Sarah’s right. We can support both of them. We just need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”
Y/N turned to Rafe, her voice soft but steady. “Have you thought about what’s next for you- I mean, with Cooper pressing charges...”
Rafe hesitated, glancing at his father. “Yeah. I talked to the lawyer this morning. They’re saying it depends on what Cooper’s camp does. If they push for jail time…” He trailed off, jaw tightening.
Ward finished for him. “They’re pushing for jail time. Cooper’s family has money, connections from New York. They’re not going to let this go easily.”
Y/N’s hands balled into fists on her lap as she looked down at them, Andrew's worried gaze darted to his daughter as his wife's voice spoke up,
“Y/N, you don’t understand how this works. If you press charges, they’re going to drag you through the mud to defend Cooper and they’ll use Rafe’s case to make you both look bad.”
Is she always this much of a bitch-
Andrew reached for his daughter’s hand, his voice calm but firm. “Sweetheart, if you’re sure you want to press charges, we’ll stand by you. But you need to be ready for what’s coming.”
Y/N met her father’s steady gaze, a small frown on her face. “I am ready.”
Ward looked at Rafe, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the table, “And you need to be prepared too. Cooper’s lawyers are going to argue that you acted out of rage, not defense. I’ll talk to the Thorton's about it, see if they can help in court.”
Marie leaned forward, her voice softer now. “Y/N, are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not just about Cooper. It’s about everything that comes after…”
Y/N’s hands trembled, but her voice didn’t waver. “I’m sure, I’m not going to let him win.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the decision settling over them.
Ward nodded, his voice firm. “Then we fight for both of you. No hesitation.”
Y/N looked at Rafe, and he looked back, their mutual understanding unspoken but clear. They were in this together whether they liked it or not, no matter how messy it got.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house was quiet again after the tension of the family meeting. The echoes of Ward’s commanding voice and Marie’s sharp tones seemed to linger in the air the voice’s heard from the nearby office, but now it was just Rafe and Y/N sitting on the couch. The dim light of the living room lamp cast long shadows across their faces, and the weight of everything unsaid hung heavily between them. Rafe leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly. He’d been quiet ever since their parents left, staring at the floor like it held answers to questions he couldn’t answer. Y/N sat next to him, her knees tucked under her, fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on the blanket she held in her lap. Finally, she broke the silence.
“Are you okay?” her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
What?
Rafe scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “You’re the one asking if I’m okay?” He glanced at her, his blue eyes tired but sincere.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Probably
“I mean… yeah,” she said, hesitating. “But… I don’t know. You’ve got so much going on with… everything.”
“So do you,” he countered quickly, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me right now.” He stopped, exhaling sharply, trying to control the frustration he felt, not at her, but at everything else. Y/N looked to him, her voice firmer this time.
“Rafe I mean it, are you okay?”
He let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m so pissed. I’m pissed at Cooper, at the cops, at my dad for acting like he can buy his way out of this.” His hand hit softly against the edge of the couch as he spoke, he glanced at her again, his jaw tight. “I’m pissed at myself for not finding you sooner, for-” His voice faltered, and he looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
Get your shit together
“Rafe,” she said softly, hand moving slightly closer to his which now rested against the cushion of the couch between them. “It’s not your fault, c’mon don’t do this to yourself.” She shook her head slightly as the words passed her lips.
“You don’t know that,” he muttered, not looking at her.
“I do,” she said firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you- you were protecting me.”
You saved my life what if he-
“And now Cooper’s trying to fucking flip this, like I’m the bad guy?”
He sighed, leaning forward again as he pointed his fingers into his chest angrily before he rubbed a hand over his face.
“And you pressing charges against him- it’s the right thing to do, but… it’s going to cause so many problems. They’re going to try to twist everything around and make it look like it wasn’t what it was; they’re gonna talk about you but you don't deserve that shit.”
Her eye’s flickered over the boy, noticing his leg moving restlessly, jaw clenched. “I don’t care what they try to do,” she said, her voice shaking with conviction. “We’re not going to let him get away with it.”
Rafe turned to look at her, his gaze searching hers. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“...no” she admitted. “I don’t think I ever will be, but if I don’t… who else is going to stand up to him?” She looked down at her lap, her voice quieter now.
“I’m scared, but I’m more scared of him doing this to someone else. I can’t live with that… knowing I could’ve prevented it.”
He looked at her, taking in the bruises wrapped around her neck, now a deep purple. He looked down to her hand, wrist tainted in the same coloring, a mocking reminder of what had happened. His hand moved forward slightly, fingers resting inches away from hers.
“You’re braver than I am, you know?”
No I'm not
She shook her head, a small, sad smile on her lips. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything they were facing pressing down on them. Finally, Y/N looked up at him,
“We’re going to figure this out, right?”
“Yeah we will, no matter what.”
Rafe nodded, though his expression was still somber. As they sat together in the dimly lit room, the sound of the wind rattling the windows outside, Y/N realized something: for the first time in days, she didn’t feel completely alone. The silence stretched between her and Rafe, heavy but not uncomfortable- just the weight of everything they’d been through present upon both their shoulders.
Rafe shifted slightly, his hand still resting near hers, he had the undeniable urge to take her hand in his but he couldn’t bring himself to do so, he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. He already was overcome with relief every time she spoke to him, thanking whatever higher power that she would look at him rather than shut him out.
I don't deserved it.
His jaw tightened, like he was working up the courage to say something, but nothing came. Y/N glanced at him, noticing the way his gaze lingered on the floor, the corners of his mouth downturned. The memory of their last real conversation- the one before Cooper, before everything else that had happened- suddenly pushed its way into her mind. The words she’d said, the way his voice had cut through her like glass, it all replayed vividly. Those two months that she had spent away from him were agony, and she wished it had never come to that. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring, before she finally broke the silence.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Rafe looked up sharply, his brows drawing together in confusion as he noticed the tears collecting on her lower lashes.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, louder this time, though her voice still cracked. Tears welled up in her eyes as she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“For what I said to you that night for—” Her breath hitched as she fought to keep her composure. “For calling you a junkie I shouldn’t have… that wasn’t fair.”
Rafe’s face softened instantly, the lines of tension around his mouth easing. He opened his mouth to respond, but Y/N kept going.
“-and for slapping you,” she added, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I shouldn’t have, I never should’ve done that it was disgus-”
“Stop,” Rafe interrupted gently, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
���Yes, I do,” she insisted. “I was angry, I was so, so angry and I took it out on you but I shouldn’t have said that. I just… I didn’t know how else to handle it. Seeing you in his room…”
She trailed off, biting her lip to stop it from trembling, her hand coming up to wipe the tear off her skin. Rafe’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “You weren’t wrong,” he said quietly, his voice rough.
“I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have been doing that. And I… I shouldn’t have called you what I did.” He exhaled shakily, as he turned his body to face her properly now, “That was so fucked up Y/n, and I hate that I said it I don’t even know where the words came from I- you didn’t deserve that.”
Y/N blinked at him, her tears spilling freely now. She said softly,
“You meant it though-”
“-no, no I didn’t.”
Rafe said quickly, his voice firm. He frantically pushed his hair out of his face shaking his head at her,
“I didn’t. I was angry and so fucking stupid, and I wanted to hurt you because… because you were right. If you think that’s what I think of you I- I would be a fucking fool to think that of you…”
Her breath hitched at his honesty, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
“I’m sorry”
He said again, his voice breaking. His eyes were glossy now too, his usual bravado stripped away.
“For everything. For that night, it was…- it was your fucking birthday and I just- I’m so sorry and-”
Rafe shifted beside her, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Y/N watched him for a moment, her heart constricting at the tension in his features.
“What I said about your brother I-”
The memory made her chest ache, she looked away shaking her head slowly the air was thick with the debris of unspoken emotions. She didn’t know why, but suddenly she was back in her brother’s room, Rafe’s words from that night slicing through her mind. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly.
“Y/N…please look at me…”
Please, please-
Her voice was trembling as it rose from her throat, “Seeing you in his room- doing coke- it just…” She broke off, shaking her head as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I couldn’t handle it and…”
She couldn’t find her voice to finish the sentence, her hand rising to her face once again to wipe the salt water off her cheeks. Rafe was silent for a moment, his throat tightening.
“You had every right to be mad,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have been in there- I shouldn’t have been doing that. I- I shouldn’t have said what I said to you.”
Y/N lifted her head, her tear-streaked face meeting his regretful gaze. “You told me to get over it,” she said softly, her voice shaking.
“...that I should just forget about him.”
Guilt flashed across his face. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I said that, and I didn’t mean it. I just…I was hurt because you were with-... It doesn’t matter but I wanted to hurt you too and I know it was a petty thing to do...” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident.
“I was being selfish.”
Tears streamed down Y/N’s face now, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “It felt like everything you’d ever said to me about him was a lie. After he died, Rafe you were the only one I would go to, it felt like.. It felt like you didn’t mean any of it like- like none of it was true” She trailed off, shaking her head as she struggled to put her feelings into words as she pursed her lips together.
“That room is all I have left of him. And you just… how could you do that to me Rafe?”
“I know, I know- ”
Rafe said again, his voice breaking. “I was an asshole, and I hate that I said that to you, I hate that I hurt you I-” He stopped letting out a breath, he could feel the lump growing in his throat as he spoke,
“I’ve never regretted anything more in my life than what I did. Those two months we were apart, not a day went by where I didn’t feel guilty about what I said… I- I’ve never been so miserable-”
A soft sniffle cut through the air, and Y/N’s eyes flicked up from the floor to meet his. Her breath caught in her throat. Rafe’s eyes were bloodshot, glistening with tears that slipped freely down his flushed cheeks. His chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and his hand gripped the back of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His other hand came up, roughly swiping at his tears, but more fell, relentless.
“I was so- fuck. I was so alone and I lo- I care about you so much I’m so sorry-”
His voice shattered, and he dropped his head forward, the palms of his hands came up roughly to rub his eyes as the sobs broke free, raw and unfiltered. His entire body shook with the weight of it, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Y/N stared at him, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She’d never seen him like this- so vulnerable.
What are you doing man up fucking man up
It made something inside her crack.
Slowly, she shifted forward, inching closer to him. Her hands trembled at her sides, the feeling of fear, terror of someone touching her, of touching someone, it still clung to her, making her hesitate, but the sight of him crumbling in front of her pulled her forward.
It's okay, it's just Rafe he'd never do anything to you
Her hand reached out, hovering in the air, uncertain, before she gently placed it on his arm. The contact was featherlight, almost unsure, but it was enough. Rafe’s head lifted slightly, his tear-filled eyes locking onto hers in surprise.
She gave him a small, fragile smile- barely there, but it was something, and that was all he needed.
Rafe blinked, and without thinking, she moved closer, her arms slowly wrapping around him. Her heart pounded in her chest, loud and anxious, but she didn’t let go. She pressed herself into him, holding him tightly, and for a moment, Rafe froze. Then, carefully, his arms came around her. He pulled her in, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him afloat. His chin rested on the top of her head, and he let out a broken breath, his body still trembling.
“I’ll never- ever- do that to you again,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry- I’m so fucking sorry.”
I love you
Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, spilling over as she held him tighter. “It’s okay,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. Rafe’s arms tightened around her, but his hold was careful- gentle in a way that made Y/N’s chest ache. His hand moved slowly, fingers smoothing over her hair with a tenderness that made her eyes sting.
“I’ve missed you so much”
He breathed out, his voice hoarse and uneven, barely holding together. Y/N’s grip on him faltered for a second, her heart thudding in her chest. For the first time since halloween, someone’s touch didn’t feel threatening. It didn’t feel wrong. She let out a shaky breath, her body slowly starting to relax into him.
“I’ve missed you too”
She whispered, the words fragile but honest. Rafe let out a soft, broken sound- half sigh, half sob- and tucked her closer, like he still couldn’t believe she was in his arms, he never thought it would happen again. His hand continued its slow, calming path through her hair, grounding both of them.
“I swear I’ll- I’ll never hurt you like that again.”
I love you so fucking much
He murmured, his voice cracking. Y/N closed her eyes, pressing her face into his shoulder as she let out a quiet hum. Neither of them moved to let go, they stayed locked in that quiet, fragile moment, holding onto each other as if letting go would shatter them both.
"Y/n I lo-"
A knock at the door startled both of them.
Y/N’s head snapped up as she instinctively moved away from Rafe, body tense again. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her hoodie, and her eyes darted toward the door like it might burst open on its own. Rafe noticed immediately.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he reached for her hand. “You’re safe yeah, It’s probably just Sarah or Wheezie.”
She nodded but didn’t look entirely convinced, her nerves still on edge. He squeezed her hand once before letting go and heading for the door, eyes flickering back to the girl who remained on the couch. When he opened it, a familiar voice filled the quiet space.
“Did someone order a party?”
It was Kelce, grinning like he owned the place, holding a cake box in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. Topper stood behind him, awkwardly clutching a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers, clearly unsure what to do with them.
“Jesus,” Rafe muttered, his voice slightly hoarse as he wiped his face quickly off any tears left on his cheeks, “What are you guys doing here?”
Kelce pushed past him into the house, offering the cake out like a peace offering. “We figured you two could use a little cheering up, s’been a rough week. Cake makes everything better, right?”
Y/N appeared in the doorway of the living room after hearing the boys’ voices, her nervousness giving way to curiosity. She looked at the bouquet in Topper’s hand, then up at him, a small flicker of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Flowers?”
Topper shrugged, looking sheepish. “I panicked. They were next to the bakery.”
“Nice touch,” Rafe said dryly, shutting the door behind them. Kelce held up the box like it was a prized trophy.
“Chocolate cake aaannnnnd, because we’re such thoughtful friends, beer for me and Topper- ” He pulled something from the grocery bag, holding it out to Rafe. “-some bandages for your beat-up knuckles.”
Rafe stared at the box of bandages and rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You guys are idiots.”
“You’re welcome,” Kelce said, completely unfazed.
Y/N stepped forward hesitantly, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “You didn’t have to do this.” Her eye’s flickered over everything they’d started taking out on the kitchen table.
Are those hello kitty band-aids?
“Of course we did,” Topper said, setting the flowers on the counter. “You’ve both had a tough week so consider this… a friendship intervention?”
Kelce set the cake on the table and began rummaging through drawers, searching for plates. “We’re not saying cake and beer will solve all your problems, but hey, it’s a start.”
Y/N let herself lean against one of the stools by the island, a real, albeit small, smile forming on her lips as she watched the two boys bicker over who got the bigger slice of cake. Rafe leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, observing the scene. His eyes flicked to Y/N, who caught him watching and gave him a shy smile.
“Feeling better?” he asked softly, just for her to hear.
She nodded. “A little.”
“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth that matched the moment. “Because apparently they’re not leaving until we ‘eat that damn cake’.”
Y/N laughed—a light, genuine sound that made both Topper and Kelce look up in surprise. “Hey, if you’re laughing,” Kelce declared, pointing his fork at her, “then we’re doing our job right.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of easy conversation, a brief reprieve from the storm they all knew was still brewing. For a little while, it was just friends and cake, and Y/n found herself forgetting about the events of the past couple of weeks.
Topper managed to pull up a movie on the TV, one they had all watched together countless times when they were kids. The flickering title screen of an old animated film illuminated the room, and the familiar opening music filled the space. Y/N looked at the screen for a second, her lips curving slightly at the sight of something so familiar and comforting;
“I forgot about this movie,” she said softly.
“Yeah, we used to watch it all the time at my place, right?” Kelce chimed in, sitting down with his slice of cake. Y/N let out a soft giggle, a hint of nostalgia in her voice.
“You’d always eat all the Twizzlers before the movie and end up falling asleep halfway through.”
“Hey, I was a growing boy!” Kelce protested, but there was no real heat behind his words.
“Yeah, well, it was more like a sugar coma,”
Rafe teased from the other side of the room, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Topper leaned back on the couch with a sigh, his eyes focused on the screen but his mind clearly drifting.
“I remember watching this with you guys, like, what? Ten years ago? I don’t think we really appreciated how good we had it back then.”
Y/N’s smile faltered for just a moment, the weight of everything that had happened creeping back into her thoughts. She shook her head slightly, trying to push the darkness aside. “Yeah, things were so easy…” she said, her voice quiet. Rafe glanced at her from across the room, his expression softening.
Don't do that
��It wasn’t all easy,” he said quietly, his eyes on the TV but his mind on the past, “Remember the time we got stuck in Topper’s treehouse after you dared me to climb it without the ladder and I broke my arm?”
Y/N laughed despite herself, the sound light and genuine. “I never made you climb it. You insisted on it, and then-” She paused for effect. “-you screamed like a girl when you fell.”
“That’s because it fucking hurt, Y/N,” Rafe shot back, rolling his eyes but clearly amused. “And I was eight, so sue me.”
“Yeah, yeah, we all know Rafe was a pussy from an early age,” Topper chimed in with a grin. “But I gotta admit, that was pretty funny.”
Y/N snickered, shaking her head as she leaned back into the couch. “You guys were a mess, honestly. All I did was watch.”
“Liar,” Rafe said, raising an eyebrow at her. “You used to egg us on.”
“Okay, maybe a little,” she said, her eyes softening as she glanced at him.
“Good times.” Topper added, shaking his head.
Y/N smiled faintly. “Good times,” she agreed, her voice wistful.
The room settled into a comfortable silence as the movie continued to play, and as the night wore on, the group grew more relaxed. The movie had long since become background noise, with everyone scattered around the room. Topper and Kelce were sprawled out on the other couch, barely paying attention to the screen as they were more focused on the conversation that was slowly developing between Rafe and Y/N.
Y/N’s feet were comfortably resting next to Rafe’s lap, her body slumped into the couch as exhaustion from the past few days started to settle in. It had been an emotional rollercoaster, but right now, in this peaceful moment, she felt safe. Rafe absentmindedly rested his hand on her foot, his touch comforting and steady. Kelce, catching sight of their proximity, exchanged a knowing look with Topper. They were both silent for a beat, as if contemplating whether to ask the question hanging in the air. Finally, Topper broke the silence with a raised eyebrow.
“So…” He gave a small grin. “We didn’t want to ask before, but are you two, good now? I mean, last time we checked, it was a bit…”
Rafe and Y/N exchanged glances. She couldn’t help but smile, a warmth blossoming in her chest at the question. Rafe returned her gaze, his expression softening as he squeezed her foot gently, a silent reassurance.
“We’re good,” Rafe said, his voice steady, though there was a hint of relief in it as he glanced down at Y/N, giving her a quiet smile. Y/N nodded slowly, her lips curving upward humming back in agreement. Kelce raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further, exchanging a knowing glance with Topper.
“Well, good,” Kelce said, his tone light but with an edge of relief. “About time, right?”
Smug assholes
Topper smiled. “We were both waiting for that.”
The weight of the past few days hadn’t disappeared, but in this moment, surrounded by the people who cared about her and Rafe, it felt a little bit lighter. However the comfort couldn’t stay forever, the atmosphere shifted once again, this time taking a more serious turn. Topper and Kelce were leaning forward on the couch now, their attention focused on Rafe and Y/N, ready to face the reality of what was happening.
“So… Cooper’s pressing charges against you?”
Party's over
Kelce asked, his tone trying to sound casual but not fully hiding the tension in his voice. Rafe’s eyes flicked briefly to Y/N before he answered.
“Yeah. He’s pressing charges,” Rafe muttered, his jaw clenching slightly as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “But we’re gonna handle it.”
Y/N looked over at him, her gaze heavy with both concern and support. “And um… I’m going to press charges against him,” she said quietly, “you know, for what he did...”
The room grew heavy with the weight of her words, Topper and Kelce exchanged an uncertain glance, the truth of the situation sinking in as they processed her decision.
“You sure about that?” Topper asked, his voice quieter than usual, a note of concern underlining his words. Y/N nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I have to, I can’t let him get away with it.”
Topper nodded at her in support, “I’ll see if I can get my pop’s in the court for the hearing… I doubt the Millers will know about him being family.”
Rafe looked at him, his lips pursed as he turned to the girl, sending her a small reassuring smile. “We’ve got your back, always,” his voice was steady despite the turmoil around them.
For a moment, Y/N felt herself ease slightly, the weight of her upcoming choices lessened by boys’ presence, their unspoken promise to stand with her. However, when a new question arose in her mind she hesitated for a moment, her fingers nervously tapping on the armrest as she swallowed hard, trying to find her voice.
“Do people… do people know?”
Please say no
Her voice cracked just slightly, the raw vulnerability in her words making everyone in the room pause. Topper and Kelce looked at each other, uncertainty flickering between them. Neither knew how to answer immediately, neither of them wanted to add to her problems, but Y/N could see it in their eyes, and she knew she was bound to hear something she didn't want to. She sat up a little, her heart pounding, and looked at them, almost pleading with her eyes.
“Please,” she said, “tell me the truth.”
Topper sighed, looking down before he looked back up at her. “Yeah. People know… There’s been talk. There was a video… of you, uh, crying.” He winced, as if just saying it was enough to make him uncomfortable. “We don’t know how much it’s been spread, but…” He trailed off, not wanting to say more, but the reality was clear.
Y/N’s hand immediately came up to her face, biting the nail of her thumb to try to block out the sting of embarrassment. She felt her chest tighten, the overwhelming shame flooding in once again.
She hadn’t been prepared for this.
“It’s… it’s not just you crying…”
-what?
-what?
Kelce continued, choosing his words carefully. “It’s after Rafe broke down the door, when he found you… your nose’s bleeding, and your dress is uh- well it’s ripped. Someone caught it on their phone.”
Y/N froze, her stomach churning. She felt like the world was crumbling around her. The image they painted in her mind of that moment made her stomach twist in shame. She couldn’t help the feeling of being completely exposed, the thought of others seeing her in such a vulnerable state made her feel sick. The image she’d worked so hard to create, of the perfect ‘Kook Princess’ was no longer valid, and she knew that everyone knew that. Her breath caught in her throat, and she fought the urge to cry, the weight of the situation heavier than she’d imagined. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the reality of it all, her voice barely escaped, merely a whisper,
“I didn’t want anyone to see that…”
Topper gave a small, understanding nod, his voice softer now. “Listen,” he started gently, “I know it’s a lot to deal with, and I’m sorry, but…” He paused, searching for the right words.
“Most people, they’re on your side, Y/N, they’re behind you.”
Y/N’s gaze lifted from her hands, her eyes still clouded with shame, but there was a flicker of something else in her expression now. “You really think so?” she asked quietly, barely above a whisper. Kelce, noticing the shift in her demeanor, leaned forward, his expression softening,
“Look- Kooks, Pogues, they’re all behind you, Y/N. People care. Last week at the country club, apparently Matty overheard someone talking shit about it and uh- you remember Elijah?”
“The guy who crushed his dad’s yacht?” Rafe asked, his eyebrows drawing down in curiosity.
“Yeah yeah, you remember?” He looked over to the girl who sent him a small nod in return.
“So Elijah called this guy out in front of everyone there, gave him a lecture, said he was a ‘shit talker with no future’, I really wish I was there. And then- imagine this- management escorted the guy out and revoked his family's membership.”
Her brows raised as the boy finished talking, taken aback by the story, taken aback by the fact that people were so involved in what had happened, and not in the way she was expecting. “Yeah,” Kelce confirmed, his voice firm but kind as he noticed the girl's surprise,
“People see what happened to you, and they’re with you, not with him.”
For a moment, Y/N stayed silent, processing their words. She had been so worried about the fallout, the judgment, the rumors. But hearing that people were on her side, eased the tight knot in her chest, just a little. She looked at Rafe, her words a little shaky.
“I just… I feel like everyone’s seeing me as something I’m not.”
“You’re not defined by that video, or by anyone else’s opinions. We’ll make sure of that.” Rafe’s voice spoke out, low and soothing.
I'll make sure of it
Y/N took a deep breath, wiping her face with the back of her hand, the sting of her earlier tears still there but the fire of resolve slowly taking its place. “Thanks,” she said softly to the guys, her voice quiet.
“It helps… hearing that.”
Topper and Kelce exchanged another glance. They could see how much this was hurting her, and while they couldn’t fight this battle for her, they had her back, she was like their sister.
Topper cleared his throat, his voice low but firm. “We’re with you, Y/N. No matter what.”
Kelce shook his head in agreement, then smirked. “Yeah, and if anyone’s got a problem with you, they can catch these hands… or Topper’s.”
“Yeah cause you cry like a bitch when you bruise your knuckles”
“Man shut the fuck up”
Y/n rolled her eyes amused at their banter, but she had a nagging question at the back of her mind, from the moment they told her about the video. She cleared her throat as she spoke,
“Whose video was it?”
Topper and Kelce stopped shoving each other pausing in hesitance, neither of them seemed to have an answer. “I don’t know,” Topper admitted, scratching the back of his head. “It’s just kind of circulating, you know? People saw it and… well, it got around.”
“Have you guys… do you have it?” she asked, a growing sense of urgency in her tone as she picked at the skin on her thumb. Topper’s face turned serious, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“Look, Y/N, maybe it’s best if you don’t see it. Honestly…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Kelce nodded in agreement, glancing down at his phone, his discomfort palpable.
“Yeah, it’s… it’s pretty bad. We didn’t want you to have to relive that.”
“Please,” she said, her voice stronger now, her eyes pleading.
“Y/n-” Rafe spoke out his hand pushing his hair out of the way. He knew the girl was desperate to see what everyone else had but something gnawed at him, a feeling of unease which made him cautious about the girl seeing the footage.
Don't do this to yourself
“Send it to me, I deserve to see it. It’s not fair that everyone else has seen it but I haven't.”
Topper and Kelce exchanged glances, both of them hesitating for a moment longer looking over to the boy sitting next to Y/n in uncertainty but he simply let out a sigh, his head nodding ever so slightly, so they reluctantly agreed. Kelce fingers worked upon the screen of his phone, and in seconds her pocket was vibrating. She pulled her phone out of her pocket with sweaty palms, her fingers were shaky as she clicked on the message the video opened.
Her heart sank as the footage played before her eyes.
There she was- barely clothed, a version of herself she barely recognized. Her face was blotched with dried blood, streaked across her hairline and crusted beneath her nose. Her cheeks were stained with tears,, body visibly trembling; the video on the screen was muted, but she didn’t need sound to know she was sobbing because her chest heaved in shallow, rapid breaths, her lips quivering. Her dress- once something soft and beautiful- hung in tatters. The delicate ribbons that once tied it together were shredded, barely clinging to her shoulders by fraying threads. The fabric was torn and wrinkled, offering little coverage, leaving her exposed in a way that made her stomach turn. She stared at the screen, frozen, unable to tear her eyes away.
Oh my God-
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a video. It was real again.
The cold floor under her skin, the crushing weight on her chest, the way her limbs felt so heavy, so useless. The panic, the fear, the suffocating helplessness, It all slammed into her at once, like a tidal wave she hadn’t been bracing for.
Her breath hitched painfully in her throat.
Until now, it hadn’t felt real. In the days after the party, her mind had blurred it out, like a fog rolling in to protect her from the truth. She hadn’t let herself think about it—not fully. Whenever the memories clawed their way to the surface, her brain shut them down, drowning them in static. Now, the reality of what Cooper had actually done to her hit her with full force. Without thinking, she got up suddenly, her hand trembling as she gripped the phone. Rafe’s voice was full of concern as he jumped to his feet, trying to keep up with her.
“Woah, woah, slow down, what’s going on?”
“This is-,” Y/N said quickly, her voice quivering. “-this is evidence we can use in court.”
Rafe looked at the girl, not taking his eyes off her slightly jittery frame as he processed what she was saying. The urgency in her voice made it clear that she was ready to expose herself for a chance to take control of the situation but he wasn't sure this was a good idea. Topper stood up from his seat, clearly concerned by the girls reaction, of course he was happy that people’s crude invasion of her privacy was going to at least help in some way, however from the way she gripped the phone in her quivering hold, her eyes flickering down to it’s lit up screen repeatedly he could tell she was on edge. His brows drew down slightly as he opened his mouth to speak out but the girl swiftly turned away from the boys and made her way toward the stairs. Rafe, sensing the urgency in her movements, followed closely behind her.
Shit
“Hey wait! Where are you going?”
He asked as he jogged up to her, his voice a mix of concern and confusion, as his legs moved quickly to keep by her side. Y/N didn’t stop to look back as she continued up the stairs, the video replaying in her hand. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her fingers tightening around her phone. She didn’t answer immediately, her mind focused on one thing,
“We need to show Ward,” she said, her voice almost distant, “We need to show him, so he can send it to the lawyers. It’s… it’s evidence.”
Her steps were steady at first, but as she ascended the staircase, her breathing began to quicken. The video on her phone flickered in her hands, and the reality of what was being shown to her- of what had happened- slowly started to grow heavier. She hadn’t realised it before, but the anxiety was creeping up on her, a tidal wave of panic hitting her chest with every step. Rafe noticed immediately. Her breathing was irregular, quick and shallow, like she was struggling to catch her breath. He’d seen this before- seen her tense up like this, and he knew what was coming.
Shit-
“Hey, hey, slow down,”
Rafe said, his voice firm but gentle. Y/N didn’t hear him at first, her focus still fixated on the screen, her hand holding it as her eyes watched the repeating video as if it might change the painful reality flashing before her eyes. But Rafe, sensing her distress, stepped in front of her, his hand gently took the phone from hers, switching it off and slipping it into his back pocket,
“Y/N, hey, look at me, how about you come sit with me, hmm?”
She shook her head, her hands still trembling, but Rafe didn’t let go, he held his hand out for her to take, his voice unwavering.
I can't, I can't-
“Look at me. Slow down, okay?”
Her breathing was erratic now, chest rising and falling with rapid, uneven gasps. She barely noticed the way her hand was clutching her chest
“Rafe…” Y/N whispered, her hand now twisting the material of her hoodie in her grasp, her breath shallow and quick.
“I… I can’t breathe.”
She leaned against the railing, trying to steady herself, her heart pounding in her chest. Rafe’s eyes softened as he took a step closer her,
“It’s okay, Its okay here-”
He took her hand softly, the panic starting to make her dizzy. She nodded slowly, and Rafe guided her to sit down on the stairs. She lowered herself carefully, her legs feeling weak, and Rafe followed her, sitting a step below her so they were facing each other, still holding her hand to try and ground her.
“Breathe with me,” he reassured her, his voice low and steady. Y/N’s eyes locked onto his, and took a breath in. But it wasn’t enough. Her chest felt tight. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head at him, chest rising and falling as exasperating breaths past her lips.
I can't do this- fuck
“No? That's okay”
He watched the girl as she squeezed her eyes shut, the hand that wasn’t holding onto his was gripping the railing of the banister, his heart clenched as he searched his mind for a way to help her. When he first started going to the therapist Y/n had recommended to him to help with his addiction, Rafe had told him about his lack of control over his emotions, over his actions. He thought it was pointless, because how was a random man he didn't know meant to help him with his problems, when he didn't even understand what he was going through. The therapist had taught him about calming strategies, about the importance of grounding yourself and momentarily, the boy doubted the man’s techniques, he thought they were stupid, but now as he sat here in front of the hyperventilating girl in front of him, he couldn't help but think he needed to send the man a thank you note.
“Just want you to focus on me okay? Can you do that for me Y/n?”
The boy squeezed her hand gently trying to get her attention as he saw the tear roll down her cheek, the girl’s mind clearly spiraling as she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes fluttered open as she looked at Rafe infront of her, her head moving up and down in a frantic gesture.
“I want you to tell me three things you can hear,” he instructed gently, observing as she nodded, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to center herself as her brows drew down into a small frown of focus.
“I can hear the TV downstairs, my uh- my heartbeat and, and I c-can hear your voice.”
Her words were breathless and her eyes were closed but Rafe smiled at her anyways, “Good job,” he encouraged.
“Now, tell me three things you can feel.”
She took a another shaky breath the grip on her hoodie loosened slightly, as her eyes squeezed together,
“The stairs,” she murmured. “my chest… my heart and… your hand…it’s warm- in mine.”
Rafe nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “Doing so good my sweet girl. Can you do one more for me?”
She could still feel the pressure in her chest, but her breathing had calmed, her lightheadedness retreating, she nodded her head slightly in a ‘yes’.
“What do you see right in front of you?”
Rafe’s voice rang out in her ears and her eyes fluttered open, squinting slightly to adjust to the light before opening fully. She looked around, trying to focus on the details, but her eyes landed on what was right in front of her. She spoke softly, her voice shaking slightly.
“You”
Rafe’s lips curled into a faint, comforting smile, “What about me?”
Y/N didn’t hesitate this time, her voice steady, “Your eyes.”
“You’ve always had a thing for my eyes, huh?” He chuckled softly, his smile widening as he leaned in a little closer. She nodded, the faintest blush rising on her cheeks.
“Always”
Rafe’s smile softened, his hand still holding hers, a gesture that felt oddly comforting in the midst of everything. He leaned back against the stairs, still close but giving her space to breathe.
“Take your time, don’t push yourself so much Princess.”
Her brows drew down slightly as the nickname passed his lips.
Please don't call me that
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders still tense. She turned her head, resting it back against the railing, and closed her eyes for a moment, still trying to regain her composure. Rafe, watching her closely, stayed quiet for a while, giving her space to process. He knew she was battling a whirlwind of emotions. Fear. Anger. The pressure of what lay ahead. Finally, she opened her eyes again, her gaze soft but still heavy with the weight of everything.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to freak out- I uh, I didn’t realize… it just hit me.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
Rafe said, shaking his head. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a quiet understanding between them. No words needed to be said, they had been through too much together to be embarrassed of each other's fragility. She sighed deeply, looking down before speaking again.
“I just feel like I’m drowning in all of this. It’s not just the case, it’s everything else. The video… and the fact that everyone’s seen it… I didn’t think it would be like this.”
Rafe, who had been leaning forward, put a hand on her knee slowly not wanting to startle her, his touch gentle. “You’re not drowning, okay? You’ve got people here who are fighting with you... I’m fighting with you.”
Y/N nodded, her eyes brimming with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. She took another deep breath, hand running over her face to try and regain her composure, this time more steady than before, and stood up slowly, offering a hand to Rafe as she did. He took it, standing up in front of her.
For a moment, they just stood there in silence.
Then, like a thread finally snapping loose, Y/N leaned forward, her body moving on instinct. Her forehead gently pressed against his shoulder, the fabric of his t-shirt soft but solid beneath her skin. She didn’t say anything- didn’t need to. Her body sagged slightly, the tension in her muscles slowly starting to uncoil as if letting herself go as she breathed in the comforting scent of the boy. Rafe stilled for only a moment, surprised by how vulnerable she allowed herself to be. Then, without thinking, his hand lifted and rested softly on the back of her head, his touch was light, careful. Protective.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice low and steady near her ear. His thumb brushed lightly against her hair.
“I’ve got you, yeah? You’re safe.”
A soft hum left her lips, barely audible, but it was enough for him. Her shoulders dropped slightly, the last of her rigid posture melting away as she leaned into him more, hand coming up to rest on his chest. The storm inside her, though still rumbling, quieted just a little in his hold. Rafe didn’t move, not wanting to destroy the perfect tranquility formed between them.
He just stayed there, holding her like he had all the time in the world, his hand cradling her head and his chest rising and falling in sync with hers.
I love you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.
It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.
Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.
Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.
The apocalypse had come.
You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.
Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.
And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.
That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.
You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.
From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.
At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.
Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.
It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.
It.
Armageddon.
The Rapture.
The fucking apocalypse.
It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.
The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.
The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.
The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.
That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.
You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.
But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.
By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.
But by eighteen, you knew better.
It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .
You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.
That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)
You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.
Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.
This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.
As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.
He didn’t believe.
No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.
The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.
That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.
That was what was told, and that was what was believed.
You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.
Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.
— Revelation 6:1–2
That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.
While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.
As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.
Only by that time, it was too late.
Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.
And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.
The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.
Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.
By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.
Then . . . it all just stopped.
But your town continued to spread its lies.
The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.
They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.
Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.
But you knew better.
While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.
You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)
And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.
The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.
But you couldn't believe it.
Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.
Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.
Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.
He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.
Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.
War will come, she warned.
War will come.
But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.
And then . . . then he did.
The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.
The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.
War will come.
It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.
This was no man. This was War.
And it all became clear soon after.
While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.
The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.
The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.
That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.
Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.
(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)
Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.
War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.
From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.
But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.
There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.
Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.
The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.
And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.
(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)
While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.
The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.
That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.
It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.
The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.
It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.
It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
— Revelation 6:7–8
Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.
Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.
She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.
You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.
Now there was no more living, just surviving.
Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.
Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.
How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?
You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.
But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.
Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.
Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.
You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.
Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.
You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.
And then you looked at him.
Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.
Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had killed someone.
This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.
(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.
(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))
That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.
The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.
And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.
(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)
But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.
You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.
And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.
It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.
And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).
Survival became all that you knew after that.
Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.
The burden became yours to bear.
This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.
Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.
And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.
Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.
If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.
So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.
Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.
Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.
Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.
When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.
You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.
In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.
But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.
You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.
So you let yourself turn into a machine.
And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.
That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.
You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.
Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.
That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.
Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.
When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.
No, killed was too vague.
Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.
The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.
You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.
But you had that night.
And now you paid the consequences.
It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.
She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.
So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.
Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?
How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?
You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.
Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.
Were you no better than the dead to her?
You swallowed hard.
Had you become a monster?
“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.
But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.
You did what you had to do.
You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.
You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.
Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.
Kind had been rare back then. It still was.
And Felix stayed kind.
When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.
You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.
But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.
That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.
He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.
But you?
Well . . .
“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”
”You’re not."
“Lix."
“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”
Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
”She’s just a kid."
“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”
A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .
”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “
”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”
You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.
His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."
His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.
But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.
However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.
You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”
”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.
”Sleep, little bird."
He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.
But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."
You swallowed hard but said nothing.
You're not too far gone.
Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.
A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?
But you already knew the answer.
Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .
And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.
His face was always there.
Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.
Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.
And you knew you had.
At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.
You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.
Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.
And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.
But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.
Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.
He would still be here if you hadn't—
"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.
You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.
It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.
She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.
But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.
You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.
Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .
. . . You’d still killed a man.
You’d actually taken a life.
(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.
It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And maybe you had been.
That would’ve been easier to fathom.
But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.
"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.
Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.
And you couldn’t blame them.
The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.
Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.
That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.
With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.
You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.
But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.
Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.
Had he felt like this, too?
Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?
Did he ever wonder if—
“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.
You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”
She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”
“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.
But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.
Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.
Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”
But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.
“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”
“Your father filled your head with lies.”
You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”
Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."
There were the tears now.
But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.
Twist the knife, and she did.
"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”
Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.
This was what you deserved.
Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.
But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.
Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”
She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.
“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”
Your mother remained silent.
And you knew her answer.
Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”
“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”
But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”
Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”
“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”
Once again, she remained silent.
But you knew the truth.
“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”
Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .
And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.
Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.
It happened too quickly for you to think.
Beat. Beat.
You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.
Beat.
Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.
And you knew what to do.
For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.
The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.
One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.
Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.
You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.
. . . You were getting worse.
Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”
But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.
And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.
The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.
Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.
If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.
But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.
Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.
According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.
So, you listened, but you did not believe.
The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.
Whatever.
(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.
Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.
He’d made sure there was nothing left.
Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.
Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.
Survival was all that mattered.
Everything else was fucked.
And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.
Survive long enough for them.
For your father.
For your sister.
For your mother.
For Felix.
For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)
But, just your luck, sleep never found you.
Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.
Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?
You didn’t want to see that day come.
It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.
With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.
You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.
Nothing was left.
Truly.
Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.
But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.
Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.
You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.
The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.
Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.
You swallowed hard.
Death was near.
You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .
The man.
Your eyes widened.
The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.
And his screams . . .
You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.
And . . . it was all your fault.
You exhaled a shaky breath.
Death was coming.
Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.
Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.
The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?
You swallowed hard.
Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—
But then you saw it.
In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.
You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.
Death was here. So close. Too close.
They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.
There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.
Fuck.
You wanted to scream.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.
“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”
You could only shake your head.
Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."
You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.
There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.
Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.
There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.
You knew what that meant.
This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.
It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.
And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.
This was how you made things right.
You nodded at your thoughts.
Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.
Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.
This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.
So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.
Still: "Little bird," you whispered.
Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.
You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.
"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."
Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."
You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.
But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.
Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.
Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.
You knew this.
Felix did, too.
He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."
Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."
The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.
"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.
You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.
The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.
"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."
Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."
"You don't get to die."
"Neither do you."
"Then I guess we have a predicament."
Your eyes softened. "Lix."
His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."
And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.
He shook his head.
You swallowed hard.
The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.
You gripped his hand. "Protect them."
He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”
Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”
But it was. You both knew that.
Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”
“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.
But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.
You worked quickly. You had to. For them.
The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.
You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.
You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.
Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.
So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.
You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.
It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.
Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.
The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.
Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.
And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.
Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.
Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.
Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.
Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.
You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.
Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.
You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.
All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.
Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.
You're not too far gone.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.
Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.
This was the only way to save them. The only way.
Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.
The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.
The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.
You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.
Fuck.
Had that been too loud?
Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.
You swallowed hard.
Death itself had seen you.
Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.
And end it you would.
You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.
Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.
And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.
There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.
“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.
With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.
And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.
The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.
But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.
This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.
You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.
It hit you then.
Beat.
This really was the end.
You couldn’t run.
Beat.
The horde was gaining on you.
This was the end.
Beat.
Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.
But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.
Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.
It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.
What was he doing?
But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.
“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”
You skipped a beat, not answering.
His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.
But you only blinked.
You didn’t want to be saved.
No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—
Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—
“Run,” he bit out, an order.
And it all happened so fast.
You stayed put.
He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.
Beat.
Beat.
Be—
A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—
Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.
And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.
Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.
And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.
As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.
And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.
What the fuck?
But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.
There it was, you realized.
Your punishment.
You were going to die.
And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.
There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.
In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—
And then . . . then the memories all faded in.
The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.
This was Death���s doing.
The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.
Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.
But . . . why were you still alive?
Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.
You were alive.
Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”
And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.
Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?
Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?
Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.
Him.
The man.
Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.
You clenched your jaw hard.
The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.
And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.
“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”
But you remained silent, watching.
"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”
You swallowed thickly.
There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.
"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”
And you hadn’t.
You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.
Had your mother been right about you?
Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?
The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.
"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”
You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?
Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?
Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.
And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.
Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.
(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)
And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.
Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.
Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?
Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.
Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)
And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.
You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?
Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.
Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"
Why aren’t you fighting?
The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.
Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.
It was surely daylight by now.
Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.
By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.
So . . . where was your fight?
You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.
Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.
Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"
For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.
The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.
And you almost laughed.
Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.
It all felt a little unreal.
Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.
You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.
But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.
There it was.
This was the end you were promised.
Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.
On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.
"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.
His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”
But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?
"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.
His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."
Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.
This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.
So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?
Why—
"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"
You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.
His stare only unnerved you more.
Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.
Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."
The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”
That only unnerved you further.
Was this truly Death?
Surely he had killed before.
Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.
As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”
But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.
There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.
You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.
“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.
Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”
His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.
“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.
His brows twitched, taken back.
“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”
But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?
A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.
Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.
Then . . . you felt it.
A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.
You nearly gasped.
Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.
But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.
The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”
Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.
“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”
And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.
I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.
But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?
You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.
And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?
It all hit you then.
These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .
I won’t kill you.
But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.
These were good people. And you were their bad omen.
It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.
You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.
It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:
@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin
(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)
#bang chan fanfic#bang chan#bang chan fic#bang chan smut#bang chan x reader#bang chan x y/n#bang chan x you#stray kids#skz#stray kids fic#stray kids fanfic#stray kids smut#skz fic#skz fanfic#skz smut#bang chan au#bang chan series#kpop#skz bang chan#stray kids bang chan#bang chan masterlist#skz masterlist#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#bang chan fic recs#bang chris#chris bang#chris bang smut#bang chris smut#chan smut
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Steve has powers, specifically of a Doesn’t Stay Dead variety. He knows theirs a limit on how many times he can come back. Let’s go with eight. Aka he has nine lives. He knows there’s a cap, and he has some kind of mark on his body that counts down. He lost one as a kid, doing something like riding his bike too fast, and crashing over a hill. Nothing nefarious, just a bad accident.
He drinks himself unconscious freshman year, and wakes up in vomit, missing a marker.
He survives the demogorgon.
Billy kills him though. So does the Russian beating.
The kids realize after Starcourt that Steve really was killed by the Russians, but don’t realize there’s a cap. It makes them feel safer if they think that Steve will always be there for him.
He doesn’t tell them that he died twice. The only reason he knows about the second is because he woke up the next day missing one of the marks. He never went to the hospital, so doesn’t know why or how, just that he’s used six of his eight chances.
Definitely drowns getting dragged through watergate, and barely revived before the others reached him. Only one left.
Eddie survives, barely. Steve learned his lesson from Starcourt and goes to the hospital, takes the antibiotics. Takes it easy, tells himself that it’s all over. So it’s fine. And he still has one spare.
Gets close with Eddie as they recover and wait on the Feds. And Eddie loves stories, knows fairytales and immediately declares that this infinite life glitch is fake. There’s no way it’s Infinite. He assumes that Steve doesn’t know that, and isn’t going to tell him. They get close enough that Eddie sees the marks on the back of Steve’s neck, sees seven faded, sees one left. He freaks out for a while. Tries to talk to Robin about it, but even she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know how to tell her this secret that doesn’t belong to him.
Steddie is not quite together, but everyone knows it’s an any day now thing. That’s when Vecna comes back.
Steve goes down protecting the kids. But he gets up a moment later. It’s the first time they ever saw it happen, and it cements Steve as the coolest dude ever. He’s invincible.
Something something, they have a plan that needs someone to take on a very dangerous bait role. Obviously, to the kids, Steve is the only possible choice. And since it doesn’t matter, Steve wouldn’t let anyone else do it anyway, there’s no reason to tell them. Either he’ll survive or he won’t.
Eddie though? Not having it. Informs the group that he’s going with Steve. No one likes this plan. Eddie has vivid, vicious scars from last time. Steve can come back to life. It’s just stupid for Eddie to risk himself.
They’re both self sacrificing idiots, and when shit goes down, they’re both determined that THEY will be the one to die and save the other.
Luckily, they cancel each other out. Neither dies during the fight, and the others find them fast enough to get them to the hospital. It’s not until Eddie wakes up from the surgical anasthesia, and frantically asks about Steve that the secret comes out. He’s drugged out of his mind, and rambles his fears and the marks and how he knows that Steve won’t survive another one.
Unluckily, the kids and Robin were clustered around Eddie’s bed - around the bed of the guy they thought was at risk of dying and staying dead, because they knew Steve would be okay no matter what - and they hear all of it.
So it’s a horrible thing as they look at the other bed in the room, at Steve, still not awake, still critical, and have to grapple with that fear, even as they try to count, and learn all the times and ways that Steve has died before. Praying that it won’t happen again
#my writing#bedtime angst#this is because of a hobbit fic#and cause I think Steve should die more often
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Im reading time travel fanfic rn heres a bunch stuff i havent seen yet. Theres A LOT of sw fanfic out there so they might exist but heres what i couldnt find when i did my last time travel fanfic binge back in like 2018 and im looking for now
I said this in its own post but WHERE are the fics where someone from tcw travels to the future, sees how much it SUCKS, and then go off the rails trying to fix it when they return
Old! Man! Clones! gimme one or a group of post- or rebellion era clones that end up in tcw. NO CLONE should be THAT AGE at that point in time and you can take that in so many directions
The time travelers are R2D2 and 3CPO only. This is hilarious chaos
Where are the crack fics? Every single fic is sad
Back in 2018 there was like 2 Ezra Bridger time travel fics DESPITE THE FREAKING FACT he found the world between worlds PLEASE tell me theres more now
Back in 2018 there were almost NO Leia time travel fics PLEASE i want to see her try and murder Anakin on first sight THE ANGST CONTENT IS RIGHT THERE
Han telling Obi-Wan that Leia named their kid after him. Obi-Wan is awkward. Han proceeds to say "the kid still turned to the dark side like his shitty grandpa, but hey, the thought was there!" slaps him on the shoulder and then walks away
Idk what age the twins are but they come from a universe where they grew up with Uncle Ben and around enough of his friends that they learned embarrassing stories about him. Someone says they're in a situation and one of the twins is like "i think what he's saying is this is between a 'told the Jedi Council they could kiss his ass as a teenager' and 'accidentally got married for the fourth time' on the Uncle Ben's Fuck Ups Scale" in front of a Anakin who's only ever seen the Perfect Jedi™️ Obi-Wan Kenobi act
Actually how about adult Anakin meeting teenager Obi-Wan? I havent seen that before
Anakin looking at Leia and immediately seeing Padme before becoming ultimately CRUSHED upon hearing her last name is Organa. Anakin's brain then jumps the gun to "i died in this war and Padme gets remarried"
Luke may be the (highly controversial at this time) Jedi but Leia is the diplomat and manages all the talking at the Temple/with the Council
Leia seeing her parents again!! Not Anakin and Padme. She talks to Bail and Breha!!
Leia spitting fire at Anakin as she yells to everyone in the room what he did to Alderaan. That he is a MONSTER and will NEVER EVER be her father
The tcw Council meeting the og trio. They get upitty about how Luke runs things. They get mad when they find out Leia was married. Han responds that "we're divorced so this attachment thing you're all upset about was apparently not actually a issue for her. Also, shes not a jedi"
Yoda and Luke vibing together on a frequency unseen before. Everyone already doesnt like Luke (the tcw jedi see him as some uneducated hippie) but this is just unnerving
OLD MAN BEN MEETING MASTER OBI-WAN KENOBI. It has been IMPOSSIBLE for me to find a fic with this since ppl always go the "reappear in younger body" trope
EDIT: ive thought of more
Found out i said this years ago but you know what its still true and i only found TWO fics like it when i searched yesterday: Ezra AND Ahsoka in tcw together
Obi-Wan and Luke appear in the tcw era. Obi-Wan convinces Luke to be Luke Lars, Anakin's nephew. Luke tries to get to know Anakin. Anakin tries to come to grips with the son of a guy he met once calling him Uncle Ani
A lot of fics the time traveling jedi just folds and regressed into their past self which is a valid psych thing but you know what fics i dont see? The trust being broken irreversibly. The jedi spent 3 years fighting with the clones and the next TWENTY being hunted by them. Give me a jedi that cant be calm around their old men. That cant walk on a star destroyer without fear. That attacks everyone who loved and trusted them in this time before running because survival takes over. In Obi-Wan's and Ahsoka's case, fight and flee hardest against Anakin
EDIT: more additions
Ben and Leia from the Kenobi series magically appear on the Negotiator/Resolute. Ben looks like he's homeless and Leia is a sassy child. Leia calls Ben "a old man that crawled out of a dumpster" and the clones laugh while Ben looks like he needs a drink. Cody sees how skinny Ben is and gets concerned. Anakin walks in on the clones thirsting over Ben and Anakin is traumatized. Obi-Wan thinks Ben must be a older brother or cousin or other relative of his birth family before he thinks time travel. Everyone thinks Ben is being cute by calling Leia "your highness" and "princess" before whoops what do you mean thats Alderaan's princess???
Same as above but sadder. Ben and Leia manage to slip out and by the time the group figures out Ben is Obi-Wan they're long gone. OR Ben looked around, realized he was surrounded by his trauma, and fought his way out. Either way Ben and Leia end up being chased by them planet to planet
#hinacu sw#star wars#time travel#tcw#original trilogy#star wars prequels#luke skywalker#leia organa#han solo#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#clone troopers
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Can you please do a shiesty mark x reader? It’s okay if not
Of course I can pookielicious! I couldn't take his ass seriously like at all. His mask was goofy asf 😭. But the other thing is he’s more crude than mainstream mark so it creates a fun character to explore. So here’s a fun blurb about sheisty mark and his human girlfriend, where he has no filter at all. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: swearing, fighting, reader and Mark get into a car accident but no one is hurt, reader has a bad relationship with her mother and basically lives with Mark and Nolan so she's also a bit angry which is why she works well with Mark. Their two different types of anger, he's explosive and she can contain herself but when she's set off it gets really bad. They understand each other :)
Notes: I feel like sheisty Mark's Debbie died in child birth or when he was young. Nolan couldn't fly Mark to Viltrum when he had no powers and couldn't survive in space. Through the show we see Nolan being insensitive to other people (Olga, dude would not get off her neck) and Debbie had to teach him how to interact with people when he first came to Earth. The interactions we see him have with people outside of Mark and Debbie are never positive (I feel like its representative of how he was evil all along and only Mark and Debbie never saw it because in his interactions with others they all see he's either rude or kind of weird, but Debbie and Mark couldn't see that because he's their family member) so Mark would grow up being a little bit more insensitive creating a different dynamic with Mark and Nolan
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Your boyfriend had no filter. It was like that thing that people were born with that tells them, 'maybe I shouldn't say that' just wasn't in his head. Or maybe it was just his parents; his dad seemed to operate pretty much the same. Both just said anything the moment it came into their heads. It didn't matter the situation, if Mark Grayson felt it, he was going to say it.
You and Mark were on line at the store? "Can this bitch in front of us move, what is taking her so long?"
You two were walking in the hallway and there was a group of people going slow in front of you? "MOVE, why is it so hard for you guys to walk?!" Before he's shoving people out of your path and dragging you along while you whisper mortified apologies.
No one can tell him shit either. He's confident in his ability to beat someone's ass even before he got his powers. And you're his girl, so he's confident in your ability to beat someone's ass as well. To date someone so sure of his abilities like Mark Grayson, he'll hold you to his standards of a strong woman. He likes a woman who can stand her ground.
He'll beef with anyone. Man, woman, the elderly, babies and toddlers too, the man does not care. It's worse when his mouth gets you two into a situation.
"What'd you say? My girlfriend and I will beat you and your ugly bitch up." Then you're looking up in confusion, because why do you have to fight some random girl? Couldn't you just record like always?
The worst time was when y'all got into a car accident. The entire left side of your car smashed because the other couple driving thought road head would be a good idea. And Mark was NOT pleased when he had to get out of the car to handle the situation.
Now, you were already mad enough. You just paid your fucking insurance, and your car was already a piece of shit that you did the best you could to keep looking and running nice. You pleaded with him to try to handle the situation without violence, you were upset enough already but he lost it pretty fast when YOU got blamed.
"She wasn't even driving, I was driving!" Mark argued while you sobbed on the curb, on the phone with your insurance company.
"Then maybe YOU," The man jabbed his finger into Mark's chest and Mark looked at his own chest in disbelief where he just got touched. "Should be a better driver."
"Don't touch me." Mark bit out. In his head, he recalled how you woke from your sleep the moment you felt your car spinning out of control and pleaded with him not to go crazy. But the moment your head slammed into the window, startling you out of your sleep, he was ready to kill someone. This was just strike two.
"Listen homie, you and your girl are some little kids. Don't try to fight adults, get on up out of here." The man scoffed, and his girlfriend hid behind him like the weak bitch she was. They ruined your car; no way they thought they were getting away with this?
"And go where? You wrecked my car; I need your insurance information 'homie'." You seethed, rising from the curb. Your blood boiled the minute you saw him touch your man. So, this guy crashed into your car in the middle of the day AND had the nerve to try to scare your boyfriend AND touch him? And his dumb, dick gobbling, slut of a girlfriend just stood there looking stupid?
"Well, we can't help you because your boyfriend can't drive." Oh, now she pipes up to pop her shit at you. At least you all seemed to be evenly matched. She was a few inches shorter, maybe a few pounds lighter than you. The man was just the same height as Mark, but his muscles looked less defined than Mark's. You two could win this.
You stepped in front of Mark, the woman stepped out from behind her car and was now standing closer but not close enough for you to just slap her.
It was like you were possessed. You were suddenly filled with rage, the rage that got you into fights at school, the rage that got you in ISS with Mark which is what led to your long relationship. "Girl, I'm NOT standing out here and arguing with your hoe ass! Give me your insurance or we beat the fuck of y'all and rob you." Your knuckles slapped your palm, you illustrated with your fingers and hands as you emphasized that you were never above fighting. Sure, Mark was more likely to get into a fight but that didn't mean there was no fight inside of you.
"AND WILL!" Mark instigated from behind you, using one of the terms he's picked up from you over the past year of dating.
Wind blew through the empty street, a few people had come outside when they heard you losing your mind, and the tension was thick. This feeling was familiar- the blood pumping in your chest so hard it had you almost out of breath, your eyes could only focus on the target in front of you, you stood straighter, prepared for anything.
And Mark was right behind you- just waiting. Waiting to jump in, throw the first hit, record you beating this bitch up, anything. He waited patiently.
She said nothing, you extended your head tilting your ear towards her.
"NOTHING? Nothing to say? You wrecked my car and had the audacity to try to come for my man, I'm gonna beat the fuck out of you."
"Broke ass bitches." Mark adlibbed shaking his head behind you in mockery of the other couple.
"Shut the fuck up!"
"COME DO SOMETHING THEN!" Mark bellowed, pulling up his pants and preparing to deliver a beat down. The bald brokie made his way to your handsome, supportive boyfriend who had a head full of beautiful hair.
Then the cops pulled up. It was like a scene from a movie. The next thing you knew, you were being collected from the police station by Nolan and Mark was silent.
As you two drove home, Nolan grumbled about the audacity of people. Mark kept his gaze on the window, watching the setting Sun blanket the neighborhood in a beautiful array of colors. His mouth stayed pressed into a firm line, and you could see something in the reflection of his eyes.
Across the cool leather seats, you clasped Mark's hand in yours and he snapped into reality.
'Are you okay?' You mouthed to which he nodded. Then he stopped mid nod before he frowned deeply with his brows furrowing. The nod turned into a shake of the head no.
Was it you losing your cool that made him feel so bad? It wasn't helpful but you saved up for your own car and everything only to have it damaged almost beyond repair in a moment. He pulled his hand out from under yours, before hesitating to give it a soft pat to reassure you.
It was after hours of concern Mark was able to let you in. You got back to Mark and Nolan's house, took a shower, Nolan ordered Chinese food before he got a call from his publisher and stormed out in a rage. All through dinner, you and Mark ate in silence. You in a pair of Mark's boxers and a sweater of his with your bonnet tied in a cute bow on the front of your head, Mark in plaid pajama pants with no shirt sat across from you slowly eating an egg roll.
After a moment of pure silence, you were unable to bare the silence and spoke up.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Fine."
You ate another piece of chicken before Mark cleared his throat. The silence now uncomfortable as you left Mark alone in his thoughts. Over time you learned sometimes it was best to leave Mark alone. He chewed; eyes filled with thoughts unknown to you.
Just like that, you sat in the empty house with your boyfriend eating in pure silence. The only noise that filled the kitchen was the crunch of you two eating together. He dropped his fork and pinched the bridge of his nose, posture exuding irritation and stress.
"I didn't mean to fuck up your car."
"You didn't fuck up my car. That hoe and her bald ass boyfriend destroyed my car." You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his comfortingly.
"The insurance said that the accident wouldn't be covered because I was driving. You and I both know your mom is not helping you with this. You can't drive anymore."
Another thing you knew about Mark was that he cared. He cared deeply when it was someone he loved. He takes on your stresses, victories, losses, anger and joy, he takes it on as if it was his. When you failed your algebra final, he took that loss with you and studied all night. He studied with you while he drove you to school that morning, and when you passed and announced you'd be graduating with him he jumped for joy with you.
Mark hates your mom more than you hate your mom and you REALLY hate your mom. It's why he lets you practically live with him even when it was hard to adjust to having to share his bedroom with another person so suddenly. He cares. He cares so much he even punched your mother's boyfriend in the face for you over dinner.
You work for every bit of money you have. Your clothing, your hair appointments, your nails, your car. Oh God, you worked so hard for your car.
Mark buys you whatever he can. He doesn't ever let you pay for things. Not dinner, lunch, not even a bottle of water. But it doesn't change the fact that you know he partially does it because there's no one else who will take care of you.
No matter how much you try to tell him you don't need anyone to take care of you, you can't deny the warm feeling it gives you knowing Mark has your back come Hell or highwater. And you also know he's been stressing about car as much as you've been.
You placed down your fork with a sigh and shook your shoulders.
"Baby. I love you-." You began and Mark looked up from the table instantly when you moved your hand.
"I love you too but-!" He interrupted before you put a finger to your lips, and he went quiet. You rose to your feet and went round the table. He pushed his chair back, letting you sit on his lap, and he leaned into your touch. You stroked through his dark hair. He closed his tired eyes with a sigh and wrapped his hands around your lap. The feeling of his muscled thighs under your soft ones generated a warmth between your bodies and in your heart.
After settling into the comforting silence of cuddling together, you spoke.
"The car is wrecked. There's nothing we can do about it now. When your powers come in then we can fly, and we never have to worry about driving again! But at the same time baby, you stood by my side when things got hard. I appreciate you for having my back and worrying about the car with me. But this is my burden to bear."
"I'm your man. I shouldn't be adding to your burdens; I should be helping you get rid of them." His head rested on your breast, and his sad eyes gazed into yours.
"And you always do. Things happen. It's not your fault that we got in that accident. If I was awake and drove while exhausted, I would've crashed the car. There was nothing we could've done. You and I know we can't control other people or what they do, we can control how we react. While we didn't get to do what we wanted, you still had my back. That's all that matters, because when all is said and done what matters is that we always have each other's backs." Pressing a soothing kiss to his forehead while you rubbed a finger over his cheek, you got to see him smile under the feeling of your touch.
"And you do have my back, don't you?" You smiled gently, cupping his face and raising it to look at you. You nuzzled your forehead against his and watched a warm blush fill his cheeks.
"Wellllll..."
"Alright." You playfully shook his head before he giggled while you got up from his lap in mock offence.
"I'm fucking with you! You know I do." Then he pulled you around in his lap and dipped you backwards before planting a loving kiss to your lips.
Yes, your boyfriend was a little crazy. He had no filter, sooner handles things with his fist before his words, and runs his mouth off no matter the situation. But he was there for you when the going got hard, just like you were there for him.
And that's all that mattered.
#black reader#x black reader#x reader#fem reader#multifandom account#requests open#invincible x reader#invincible characters#invincible x black reader#invincible smut#sheisty mark
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What if Ford dies from Bill's torture? And Stan still cursed as a cat gets Dan and the rest to the house? (I love angst) btw there's another happy ending where Ford was barely clinging to life but not dead so he get rescued by the group.
Is it make the dark lord cry hours here? Why's everyone being so sad?
In the terrible scenario where Ford dies, Bill is moving into his permanent flesh puppet and yelling at Fords ghost for having the nerve to die before Bill could kill him on purpose. Fords floating around horrified that Bill has full access to the house and his research, and works with Nikola to go get help from outside before Bill figures out how to tear down the door to the basement and start the apocalypse. Stan is pushing down his horror and devastation to help Ford's ghost out, but he's barely clinging on to that thread.
The confrontation between Bill and the rest of the group is similar in that Dan decks him and he drops, but then he doesn't get back up, because Ford's dead. Instead they watch in horror as Bill pops back in a few minutes later laughing at them, and they're forced to tie him up while chocking back tears. Ford's too weak to appear to them, so Stan goes around and gets all of his ghost summoning things to get the message across.
Then its sad tears hours as everyone's confronted with Ford's ghost, Fiddleford horrified that he abandoned his friend, Carla horrified that Fiddleford prevented her from helping her friend, etc, etc, while Stan's wailing at his feet and pawing at his floating form. Just full teary eyed cat sadness yowling. You know the type.
Worse ending here is Stan doesnt get out of the house to get Dan and the others, and is either locked in the basement counting down the hours until starvation gets him while Ford's ghost watches(or Fiddleford with a buzz saw rescues him) or Bill now has a nice fluffy scarf as he goes around trying to tear down the door to get downstairs, with Fords ghost yelling and trying to do what he can with no body while Stan's numb from Bill touch. This could lead to a potential Bill Wins scenario, depending on how long it'd take him to realize he can bypass the door entirely by going through the floor, and that a corpse doesnt have to worry about surviving the fall. Then Ford lives because his ghost gets shoved back into his body and Bill fixes it, offended that Ford's weak mortal form had the gall to go and die on him without permission. Chances of Cat Man Stan are high, but Bill might also just go straight to Ford torture to force cooperation now that he knows he can shove his soul back in if he pushes the body too far. Then Stan gets to watch his bro get tortured from the side while Bill laughs at his yowling.
Happy end is Ford actually is alive, just banged his head, Bill possessing him accidentally shoved his spirit out, and everyone thought he was dead until Bill was kicked out for good and they realized he was still breathing. Then its a quick trip to the hospital while Carla and Ford work together on figuring out how to shove a spirit back into a body (just gotta zoom back in). Stan spends the entire time on Fords chest, refusing to move. They have to threaten/bribe the hospital staff to let him stay, because every time they try to pull Stan away he yowls like they're killing him.
I think this is one universe where Stan would go back to trying to communicate who he is, just so he can yell at Ford for scaring the life out of him. If Ford does end up perma dead Stan would become a depressed wreck of a cat, just lounging around Ford's house and laying in his bed, refusing to do anything but lay there. This would be a perma cat Stan universe, as he'd stop caring about trying to turn human without Ford there. Just becomes Emma-May's cat after the divorce so he can stick with Shifty (And they would, after Fiddlefords cult era led to their friends death). She can't get rid of him, even if she tries, because he just always comes back (except for when he's sneaking out to wreck Fiddlefords life as majorly as his cat body allows. He'll never forgive him for abandoning Ford after all). If at any point he did become human, the moment he learned how his curse worked he'd go back to living as a cat. Doesn't care about being Stanley after all, the last thing Ford cared about was Nikola, so that's who he is now.
Thanks for making me cry in the middle of the night. Now i'm inflicting this on you all.
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I've been reading some fanfics with Noa and I love them, so I thought I'd give it a go. It's my first time writing so...don't judge me to hard.
Noa × human OC
Belonging
Always the same thing around the 'bunker', no one told you the things that were happening, you hated that. You felt like they still treated you like a little child even though you were in your twenties already.
"Yes, didn't you know? We're going on an excursion." Samantha said to me while I was drying the dishes after dinner.
"Of course, I didn't, nobody tells me anything around here. It's annoying" You muttered
You were the best tracker they had, you loved being outside, learning the ways of nature, and still nobody ever took you into account when expeditions like this happened.
"Hey, that's enough Sam." A voice said entering the kitchen. "Don't listen to her, she's just trying to get on your nerves"
You looked back and smiled at the comment. Lila always knew how to calm things down.
"Why don't you speak with Anna? Maybe she'll let you go this time." Lila said
"Yes, like every other time I asked her" You scoffed and shook your head.
"C'mon, I'll go with you." Lila pushed
"I don't even own a horse yet." You said
"Well...that's your own fault, Envy could've been yours, you just gave her away to Kiara". Lila reminded you.
Kiara, the daughter of a couple that was part of the council, the leaders of your group. She was like a little sister to you ever since you met her. You had no family, your dad died on an expedition, most say apes killed him, and your mother died soon after she gave birth to you. Medicine was scarce and trying to make it from scratch was hard, not impossible since you had a lab in the facility but still, sometimes the main components were just to available.
Most expeditions could last for months, trying to find more humans, more medicine, or even mark places where apes had their homes so no one would go near. You had the firearms, but not the manpower to fight them alone.
You never understood the hate your kind had towards the apes, yes, they were now more and had claimed a lot of the land humans once ruled, but they had also healed the land. No humans meant trees and animals were free to repossess what was once theirs, and apes were not using human machines that harm the earth, so everything had regained its balance in a way. Since you were little, you went out of the bunker with a horse, you learned how to fish, how to hunt, how to track and look for things outside, you never understood why you felt more connected to nature than to your own people. 'They never understood' you'd think. ‘They will never see the world as I see it'.
Anyway, all of that wasn't going to change, so you had to take what was given to you and make the most out of it. Lila and you went to Ana, she was distracted with the preparations for the expedition. This time, from what Lila had told you, they were going to look for more survivors and other bunkers to see if those had more medicine.
"Ana, mind if we talk to you for a moment?" Lila asked
"What? Yeah, sure. What's up?" Ana said absent-mindedly while she tripled checked the supplies. It looked like they were going for some months at least.
Lila looked at you and pushed you softly, and nodded at you when you looked back. You took a deep breath and spoke.
"So...Ana, I heard about the expedition and I wanted to know why you hadn’t called for me? You know I'm one of the best people to take in things like that. I can survive pretty well on my own while I'm outside."
Ana sighed and stopped what she was doing.
"Y/N, you know the reason, I need you here, protecting everyone else" She said while putting her hands on your shoulders
"No one ever comes close to this place since we put the electric fence around! Let me go!"
"Y/N" Lila spat at me. "Careful with your words!"
I just stared at her with anger.
"You have absolutely no good reason to not let me go. Please, I can really help if something goes wrong!"
Ana didn't have a comeback for that, she knew what you were saying was right, she knew how helpfull you could be, and still the promise she had made to your mother drilled into her head could not allow you to go with them. You were already in your twenties, now there was no good excuse to tell you to stay and Ana knew this. She sighed again and with a very sad tone agreed to your request. You were going with them, and that was that.
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-The next morning-
Ana and Aaron, parents of Kiara, were the ones in charge of this expedition. Samantha, Lila, Carlos, Seth (Samantha's uncle), and you were the rest of the group.
You went to get your stuff ready on Envy, the mare that was meant to be yours, but for some reason you had decided to give her to Kiara, still, she thought of Envy as a shared horse more than her own. Kiar knew how much you loved her, and she didn't mind giving her to you in times like this.
"Take care of each other, ride safely." Kiara said with a smile on her face while petting the side of the mare.
"We will, sis, we'll be back before you know it. Anything special you want me to look for?"
Kiara shook her head. " I just need you to come back to me, that's it."
"Aaww dear, of course I will." You said hugging little Kiara.
You loved her, she was the only one that understood you and never judged you. One day you were going to take her exploring with you, so you could show her everything you loved.
Two weeks passed. Everyone was a little on edge since the news of contact had gotten to you. Apparently, a week ago the satellites started working again and your walkie-talkies that you carried mostly just to feel like you were connected somehow started working again. The people on the bunker told Ana and Aaron that a girl, similar age to you and Lila, had found the missing piece to get satellite connection back on. We knew about the bunker on the east but we had little contact with them and the nomads that were looking for ways to communicate with each other had been murder by a big group of apes, but apparently one of the girls of the nomad group had survived and, with the help of some apes, was able to get to where the main computers where locked and retrieve de disc.
This news had everyone in our group freaked out, it had been a long time since we had been able to communicate over long distances. Some were happy about it, they were thinking that this way we were going to able to rebuilt what was ours, but others were weary of what other humans wanted. 'Humans are selfish and will do anything to get power' Others thought.
Our group tried to maintain calm during all this, we still had to find supplies and medicine that was not going to arrive even if we had connection with other humans. More people meant more food, more space needed and more medicine that we did not have to spare.
At night everyone was silently eating what you had hunted for the day. You were pretty good at using different weapons, but your favorite was the bow and arrow, you almost never missed unless you wanted to. The others had guns, and some knives with them, but most of them knew that using guns out hear meant that everything in a 1km radius or more could hear and pinpoint our location.
"We could've been eating earlier if we had used my gun, I never miss" Samantha spoke showing a cocky grin to you.
You just rolled your eyes at her.
"If we had done your way, every single ape around here would've come looking for us." Seth said calmingly.
Samantha hated it when he agreed with your methods, and you knew it; in a way, it made you proud when he did. He would always be om Samantha's side and agree with her, he never liked agreeing with you, but sometimes he just had to.
"You should be thanking Y/N for her quick thinking. Otherwise, we would've had to eat the dried-up food we brought, and I don't think anybody wanted more of that" Ana said laughing at the end. The rest of the group followed making faces of disgust and laughing at the comment of our leader.
"How long until we get to the big buildings?" Lila asked when everyone had calmed down
"Sadly, I think we'll have to go back. Ana and I have been thinking about it and it's better to be with everyone else at the moment." Aaron answered
"Uncertain times call for unity." Ana added
Seth nodded and kept eating.
You were thinking. The group needed medicine, and other things...maybe a tiny group could keep pushing forward while the adults went back.
"And what if some of us stayed? You said it yourself Aaron, we are a week away from the buildings and we need everything we can find over there. A small group will not be noticed as easily as all of us" you said.
You had a point, and they knew it. After some discussion, the leaders agreed, Lila and you could keep going, the rest was to go back with them. Samantha was going to disagree, but she knew better than to stay with you two. Lila and you were inseparable, and Samantha would only be outnumbered in any decision you made.
The next morning everyone gave you half of their rations for food since you two were going to need them more than them, and then they set off for the bunker.
Lila and you waved at them, and then kept going.
For some time, it was quiet between you two, but Lila was not going to let that be.
"Sooo, wanna race?" Lila said with a sparkle in her eyes.
You knew what that meant. The idea was in her mind, now you could only accept the challenge.
"I mean...It's kind of unfair. Char is not meant for sprinting" you said with a grin.
"And Envy is?" Lila replied
"Oh, I know she's faster that Char." You said, knowing full well that she was fast in short distances and Lila was thinking more of a long-distance race.
"Well, then start! See you at the end!" Lila said kicking softly the side of her mare that sprinted away.
"Hey no fair!" You yelled doing the same with Envy.
You passed trees and creeks so fast you felt like you were going to fall off the horse. Impressively you were just behind Lila and Char, who was galloping with all her might.
You were so enthralled by how fast Char was going that you barely missed a branch that could've hit you down.
Eventually Lila made Char stop. You kept going, but Lila screamed at you to stop.
"What? I thought we were going to end?" You said out of breath riding back to where they were.
"Look up" She said, almost like a whisper.
You did and saw tall buildings in front of you all covered in vines and trees. The trees had broken some of the sediments of the building but were also holding them up. Most of them were broken, and some had collapsed, probably by the sheer size of them.
"Wow, they are amazing" Lila said.
There were rows of them, all conquered back by nature itself. It was beautiful to see how two completely opposite things could come together to create art. All green and grey together forming structures that you had never seen before.
You were both still gawking at the immensity of the buildings when you heard a noise up in the sky. Eagles, huge and magnificent eagles. You had seen some flying around on your own little excursions, but now they were closer than ever.
"Should we follow them?" Lila whispered, this was unknown territory to her, this was more your area of interest.
"Mmm maybe for a while just to see where they take us." You said firmly. " We can also walk and get in some of these buildings to see if we find something" You added.
Lila nodded and dismounted Char, you followed suit. Both of you took the reins of each mare and pulled gently so they kept up with the pace you set.
Three days you walked and searched for supplies with no luck. You tried entering every building you could, but some of them where to destroy to even walk on the floor. Others had entrances that were too high for either of you to climb, and if you did climb the hard part later was going down.
"Thank goodness you came prepared, Y/N." Lila said, struggling while climbing down a rope.
"Don't mention it, just keep going we're almost at the bottom" You said short of breath. You were no stranger to climbing but doing it almost every day for 3 days was taking its toll on you.
Lila let go of the rope and landed on the ground huffing.
"We can't keep doing this, Y/N. It's too tiring. We aren't apes to be climbing around without a care in the world!"
"I know I know, but we've found some good stuff nonetheless" You said as you stretched out after jumping off the rope, you went back and pulled the rope 2 times so it could fall off the makeshift hook you had made to tie it up.
"Some expired painkillers and a bunch of gardening tools is NOT good stuff!"
Lila sighed, even though you’d a nice time sharing this little adventure together you were starting to feel hopeless. Maybe it was time to go back, maybe the others had gotten supplies from the other camp, and you were doing nothing out here but waste time.
"Lila…you can go you know?" You said softly cleaning some arrows that you had used to hunt rabbits earlier.
"What? And leave you here?? Are you insane?!"
"No… I just feel like my time here is not over yet. Yours though…"
"Nu uh, I'm not leaving you alone, we don't even know where exactly we are."
"It's my decision Lila"
"Bullshit! I know you love nature and such, but everyone is waiting for us!"
"Everyone?" You said lowering your head.
Lila didn't answer, she knew that most of the people treated you like an outsider. No one ever told her why, the only reason she could think of wad that you had no family left alive, but that was a cruel way of treating your own kind.
"Fine, I'll take what we found back. What do you expect me to say to the rest when you don't arrive with me huh?" Lila asked
"You tell them half the truth, that I simply didn't want to come back"
"That's the 'half-truth' to you?"
"Ok ok," you said rolling your eyes. " Tell them you begged me to go back, and I said I would keep looking for stuff for a couple more days, then you never met again with me"
"Mmm, alright. So, you got killed?"
"What?! No! Idiot" You said pushing her playfully. Lila just chuckled.
"I'm gonna miss you (Y/nickname)." Lila sniffled while hugging you.
You hugged her back with some tears in your eyes.
"I'll be back before you know it, I promise"
Lila waved goodbye to you while riding Char out of the jungle of buildings, you waved back until you couldn't see her anymore.
After that you kept searching for anything really for a couple of days, until one day the promises you had made to Lila and Kiara were going to be broken.
–----------------------------------------
One day while you were scavenging around in a building you heard noises, noises you hadn't heard before. You took Envy and hid her next to some bushes at the side of a building and tried to keep her relaxed.
As the noise came closer it became clearer: apes.
You never really had contact with them since you were always cradled inside the bunker. The only experience you had was the stories people would tell you, but once you started growing up you stopped believing everything the adults told you.
You were a little apprehensive about the situation at hand but as long as Envy obeyed you, you were sure the apes would pass as quickly as they came.
"You only try to show off when climbing, the other things you just avoid!" A female voice said
"Not true! Anaya never avoids challenges, right Noa?" A male voiced reply
'Anaya and Noa' you made a mental note of the names, not sure why. You heard them walking away so you went out of your hiding place little by little, looking around you just in case you needed to hide from them.
From where you were you could see 3 apes; one had an armband different than the other two. You felt bad spying on them, but your curiosity got the best of you. You kept listening in the conversation, but you also noticed they would sign sometimes and that got lost in translation. The only signs you knew were tactical warfare signs that Aaron had thaught you when you were learning about weapons with Lila and Samantha.
"Soona is right, Anaya always showing off then running away when something goes wrong" The third one spoke, another male. After that the three started making a noise that you could only compare to laugh.
"I'll show you, climb to top to see sunset. First one wins!" The other male said running in all fours and starting to climb the building in front of you with ease.
"Anaya wait!" The female voice shouted but followed right behind him.
The other male chuckled and followed his friends up the building.
You were mesmerized by how athletic and big they were, but something inside you also wanted to follow them so you could see at least one sunset. The past days you've had missed all of them because of the tall canopy, but not today. The renewed strength gave you confidence that you could climb to the top of the building you were hiding behind.
You took your trusty rope and, your bow and some arrows just in case they attacked you and started climbing up. The building that you had chosen was in pretty good state, it still had most of its stairs and you didn't have to jump too far from one part of some broken stairs to another, which would also be handy when climbing down.
About 3 floors from getting to the top, you encountered the biggest problem: no more stairs. They were all broken or looked very unstable, your best option to climb up was the outside of the building. The design made it look like a stair, and if you went a little bit over the edge that was keeping you from falling you could see a metal hook thingy in which you could tie a rope to climb down.
First you made a knot at the end of the rope with just enough space to insert it in the hook, after that you threw that end of the rope with just enough strength to get it to where you needed it. It took you 3 attempts, but eventually you made it and started climbing the rope. Your hands were already tired from days before, but the view would make it all worth it.
Eventually when you were halfway through something made a weird noise. At first you didn't pay much attention to it but then y sounded again and this time you felt the rope moving. The hook couldn't withstand your weight anymore, and you could feel it just pulling down.
You tried to keep taking deep breaths but that was not working, they were faster than before.
*crack*
You looked up and saw the rope sliding off the hook even farther than before, that was when you started panicking. Your breathing wasn't steady anymore and now you were seconds away from falling from the almost top of the building.
A piece of the building where the hook was gave up and you let go of the rope for milliseconds and eventually grabbed the rope but it burned because of the friction, and you screamed in pain.
Noa and his friends, who were happily watching the sunset, looked at each other when you screamed. The three of them looked around for the thing that had made such a horrible sound but couldn't see anything.
You tried climbing up again, but now your hands were bloody from the fall, and you were slipping from the rope. You were in agony.
"Please, not like this, I can't die like this" You said to yourself trying to reassure yourself that you were not going to die.
That's when Noa heard you and looked over the building, he signaled his friends to jump to the other building.
"She will die if we don't help," Soona said with worry.
" What do we do?" Anaya asked Noa.
Noa went to were the rope was tied.
"Please don't kill me!" You shouted, looking up seeing one of the apes.
Noa frowned his face but kept trying to pull you up.
You understood then he was trying to help, but you knew the extra weight on the now unstable floor was not going to help.
"No, let go! You'll make it worse!" You tried to explain with tears rolling down your face. You couldn't stand the pain anymore.
Eventually the rope itself started tearing up, you were about 15 meters from the ground, you knew it was unlikely to survive that fall, your only hope was now with the 3 apes that were trying to help.
You saw the male ape trying, again, to pull you up, but it was useless with the rope tearing, and that's when it happened.
The rope tore apart, and you started to fall, your only hope for surviving was the trees below you would cushion your fall enough for you not to die. The only thing you were able to come up with was using your left arm to cover your neck as best you could.
Silence. Silence followed after your fall. Anaya was the first one to get to you and he poked you with a stick.
Soona quickly took the stick from him and went to check if you were still alive. She saw that you were still breathing thankfully. But your left forearm was completely broken.
"What happens now?" Soona asked Noa.
Noa was not sure what to do, his instincts told him to leave you there to die, after all, you were Echo. You would only mean problems to the clan, but there was another part of him that felt responsible for you and wanted to help you out.
"We take her home, help her wounds. After that, she has to leave." Noa said to Soona.
Soona nodded and took your frail body, and the three friends started their journey back home, back to Eagle Clan.
#noa x human reader#noa x reader#soona#the planet of the apes#noa planet of the apes#noa#planet of the apes#kingdom of the apes#soona pota#anaya
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MVP - Part 1/?
Pairing: Nat/Lottie/Jackie/Shauna
CW: G!P, weed, alcohol
Joining the Yellowjackets wasn't a choice Nat made out of love for the school or for soccer, it was a decision she made out of necessity, out of survival instinct: she needed to stay out of her house for as many hours as possible and it just so happened that the least excruciatingly boring after school thing Wiskayok High had to offer was soccer.
Natalie can safely say, four years later, that joining the team is the best decision she's ever made, and her first clue of it being so happened freshman year, right after her father died.
She had bleached her hair, worn heavier makeup and darker clothes, and she had gone to school hoping to blend in with the shadows so everyone would leave her the fuck alone. But of course the universe cared very little about what Natalie Scatorccio wanted.
Her change in appearance had only drawn more looks, more snickering, more gossiping and rumors. It didn't take long for a random douchebag from one of her classes to feel comfortable enough to approach her in the hallway and say loudly, “Hey, Natalie. I heard your family is really struggling right now. How about you and I go behind the bleachers after school? You give me something, and I give you something,” he smirked, holding up a five-dollar bill for everyone to see.
Natalie felt her cheeks burning in embarrassment and rage at the implication of his words, but before she could even think on how to react, the boy was being body-checked so hard, he fell on his ass making everybody laugh at him.
Natalie blinked and looked over to her side, finding Charlotte Matthews—Lottie, she liked to be called Lottie—smiling calmly at her.
“Hi, Nat.” The girl greeted, her dark brown eyes sparkling with the certainty that she would face no repercussions for what she had just done—seeing as her family was way too rich for the school to try their luck. “Can I walk you to class?”
That's when Natalie began to think she might actually be liked, not just tolerated, by her teammates. Rumors—nasty ones at that—would still be spread about her, but whenever someone tried to mess with her face-to-face at school or at parties, Lottie, Jackie, or Shauna would show up and humiliate them.
During an end of the year party, Nat had gotten just the right amount of drunk to have enough courage to ask the three girls hanging out around her why they did what they did for her.
“Because it's fun to put those idiots back in their place,” Shauna replied readily with a smirk tugging at her lips.
“And because you're tiny, we have to protect you,” Lottie teased, earning a middle finger from Nat, which just made her laugh and pretend she was going to bite it.
“And,” Jackie smiled softly, bumping her elbow against Nat's, “you're one of us. We can't let anyone mess with you.”
Natalie wanted to point out that there were other girls on the team that got bullied, but the trio never stepped in. So why was she different?
Nat hadn't been drunk enough to voice that question, tho. She allowed herself to hold on to the thought that maybe, just maybe she wasn't just liked, but that she was actually loved in some capacity by the girls.
As time went on and Nat hung out more and more with the girls (both one-on-one and in a group), they started opening up to her, telling her about their home lives, about their friendship with one another, and eventually they started sharing their secrets. But it was around the end of their sophomore year, after a rager at Lottie's house had ended abruptly due to the police showing up, that Natalie found out the secret Lottie, Jackie, and Shauna had in common.
The four of them were lying around on a ridiculously soft rug in Lottie's entertainment room—Who the fuck has an entertainment room?? Nat thought—passing around a joint and chatting about whatever came to mind.
“Do you think we'll ever get boyfriends?” Jackie asked, making Shauna and Lottie groan.
“Ugh, not again, Jax. Come on…” Shauna said, rolling her eyes.
Nat frowned at the exchange. The question seemed absurd to her, Jackie was stunning, she could get any guy she wanted and yet, the question seemed to be a reoccurring one judging by Lottie's and Shauna's reactions.
“I don't get it.” Nat said to Jackie. “Why would you even doubt it??”
She watched as the three girls exchanged looks, seemingly having a silent conversation to which Nat wasn't invited. Then, the three gave a little nod and turned their attention back to Nat.
“We're gonna tell you a secret because we trust you, Nat,” Lottie began, giving her that serene smile Nat had grown so fond of. “But it can never leave this room, okay?”
Nat nodded. “Of course.”
“Have you noticed neither one of us showers at school after practice?” Shauna asked, and when Nat nodded again, she added, “There's a reason for that.”
“I just thought you have better showers at home,” Nat said playfully, making the girls chuckle.
“Well, yes.” Jackie snorted. “But it's not just that.” She opened her mouth to speak and closed it a couple of times before groaning dramatically, “Ugh, I hate how awkward talking about this shit is.”
Nat turned her eyes to Lottie when she heard her sigh.
“Well, putting it plainly and very simply, the three of us… We have what you'd expect men to have between their legs…”
Had Nat smoked too much weed? Did she hear it right?
“You mean… you have a–”
“Penis, yes.” Shauna finished the sentence for her.
Natalie looked from one girl to the other expecting them to eventually crack and start laughing before admitting they were pulling her leg, but all she saw was worry growing on their faces the longer she stayed silent.
“Oh.” Nat breathed out. “Um. Cool.”
“That's it???” Jackie gaped, making Lottie and Shauna burst out laughing which in turn made Nat smile too.
“I mean,” she shrugged, “I'm glad you guys trusted me enough with your secret, but I wouldn't ask anything or make comments about your junk if you had a pussy, so I'm not gonna do it just ‘cause you guys have dicks.”
That got Jackie to laugh along with Shauna and Lottie, the three of them feeling more relieved about Natalie's reaction than they could even begin to process, let alone try to voice it to Nat just then.
The following year, while they were away for one of their games, Nat and Lottie sneaked into Jackie and Shauna's room with a bottle of vodka. They had lost the game so the team as a whole wasn't exactly in the party mood, but for the four of them a night away from home was enough reason to celebrate.
They mixed the vodka with orange juice and began playing truth or dare just to have something to do while they waited for their buzz to kick in.
“Jackie,” Lottie said, “truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Boring…” Nat teased.
“Shut up,” Jackie stuck out her tongue at her.
“Let me think…” Lottie muttered, trying to think of something she didn't already know about her friend. “Have you ever kissed another girl? Like, real kiss, not pecks during spin the bottle.”
“Not counting you and Shauna?” Jackie asked, and Lottie shook her head in answer. “Then, no. I have not.” Without missing a beat, she turned to Nat and asked, “Truth or dare.”
“Dare,” she replied with a little smirk.
“I dare you to…” Jackie looked around the room, but it wasn't really inspiring her with any cool ideas—at least none that wouldn't get them in major trouble with their coach— so she said, “I dare you to kiss Shauna. Real kiss. The best you've got.”
Shauna raised an eyebrow at her best friend. “Don't I get a say on it?”
“No.” Jackie grinned. “You can thank me later.”
Nat rolled her eyes at Jackie then asked Shauna, “Are you cool with it?”
There was a light blush on Shauna's cheeks, but she nodded in consent which prompted Nat to go over to where she was sitting in bed and unceremoniously climb onto her lap before cupping Shauna's cheeks in her hands and kissing her.
Natalie had only intended to tease Shauna and give the other two a little show by climbing onto the girl's lap, but the moment she felt how soft Shauna's lips were, Nat forgot about everything else. She kissed her slowly, letting her lips drag along Shauna's, savouring how pliant she was and how willingly she followed her lead.
When her tongue slipped inside Shauna's mouth, Nat heard her inhale sharply followed by firm hands suddenly tangling in her hair and groping her ass. Shauna pulled her closer, kissed her harder, and Natalie was getting lost in all those sensations when a soft, “Fuck,” from somewhere behind her caught her attention.
Pulling back, Nat bit her lip when she saw how dark Shauna's eyes were and how delicious her kiss-swollen lips looked. They smiled shyly at one another, before Nat slipped off Shauna's lap and noticed that all three girls were trying to cover their crotches someway or another.
“Oh.”
And that was the night Natalie realized how joining the Yellowjackets was the best decision she's ever made.
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Dead Man Walking: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: You tell Chan and Hongjoong how you ended up alone. Afterward, you get to know the group and start to work on pulling your weight.
Warnings: Descriptions of violent deaths, allusions to SA, suicidal thoughts
Series Masterlist
You refused to look up from your lap, scared that you would lose your fragile composure.
“It happened a little over three weeks ago,” you began, already feeling the sting of tears at the back of your eyes. “I wasn’t alone in the beginning. I was with my two best friends, Emma and Grace.
We were trying to make our way north. Emma had heard a rumor that the dead don’t like the cold. We had set up our camp for the night in the woods at the edge of the city. It was the middle of the night and it was my turn to take watch.” You paused to suck in a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.
“I fell asleep. I woke up to screaming. A group of, like, ten men had us surrounded. They were laughing and bragging about finding three girls to bring back to their camp. They kept saying they could use us have some fun.” You spat at the memory.
“Three of the men moved to grab us while the others gathered our stuff for themselves. All of a sudden, Grace screamed and threw herself into the men. She told me and Emma to run. I was frozen, but Emma pulled me up and dragged me toward a thicker area of trees. Someone shot her in the leg. She pushed me forward, begging me to keep running. The last thing I saw was a man stabbing the back of her neck.
I’ve been alone since then. I’ve been in a pretty hazy state of mind, I don’t know how I wasn’t killed. Before Yeosang found me, I was wandering around the shops for anything useful. I turned a corner and saw a few walkers a block away. One of them must have smelled me, cus they started sprinting toward me, and more just kept popping up. I was going to let them kill me, I was tired and so, so lonely. But in my mind I heard Emma and Grace yelling for me to run, to survive, and I ran on instinct. That’s when Yeosang grabbed me.” You finally lifted your gaze to the men sitting across from you. They looked back at you with a mix of sadness and understanding.
“I’m sorry. We’ve lost people, too, but I can’t imagine how you must have felt seeing your friends taken so cruelly,” Chris sighed, trying to offer some comfort with a kind look in his eyes. You sniffled and swiped at the traitorous tear that escaped.
“It was my fault. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, I would have seen them coming. They’d probably be alive right now. It should have been–”
“Don’t.” Hongjoong interrupted, speaking for the first time since you met him. “Don’t you dare say it should’ve been you. What’s done is done, the past can’t be changed. Mourn them. But you can’t give up. If you die, their memory dies too. Then they’re truly gone.” His words cut into you deep and you couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer. You hunched in on yourself, burying your face in your hands.
“You can stay with us.” Chan’s voice was closer now. You felt hands on your knees, and looked up to see him crouching in front of you. Your body sagged in relief as Chan ran his thumbs in soothing circles on the tops of your thighs.
“Minho told us that you’re a ‘sort of doctor.’” Hongjoong stated with air quotes after you calmed down. “What does that mean?” Chan moved to sit beside his co-leader again.
“I was an autopsy technician, basically a doctor for the dead.” The leaders shared a look of concern.
“But you know how to treat living people, right?” Hongjoong asked, eyeing you skeptically.
“Yes,” you answered immediately. He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t push it.
“We need to get our supplies more organized. Minho is trying to do it all himself and won’t admit he needs help. Can you try to get him to split the responsibility?” Chris asked.
“I’m pretty sure he hates me, why would he listen to my suggestion?”
“He might not,” Chris shrugged. “Worth a shot, though, since he’s ignored all of us.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises,” you agreed. They told you where you could find Minho, so you headed toward what used to be the office’s break room. You made a pit-stop at the maintenance room to pick up your backpack and peeped in the break room. As promised, Minho was sifting through the group’s resources with a notebook in hand.
“What do you want?” Minho didn’t even look up at you to ask. You stepped fully into the room.
“Chris said you could introduce me to everyone,” you quickly came up with an excuse.
“Oh, great, babysitting,” he grumbled as you moved to look around him at the things piled on the counter. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just a lot of stuff.”
“That’s a good thing,” he glared at you over his shoulder.
“It is, but it also looks like a lot to keep track of,” you noted. Minho sighed heavily, fully turning to you.
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
“Yeah, actually,” you grinned to annoy him further. “You should let someone help.”
“I don’t need help,” he snapped at you.
“Uh-huh, sure you don’t,” you drawled. “You’re tired, I can see it. You look worse than some of the corpses I’ve examined.” Minho’s eyes narrowed while yours softened.
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“You look pale and you have horrible dark circles under your eyes. You’re obviously taking on too much at once and you’re going to burn out if you don’t let someone take some of the responsibility.” You could see his inner conflict in his eyes.
“What do you have in mind?” He asked hesitantly. You smiled gently and pulled him to sit at one of the tables.
“Split the shit up, like items with like items. Then have one person in charge of each category.” Minho tapped his fingers on his chin, considering your words. Slowly, he nodded.
“That’s… not a bad idea,” he admitted.
“Thanks, I think. How do you want to divide it?”
“Food, weapons, household, and medical,” he decided after a moment of deliberation.
“Nice. Who do you want to put in charge?” He glared at you, making you throw your hands up in surrender. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be me. I know you don’t trust me yet.” The room fell to silence while Minho mulled it over. You didn’t want to pressure him, so you busied yourself with finding notebooks to catalog everything. This turned out to be a very easy task. The former office building had an abundance of extra notebooks, pens, markers, and various other stationary supplies. You brought four notebooks and a marker back to your seat.
“I want to do the food. I think Jongho can take household and medical supplies, and Changbin and San can split the weapons. One of them in charge of guns and the other silent weapons.” As Minho spoke, you wrote the category and group member’s name on the front covers of each notebook, grabbing one more for both weapon categories.
“Okay, let’s go let them know. I still don’t know everyone’s names, though.” You stacked your notebooks, hooked pens onto the spirals, and tucked the marker into your pocket.
“Wait,” Minho grabbed your arm. You furrowed your brows as he hesitantly continued. “If he’s okay with it, you can help Jongho. Just make sure you do what he says.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Minho led you out of the break room. He went through each room, pointing out what it was used for and telling you the names of anyone inside. Jongho was the quiet guy from the rooftop and he readily agreed to his new role. You handed him the notebook and pen and he immediately left to get everything written down. You had met almost everyone, with the final two being the appointed weapons masters.
“Changbin, San, I have an offer for you,” Minho called out as he pushed open the door to the maintenance room. These two were the obvious muscle of the group. Both of them were absolutely jacked.
“What’s up?” The shorter of the two furrowed his eyebrows, looking warily between you and Minho.
“I want you two to take charge of our weapons catalog. Who wants to take guns and who wants silent weapons?” The way he phrased it made this more like a demand rather than an offer.
“Oh! I’m glad you’re finally letting us help, man. I don’t mind either way. You have a preference, San?” You could finally put the final names to their respective faces.
“I can take the silent weapons.” You added San’s name to the silent weapons notebook and handed it to him, doing the same for Changbin and the gun notebook. They, too, got to work cataloging the group’s weapons. You and Minho returned to the break room, joining Jongho to work in silence. Jongho had moved everything except for the food and water out of the room.
“I brought everything to one of the empty offices,” Jongho explained when he saw Minho’s confusion. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, can I see which room?” Jongho nodded and led the two of you to his new storage room. It was just big enough to fit a desk, office chair, and a hip-height cabinet. The desk and cabinet were both, thankfully, empty. You eyed up the medical supplies sitting in the middle of the floor.
“Wow, you guys have a lot of good stuff here,” you remarked. “What, did you raid a hospital before you settled down?”
“Yes,” Minho and Jongho answered at the same time.
“Oh!” You decided against asking any more questions.
“Y/N can help with anything you need,” Minho said before leaving you alone with the second youngest.
“So,” he started, bringing your attention to him. “How’s your handwriting?” Jongho had you write everything down as he put the supplies away in the cabinet and the various drawers in the desk. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t hear Felix come in.
“Wow, you actually got this place organized.” You yelped, dropping your pen and swinging around to glare at the Aussie from your spot on the floor. He cackled behind his hand, leaning against the doorway.
“Felix! Don’t sneak up on me!”
“Holy shit, sorry, but you jumped like a foot off the ground,” he teased while clutching his stomach. You rolled your eyes as Jongho joined in Felix’s laughter.
“Alright, alright! It’s not that funny. What did you need?” You huffed and changed the subject.
“Dinner’s ready. We’ve been shouting for both of you for a couple minutes now,” he explained.
“Oh, shit, sorry.” You quickly stood and followed Felix to the break room. Minho was dishing out small portions of rice topped with a slice of spam.
“Finally! Chan won’t let us start eating until everyone gets their plate,” Jisung complained. You muttered an apology, more focused on the food. You’ve only had a granola bar today, and that was right after you woke up. Minho handed you a plate and you had to force yourself to eat it slowly.
“I saw the new notebooks. Good job, guys,” Chris praised. “And good job getting Minho to agree, Y/N.” That comment earned him a half-hearted glare from the younger man.
“I like how you divided the supplies up. It makes things a lot easier to find.” Hongjoong agreed. You perked up at the praise, pleased that you were earning your place in the group.
“Who’s going on the run tomorrow?” Seonghwa chimed in, looking at the group’s leaders.
“Hyunjin, San, Wooyoung, and Seungmin. It should be a quick one, there and back within a few hours,” Chan answered. “They’re gonna head out after breakfast.” The rest of the evening went by in a blur. After dinner, you sat with Jongho as he finished up his inventory list, then joined everyone else in a large waiting room-looking area of the building. Thin blankets were strewn across the carpeted floor.
You sat against the wall, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. Yeosang quietly removed himself from Jisung’s clingy hug to sit beside you. The group split into various cuddle piles but still included everyone in conversation. You stayed quiet for the most part, opting to listen to the others talk. You chimed in every now and then, and answered their questions about medical school and your home state. One by one, the group members succumbed to sleep. Mingi stayed up on first watch, looking out of a nearly invisible slit in the wood planks.
Falling asleep sitting up would leave your neck sore in the morning, but your contentment and feeling of safety being surrounded by others made it worth the discomfort.
Permanent Taglist: @furfoxsake22 @babygirlskz98
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#stray kids fanfic#ateez fanfic#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#skz x you#skz x reader#ateez x reader#ateez x you#zombie au#zombie apocolypse au#bangchan x reader#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#seo changbin x reader#hwang hyunjin x reader#han jisung x reader#lee felix x reader#kim seungmin x reader#yang jeongin x reader#i.n x reader#kim hongjoong x reader#park seonghwa x reader#jeong yunho x reader#kang yeosang x reader#choi san x reader#song mingi x reader#jung wooyoung x reader#choi jongho x reader#fanfiction writer#writing
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Various Perrine Headcanons
because i love that silly little moose
NOT a mother figure
In fact, due to the way she grew up, she’s extremely uncomfortable with being treated like one
She does take care of the others, but it’s not in a motherly way
She’s a big sibling to them, and that’s it
Anything more than that makes her very uncomfortable and uneasy
(Personally, I think of Clémmie as the Mom Friend of the group)
To bounce off of that, Kingsley once called her “mom” as a joke, and she got legitimately mad at him
He was like “🧍🏻what”
ANYWAY!
Perfectionist
Does most of the cooking in the group
Doesn’t know how to ask for help, and she mostly shoves away concern
Tries to be the voice of reason, but she’s a total hot-head and gets upset/mad easily
Kingsley loves to poke that bear (moose)
Scared of storms but would rather die than tell anyone that
Likes collecting animal skulls (she names all of them)
The other kids will sleep in her room sometimes, but every time she goes to their room for the same comfort, she stops short and returns to her room, unable to actually ask
She takes being the oldest way too seriously
By that I mean she uses it as an excuse to never let anyone help her or take care of her
She’s trying to get better about that, but it’s hard
Soooooo emotionally constipated oh my god
Sometimes hears humming out in the woods, but she never heeds its call
Also sometimes thinks she sees a looming figure of something tall in the trees surrounding the cottage, but she does the smart thing and closes the curtains
WOULD survive a horror movie tbh
Will fight for the other kids
Cold hands
Very tender-headed
Covers her mouth when she laughs
Really fast and quick on her feet (she’s terrifying at Tag. it’s like being chased by an actual moose) (similarly, she never gets caught at Tag)
Also really good at climbing trees
Now getting down is a different story
Once fell out of a tree, breaking at least three branches underneath her on the way down, and the others actually thought she fucking died
She had this GIANT bruise striped across her stomach for WEEKS, as well as MANY broken ribs, and Cole was so worried because they thought she might have some internal bleeding, too
But she was FINE!
Doesn’t trust doctors (or whatever the whimsy forest version of a doctor is) (physician?)
Not above biting
Doesn’t like when things get too close to her face
Loves when people play with her hair, but she’d rather die than tell anyone that
Will remind Cole to drink water when they’re hyperfocused on writing, then not drink water herself all day
Bites her nails down to the quicks
Gets mad when people mistake her mask for a deer
#she reminds me of amicia from a plague tale#if anyone has played that game you’ll understand#i’ve seen a lot of people call her a mother figure#but if you look at what’s been revealed about her backstory#i think she Would Not be comfortable in that role#there’s a very big difference between a mother figure and a big sister figure#just because perrine is the oldest and physically the most feminine does not denote her to the role of ‘mother figure’#but that’s just me!#yaelokre#meadowlark#the lark#perrine yaelokre#yaelokre headcanons
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