#apocalyptic heat mention

[urhoneycombwitch]

heated touch

Eddie Munson x Reader summer edition.

foreword: “but Lulu it’s not even summer yet how come you wrote a pool fic” okay first of all global warming. it’s absolutely summer rn. hush up and eat up. 👼

cw: R wears bikini top + skirt, Eddie is Down Bad™️, and is also touchstarved, brief use of the awkward miscommunication trope, R’s baby hairs mentioned but no color or texture, weed mention (Robin is a stoner canon change my mind u can’t), R uses sunscreen (no skin color mentioned), implied plus-sized reader

wc: 3.4k

___

It’s the first real, normal, non-apocalyptic summer that anyone can remember having in a long, long time. 

With the heat index at a sizzling 97 today, various members of the Party have taken over Steve’s half-shaded, half-pool extravaganza of a backyard. The kids are jumping in and out of the bright blue water, splashing and cackling, while you and Robin stretch out like house cats in a sunny patch of grass nearby.

You, mere yards away, in a swim top and sweet little pleated tennis skirt. All that lovely skin on display, glistening in the light. 

And Eddie is sulking, indoors, frozen with lovesickness. There’s condensation dripping from the forgotten can of beer in his left hand; through the window above the kitchen sink, Eddie observes the scene in mournful silence.

“Christ, you really are a pussy.”

Eddie whips around with a glare that would level a normal human being, shushing Steve with a panicked fierceness that only makes the guy chuckle harder at Eddie’s expense. 

“Y’know,” Steve continues with the insults, dipping into the fridge and reappearing with a Fanta and a shit-eating grin- “You might want to try leering like a creep from the garage window. That way no will hear you jack off-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Eddie interrupts with a grade-A scoff and eye roll combo, rivaling Steve’s own bitchiness. “Wasn’t your last successful date back in high school, like, six years ago when you had better hair?”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. With condescending sympathy, he sighs and shakes his head of (beautiful-even-when-wet, damn him) hair, snapping the soda can tab with a flourish. “Might wanna hurry up and make a move. Can’t suppress my charm forever just ‘cuz you’re too chicken to man up- it’s not natural to keep all of this hidden away.”

Steve gestures to the broad expanse of his golden chest, dark thicket of hair sitting proud, the scars that he seems to have no qualms over showing off criss-cross along the flex of muscle at his sides. 

Realistically, Eddie knows Steve wouldn’t go after you, not even as a joke. It would defy the honorable and unmentioned Bro Code they’ve lived by ever since Eddie almost died in an alternate hell dimension and Steve valiantly pulled him back topside. 

Teasing, though? It’s Harrington’s godgiven right- especially since Eddie’s so hopelessly in love. It’s almost too easy to get him riled up, to light a fire under his ass to maybe finally get the situation some forward movement. 

Flames lick at the kindling. Steve walks backwards, shooting Eddie one last finger gun and wink before rejoining the boisterous outdoors crowd. Through the crack Steve’s left in the sliding glass door, Eddie can hear that asshole’s cheery voice ring out- “Lookin’ good, ladies!”- and your subsequent peal of laughter. 

Eddie can feel the heat through the black denim at his ass, sweat rushing to prickle at his pits underneath the light layer of tanktop- the one with a high-necked collar and sides long enough to conceal most of his scars. 

Not that he’s trying to hide ‘em, perse... they’re just sensitive to the sun. Plus his black jeans have holes in them, so they totally count as summer attire. He’s basically wearing shorts right now. Steve can suck it.

“Suck it, Steve,” Eddie grits out to no one for good measure, before taking a steadying gulp of beer and stepping bravely out beyond the glass doors. 

It’s shockingly bright, sun bouncing off the surface of the pool and rendering Eddie momentarily blind; he shields his eyes with his free hand in time to catch the tail end of Sinclair’s mid-air somersault.

“Five,” Max calls out, lounging safely out of the splash zone, waves from Lucas’s cannonball lapping at her pink donut pool float. Thick black prescription sunglasses take up half her face, expression unmoved even as her boyfriend splutters in the deep end.

“Are you kidding?” Lucas is indignant as he huffs and treads water. “Gimme at least an eight. Did you even see the flip?” 

“I saw it.” Unimpressed, Max shrugs a freckled shoulder. While Lucas devolves into swearing out his complaints (already with one elbow planted on the concrete to get out and make another attempt at a higher score), Max zeros in on Eddie, one brow arched high in searing appraisal. “You gonna swim with your boots on, too?”

“I’m- shut up, Red. Nice donut.”

Max’s triumphant smirk confirms what Eddie already knows (he totally bombed that comeback), but if there’s one thing in the world Eddie’s good at, it’s Pretending. A trait forged and perfected over the years of being reigning Dungeon Master; it’s served him well during D&D sessions, and when running from the law. 

And it’s coming in handy now, too, as Eddie walks past Steve (half-snoozing in a lounger) and the table of Baby Byers and Wheeler Jr. (playing an intense game of Slapjack), pretending to be totally Normal and Chill as he approaches you and Robin, a ways off from the bustling pool.

Go with what you know, Eddie tells himself, because if he focuses for more than two seconds on the fact that you’re stretched prone, sunlight filtering through the big tree overhead and illuminating the soft curves of your thighs just visible under the Spandex hem of your skirt, he’s gonna have a pressing issue that will be anything but pretend.

Robin’s lying on her back on the beach towel next to yours, a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice held up close, obscuring her field of vision. Using this to his advantage, Eddie crouches on his haunches, then leans in to press his cold can of beer to the tender arch of Robin’s bare foot.

She yelps, kicking out on instinct (which Eddie was expecting). He manages to take the brunt of the hit with a forearm block, but doesn’t see the paperback coming until it’s hitting the side of his face.

“Ow, christ, Buckley,” he moans, slumping to sit on Robin’s towel, hamming up the victim act for your sake and sympathy while Robin snatches up her book and gives him another solid thwack, pages fluttering.

At the commotion, you’d lifted your head from your arms, leaning into them now with the weight of your upper half. Eddie tries really, really valiantly to not stare at your swimsuit top (practically a bra), and instead distracts himself with the fact that you were giggling. At him. 

Give the boy an inch and he’ll take a mile, Wayne is wont to say of his nephew. Never been truer than now, as Eddie gets drunk off your attention and humors, crowding familiarly and rudely into Robin’s space just to piss her off more and to keep your twinkling-eyed focus.

“Yech.” Robin gags. “I’m not gonna sit here and watch you two flirt up close. I just ate lunch.”

Eddie’s worried that comment will embarrass you into pulling away but apparently, you’re not shying from the accusations of his affection anymore. 

A snort and a sardonic eye roll is what you dish back, and Eddie latches on, delighted to have a Shit Starter in Crime, pushing an honest hand to his chest in faux-shock- “Flirting? Me? I’d never. What an accusation. You’re getting crazier by the day, Buckley.”

The peal of laughter that ripples from you is like a song, vibrating the frequencies between Eddie’s ears, scrambling all the channels with its aching beauty.

Goddamn addictive, he thinks, as the white-out of his hearing fades back to normal. A light, warm wind rustles through the big oak overhead, leaves shushing together; allowing himself a glance at your stretched form, Eddie’s (un)luckily close enough to see the smattering of goosebumps rise on the skin of your arms. 

To observe the way sweat curls the baby hairs near your temple, at the nape of your neck. To see the little creases near the corner of your eyes as you close them, turning your face into the wind, a quiet expression of summer bliss on your face.

Eddie could sit here for hours like a (happy) creep just taking in every minute detail, but Robin starts bitching at him about the weed he still owes her from ages ago, poking her cold toes into the holes of his jeans, mischievous and irritating.

Eddie smacks at her ankles until she pulls them back, matching her argument point for point; it’s not about the weed, of which he’d gladly give- it’s about keeping that smile on your face even as you sit up to start digging through your nearby tote bag.

“And plus,” Robin’s saying, sticking a finger into the dimple of Eddie’s left cheek like the obnoxious little sister he never asked for, “You scratched the everliving hell out of my bike last month when you insisted you were sober enough to ride it home.”

“What’d you want me to do, drink and drive? Not very Just Say No Club of you.” Eddie is operating on autopilot with his responses, absorbed in the way your delicate fingers move inside the canvas of the bag. 

“I wanted the same thing that I currently. Want.” Two more ice-cold prods of her toes into the same spot of his exposed knee. “Three grams, pre-rolled, plus an apology.”

Eddie is about to give in with the promise of the rest of his sizable stash and a bike waxing regimine with his own spit thrown into the mix to get Robin off his case, when the sound of your voice cuts through the bickering. 

In your hand, held aloft and out between the three of you, is a bottle of sun lotion. Your focus is fixed on shaking displaced items back into your bag, not looking as you make a request:

“Babe, would you do my back?”

Eddie moves on instinct before he even has time to process the ask, reaching out towards the palm tree-printed plastic- but for some reason, Robin’s hand collides with his mid-air. Goddammit, Buckley. 

His annoyance at Robin quickly gives way to confusion, then roiling embarrassment as two sets of eyes whip to him, your mouth slightly parted in an o shape and Robin making a squeak of awkward alarm.

You were talking to Robin. Obviously, you were talking to your girl friend to rub you down with lotion. 

Jesus christ, Munson, get a grip.

Eddie lets go at the same time Robin and you draw back, the three of you stammering half-sentences over the thunk of the bottle hitting the ground.

“I meant- sorry, god, sorry, I meant Robin-”

“Fucking- jesus, of course you meant Robin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh god! I can do it! It’s fine!”

There’s a brief pause where all of you stare down at the bottle, as if it holds some great mystery of the world. Or is perhaps concealing a time-bending device that will let Eddie go back twenty seconds to kick himself in the head.

He’s just about to make some lame excuse to fuck off forever when Robin beats him to it, jumping up with a spastic, nervous energy. “Um. Steve’s calling me. So I gotta… see what that dingus wants. You’re good?”

This last part, directed at you; with a quick, reassuring nod, you say “I’m good.” 

Seemingly recouped from the whole debacle, you squint up at Robin- “Eddie’s got it,” and then fixing Eddie with a disarmingly beatific smile- “Right?”

It’s like looking into the sun. Eddie is pretty sure his neurons haven’t been firing properly ever since he caught a glimpse of your thighs earlier. By some miracle, he manages coherence- “Uh-huh. Yep. Right.”

“O-o-kay.” Robin lets the word expand, then gives a dorky two-finger salute and makes for the empty pool lounger next to a snoring Steve.

Then it’s just you and Eddie, blinking at each other from your seats on opposing towels, until you lean to pick up the bottle, this time handing it directly to him. 

An invitation, paired with a smile that still pulls at the corners of your mouth.

Someone jumps noisily into the pool, a few scattered cheers accompanying the crashing water. Red’s distant “Nine-five!” echoes through the backyard and this, of all things, spurs Eddie into unfreezing.

He takes the proffered lotion, shifting to kneel in the strip of grass not covered by either of your towels, waiting and watching for your approval. 

Like something out of a dream, you lower yourself face-down again, hands tucking themselves sweetly into the space between the hollows of your shoulders and the ground. Eyes half-lidded as Eddie scooches closer.

“Just on your back?” He asks, soft, like you’re a deer about to spook (although based on the way his hands are trembling, Eddie’s the more likely candidate for chickening out and running for the hills).

“Mhm. Please.”

Fumbling under your sidelong gaze, Eddie wiggles all the rings from his fingers, stuffing them into his pocket. 

“Too cold,” he explains, feeling fidgety from your eye contact, rubbing his hands together briskly to bring out the warmth and give them something to do other than shake.

Eddie pines for a cigarette, a quick burst of nicotine to steel his nerves. Instead, he picks up the sunscreen, squeezes a quarter-sized puddle into his left hand, and shifts to kneel close as he can without actually bumping his knees into your side.

The sunscreen is already warmed from being out in the heat of the day, so Eddie starts on your left shoulder. Dips his fingers into the puddle, spreads a thin layer on the blade of your shoulder, and rubs it in. 

At first, his touch is gentle and apprehensive, but when your eyes drift shut on the second pass of his fingers, Eddie gets a bit bolder. On your right shoulder, another layer of suncream goes on, but this time, Eddie lets his thumb slip into the grooves under your shoulder blade. 

He runs his thumb along the stripe of muscle next to your scapula, still with pressure light enough to feign keeping to his task, thrilled when you make a soft noise of satisfaction.

“I would’ve asked you, y’know.” 

Eddie pauses, hand resting at the top of your spine, the skin of your neck freshly glistening and tacky from his work. “Asked me what?”

“To do this.” You shrug a shoulder, pointing in a roundabout way at your back. “I just… I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“Why the hell would I say no to this?” The words are out before Eddie can bite them back and find a much more cool and normal thing to say. He can feel your chuckle, the vibrations of it, the way it causes the muscles in your upper back to move.

Eddie tries to cover his lameness by refocusing on the mission he’s been given, like a heroic knight bestowed with a great honor by a fair maiden… on second thought, he’s got to cut out the fantasy metaphors. This situation is wild and tempting enough as-is without adding a potentially very horny layer to the mix.

“You can get under my top, if you want,” you murmur, lashes dark against your cheek in profile, voice all honeyed and fair-maiden-like. 

Eddie swallows hard. Distributes the rest of the lotion between two palms, rests them just below the black fabric, and then slides up. Underneath the top, your skin is the same- smooth and pliant and sweet. 

“Feels nice,” you whisper, eyes still closed in reverie, sounding sleepy and relaxed.

Eddie is entranced with the way your muscles move under his touch. He applies a bit more pressure to the mid-back area of your spine, dragging his thumbs down on either side. You make another noise, this one closer to a moan, and Eddie’s really glad he’s practiced at the skill of Boner Killer On Command because he wouldn’t dare sully the atmosphere with ill-timed arousal (though his limits are certainly being tested today).

“Sorry about the callouses,” he says, a bit of self-deprecation to fill the air because he’s gotta focus on something other than the way his hand fits perfectly in the center of your low back.

“S’okay. I like them, actually. You’re good with your hands.”

Not for the first time, Eddie is relieved that you’re not looking at him- his ears are burning, on their way to bright pink. Same with his cheeks. “Cool, yeah. That’s good. Um. I play guitar, y’know so… I get around.”

After cringing at himself, Eddie watches the apple of your cheek round upwards with a smile, a sharp flash of your teeth as you say, “I can tell.”

There’s an amiable quiet that falls over the two of you; in the background, splashes and chattering from the pool group float in the air, muted by the warm winds shushing through overhead branches. 

At one point, Eddie realizes he’s covered your whole back in sunscreen and is now just trailing his fingertips over the notches of your spine, starting low and ending near your neck, following the path down again in a loop. If you mind, you don’t say anything, seemingly sated by his touch. 

There’s an aching behind Eddie’s ribs. It squeezes at his heart, makes his next breath pinch- he wants to touch you like this all the time. He’s already hooked. 

All too soon, you’re peeling yourself from the blanket, sitting up with a sheepish smile. Eddie can’t tell if you’re getting shy on him from the touch alone, or if it’s the fact that he’s the one that’s been touching. 

Either way, if Eddie could find a more chill way to say “I’d like to do that every minute for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” he’d say it to appease any worries you may have. 

Bare knees pulled to your chest, you gesture at the bottle still in Eddie’s hand. “I could… do you, if you wanted?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, through the heated curtain of curls. “Nah, that’s okay. My abs won’t be ready to debut until the end of summer. 1993.”

He’s expecting at least a chuckle out of you, but instead, he’s fixed with a kind, all-knowing look. 

The two of you are face to face, your shin close enough to brush Eddie’s ribs as you state, “Not a fan of the heat, are you.”

“What gave it away?” Eddie gestures animatedly at the humidity-fed frizz of his hair, then shakes his head like a wet dog. 

When you catch one of his curls between two fingers he freezes, heart slamming to a pause as you loop it around a knuckle.

“I have some deep conditioner at my place. Could help you out if you wanna come by some time.”

Mere inches from his cheek as you lean in, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to memorize how you smell- coconutty from the lotion, a bit sweaty, a faint hint of deodorant and the vanilla perfume you spray in the mornings. 

He’s never been this close before. 

He feels electric. Or more accurately, like he’s been electrocuted, and he’s waiting for you to restart his heart. 

“Does that sound good, Eddie? You, me, some hair care… maybe a movie? I can steal some from Family Video. I know a guy.”

At his ear now, your voice is low as you wrap a hand around the inside of Eddie’s arm- it’s his turn to break into goosebumps. “Oh yeah? Willing to steal for me already?”

This earns him a stellar laugh, head tipped back to show the curve of your perfect neck. You shove at him playfully, and he’s about to snap up your hand to bite as payback when your name is yelled from across the yard.

“Come on, we need another unbiased judge!” Max waves urgently from the pool as Lucas and Dustin get into an increasingly loud argument over the Olympic grading system. 

“Goddamn kids.” This comes out much more growly than Eddie intended; you just chuckle and squeeze his arm before pulling away to stand.

Eddie mourns the loss of your body heat until you extend a hand towards him, saying, “Let’s go humor our goddamn kids, and we can talk about dinner afterwards.”

It’s like your hand is made to fit inside Eddie’s. He follows close on your heels, heart thudding a steady, overjoyed rhythm once more. 

[madschiavelique]

Hello! I saw your rules so I decided to I guess rerequest in the way you asked. I was wondering if you could write about a female reader coming in one day with a sundress and Miguel just goes absolutely feral. He’s just trying to keep it professionally but ends up failing and just going ham on the reader

OMG anon i'm kissing your brain hehehehe (summer is killing us all besties : please don't forget to hydrate yourself <3)

summary : miguel sees you in a sundress

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, fingering, biting and marking, this man is so in love with you, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, praise word count : 1,6k

Summer had arrived, and as in most dimensions, except for the apocalyptic two or three where everything was frozen or the weather had simply declined with little chance of a return, it was hot.

And although the air-conditioning was in every room and corridor of the spider society, that in no way prevented members from dressing a little more lightly, although some might find this a sign of a lack of professionalism, one in particular, needless to mention, whose name began with Mi and ended with Guel.

Today was a fairly hot day, and all the spiders were practically fighting for ice cubes, a spot of coolness that would bring them comfort. Many of them were dressed in shorts, a variety of shirts, t-shirts, skirts and even tank tops.

So you seized the opportunity and put on a summer dress. It was charming, in your favourite colour, not too long and not too short, stopping just above the knees, with a beautifully plunging neckline to show off your curves. It was light, incredibly comfortable to wear, and needless to say that in spider society, it was a change to see you like this.

Like most of the members, people were used to seeing you in your suit, or in civilian clothes that could be considered professional. But this dress? It was a little ray of freshness.

Miguel was chatting in the cafeteria with Jessica and Peter, all having a serious discussion that you were supposed to join. You entered the cafeteria, looking around for them.

"Oh, hey over here!" called Peter to you with a smile, "Oh. My. God. What's the occasion for you dressing like that?"

Miguel, who until now had been stubbornly focused on getting Peter to stand still for this meeting, huffed before turning his head and...

He became static, his breath caught, his eyes wide open as he watched you come towards him. All the others were oysters, and you were a pearl: the best of them all, the most beautiful, the purest.

You offered a gentle smile as you came closer, and his lips parted slightly as the gesture gave him the warmth of thousands of sunbeams.

"It's true that you look ravishing, cutie," Jess admitted as you sat down next to Miguel, facing the other two on the opposite side of the table. "What's the occasion?" she repeated after Peter's question.

"Yeah," said Miguel, clearing his throat as he straightened up and pretended to keep a straight face, "what's the occasion?

You gave them all a small, smiling laugh.

"Nothing in particular, I'm just trying to beat the heat," you said as you took your seat, "why? I shouldn't have?" The possibility that your attire might pose a problem in maintaining the balance of the multiverse hadn't occurred to you.

"No!" The strength with which Miguel denied this surprised you all.

He swallowed, his sentence had come out a little stronger and a little more involved than he had intended.

"No," he pulled himself together as he took on his usual grumpy tone that everyone knew well, "although it's a lack of professionalism, we're not going so far as to prevent your freedom of clothing in the Society."

Well caught up, he thought as he brought his glass of water to his lips. Around the table, he was the only one wearing his suit. Because it was made of pixels and produced by a refined technological composite, he didn't suffer from the heat. Jess was wearing a t-shirt and cycling shorts, Peter a shirt and trousers, and you your summer dress.

Jess and Peter exchanged a quick glance, a mischievous smile stretching across their lips. Most of the elite and close teammates knew about your relationship with Miguel, and although he wasn't always the most public about your relationship, he cared about you immensely, and they both could only imagine the effect you were having on him.

"So, what did I miss?" you asked.

Jess started to explain the situation, but Miguel wasn't really listening. His eyes were obviously riveted on you, and even when he tried to refocus on the conversation, his thoughts and eyes were redirected in your direction as if magnetised.

You were... radiant, beautiful, and... for a moment his eyes went down to the bench you were sharing: the skirt part of your dress was slightly pleated, exposing the skin of your slightly spread thighs, sinking into the space where your cunt was.

He suddenly had the urge to slide his hand over your soft skin, to press it between his fingers and see the bounce of it brimming over under the grip of his hand.

And your cleavage was showing your bare skin, and he wanted to kiss your neck, to nibble your collarbone as he kissed down to the hollow of your breasts...

Keeping his hands to himself was becoming complicated, every little movement you made, even if it was just to readjust your sleeve over your shoulder, was becoming intoxicating. How was it possible to become even hotter by wearing more clothes?

His professionalism really started to take a hit when your leg inadvertently brushed against his, a shiver running down his spine.

But he couldn't touch you here, there was no tablecloth at this cafeteria table that could conceal his desires.

How he longed to do it, even if it was just to touch your thigh with his fingers, to run his hands over your sublimely covered body and to-

"Miguel? Can you remind us about what the last reports stipulated considering the last anomaly?" asked Peter, bursting Miguel's thought bubble, "I can't remember it for the life of me, it must be the heat." he complained. "What do you guys say we postpone this meeting? I can't think straight no matter how many fresh cocktails i drink."

It was true that the glasses had accumulated on Peter's side. A sigh escaped Jessica's lips.

" I regret to say it, but I agree. We can't think properly with the temperature."

Tell me about it, thought Miguel. He didn't care about the temperature, the real distraction was you. He exchanged a glance with you, and you looked at him with a small smile, waiting for his answer.

"Good," he said, simply nodding. "I won't detain you, you can leave."

Peter let out a small chirp, he and Jess getting up from the table to leave. Once away, you turned to Miguel, tilting your head to the side in playful puzzlement.

"The great Miguel O'Hara closing a meeting like that? Summer really does have its magic."

If summer could let him see you every day in that outfit, he'd make sure it lasted forever. His eyes roamed your silhouette again, biting the inside of his cheek. His hand skimmed the side of your leg, hovering gently over it until he placed it on the inside of your thigh, pressing.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, his eyes returning to yours.

"I'm guessing you like the dress," you said more softly.

"Very," he replied simply.

His behaviour was becoming less and less... acceptable in public. So he took your hand and led you out of the cafeteria. Would he be able to wait until you returned to his quarters ? Probably not.

But he knew every nook and cranny of the building, it was his, so you passed down one corridor, then two, then three, until you came to an alleyway you'd never seen before, darkened by the lack of activity.

He glanced in each direction, then immediately came to press you against the first wall you came to, kissing you hungrily.

"That dress is going to be the death of me," he murmured as he came to kiss your cheek followed by your neck, his hands placed on your waist and thigh as he feasted on your skin.

His hand slid up your leg, gripping the warm skin of your thigh as you let out a moan. His fingers moved up your inner thigh almost hastily, unable to contain his need to touch you.

"You're so pretty," he breathed as he came back to kiss you, "all pretty for me, nena."

His fingers reached the fabric of your panties, your body arching. His fingers went under the elastic of the latter and down to your cunt.

"Tengo la novia más linda del mundo," he whispered, kissing the back of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse as he made circular movements around your clit. "Such a beautiful body," he inserted a finger inside you, making you whine softly, "such a beautiful voice," your wetness was starting to stick to his hand. "And it's all mine."

With his other hand, he shifted the short sleeve of your dress, exposing more of your shoulder and placing soft pecks on it. His lips caressed your skin, and his fangs grazed it as he added a second finger.

He was curving his fingers in a sublime way, the strokes combining perfectly with the undulations he was making and hitting the perfect spot.

He kissed the skin of your shoulder, sucking it until it left a bluish mark.

"All mine," he repeated in a murmur as he ran his tongue over the mark he'd just made.

Your moans multiplied, breath hitching, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm, the hot cloud in your lower belly and back spreading.

"Come nena, let me see your pretty face when you do," he said, kissing you a little before pulling back and watching you with his drunken eyes.

You came, your legs all wobbly as Miguel's hand came to rest on your back to keep you upright. He kissed your temple and forehead, calming you gently.

"You're a dream," he said, covering the mark he'd left on your skin with your sleeve as you trembled, only he was aware of the hold he had over you.

Needless to say, from that day on in the summer, the air-conditioning became suspiciously faulty, because he had every intention of seeing you wearing that dress again.

[pamwritessometimes]

The Great Invasion: Chapter 1 (Teaser)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General series warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: mentions of murders of hunters, horrible description of fights.

Series set after Season 15.

Canon-divergent.

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Chapter 1: The Hunter Games

(full chapter coming Jan 8)

The stadium was packed like it was Super Bowl night and Taylor Swift was about to perform at the halftime show. The air was littered with different kinds of noises, laughing, heckling, betting, heated debates over who’d win this match. Names were chanted aggressively all around the field, bets were shouted across the aisles. From a distance it looked like any massive sports event, even sounded like one.

Just one friendly match…

But upon taking a closer glance one could see it wasn’t a regular game, not by any means.

Those seats weren’t filled with your standard-issue fans.

No, these spectators were monsters in every sense of the word. Ghosts floated uneasily above the cheap and creaky seats like they were haunted by the idea of proper lumbar support. Ghouls gnawed on concessions — and occasionally on each other — while witches cackled from different corners like it was open mic night at a coven comedy club. Werewolves let loose howls at random, probably to remind everyone they were there, and demons? Well, demons were the VIPs, lounging like they owned the joint…. Because let’s be honest, they actually did.

All of them packed the stadium to watch the same spectacle: humans fighting for their lives.

It was a standard form of entertainment now, events like this. Humans, hunters, more specifically, trying to fight for their lives.

And monsters ate up the whole event, not being ashamed of their monsterness. In a chaos like this, anyone could mingle, blend in.

This was the first thing she noticed and was fathomlessly grateful for. Since The Great Invasion, she rarely left the walls of the only safe place she could find, and with good reason. Even now she wore a dark green cloak pulled tight and sunglasses perched firmly on her nose. The kind of low profile look that ironically screamed, I don’t want to be noticed!

But so far, it worked. No one seemed to recognize her, and she intended to keep it that way.

Once seated, she tuned into a nearby conversation.

“Eighty-eight wins! Can you believe it?” a demon behind her said, his voice dripping with excitement.

“Don’t care” grunted another. “She doesn’t look like much. Probably just lucky.”

“She’s more than lucky, idiot. She was one of them. A real hunter. Ya know, back before we took over?”

“Yeah? So what? All of them down there are. She ain’t special. I’m betting she’s done for tonight.”

Rowena smirked faintly to herself. This was the right place, then.

Y/N was here.

Down on the field, the coordinator strutted out, a smarmy grin plastered across his face and a ridiculous suit clinging to his body. He raised his hands, and the crowd hushed in an instant, sensing the greatest shitshow of entertainment was about to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fiends and freaks…” he began, pausing just long enough to milk the moment, “Welcome to the Second Hunter Games!”

It made Rowena cringe a bit; it felt like a tacky attempt to imitate human pop culture, but the crowd seemed to eat it up.

“As you all know” the announcer continued, “this is where the tables turned. We’re the hunters now, and they” he pointed smugly toward the cages at the edge of the arena where ten poor ragged humans huddled, “are the prey. Let’s see if they’ve got what it takes to entertain us, shall we?”

The crowd erupted again and the announcer basked in the spotlight.

The games began with the first hunter shoved onto the field like a lamb to slaughter on its birthday. He was tall, mid-twenties at most, but he had the look of someone who’d already given up. And let’s be real, he probably truly had. His opponent was a standard werewolf, if werewolves could be called normal. The creature took him down in less than five minutes. The crowd cheered but only half-heartedly during the first round. 

They weren’t here for warm-ups.

One by one, the hunters went out. Some tried to fight, others tried to talk. One even tried a heartfelt speech about unity and coexistence — he didn’t make it past “coex—” before a wendigo clamped down on his skull. The audience howled with laughter, blood spattering the arena floor like confetti.

Panem et circenses.

Finally, the energy shifted after the ninth round.

Here comes the main event.

The announcer strutted back to the center of the field, his grin somehow stretching even wider and smug enough to suggest he was about to introduce King Charles to a stadium full of overly enthusiastic Brits.

“And now” he drawled, stretching every syllable like he was getting paid by the second, “the match you’ve all been waiting for! Our reigning champion. The hunter who’s racked up more monster kills than you’ve had hot meals. Eighty-eight wins across countless blood-soaked battles. A walking nightmare for anything with fangs or claws. The only reason she’s not still out there handing you all your asses on a silver platter is… well, someone got to her first.”

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Give it up for the one, the only… Y/N Y/L/N!”

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Aaaand with that… let the games begin!

Can’t wait for you all to read this and share your thoughts.

Xx Pam 🤍

[sugarbcnes]

✿ ༉‧₊ — 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝. ellie williams

very random things i associate with ellie/think ellie would love in a non-apocalyptic world (hc’s). [ contains: femme reader mentioned, nsfw, sfw, mentions of drugs. ]

MUSEUMS AND AQUARIUM DATES — nerd alert! we all know ellie loves space and dinosaurs and things like that. her heart feels so full when you’re gripping her hand tightly as you both take your time strolling to each exhibition and display. she’s too engrossed in the small info boards to notice your eyes glimmering and softening as you take in the smile she fails to hide as she gets excited. even at 19 years old, as you spend your one year anniversary at the history museum, she still wows in awe as you walk into the room that contains the massive brachiosaurus skeleton.

JAW KISSES — ellie’s great at hiding how she feels most of the time. apart from when you kiss her jaw. the moment she feels your lips press to the soft skin that clings to the sharp bone of her jaw, she melts. her hands sneak around your waist as you nestle into her neck and pepper kisses all over her jaw, burning deep crimson on her freckled cheeks. “mm baby” she’ll mumble if you nip the skin lightly, causing her to let out the sweetest, soft little breaths.

HOUSE PLANTS — they’re an absolute nightmare for her to take care of at first but after a while, she grows emotionally attached to them. she specifically loves monsteras and ferns, even going as far to name them. she has a small smile on her lips as she reaches the part of her morning routine where she provides them with their extra delicate care. you can’t help but giggle from the kitchen as you hear her mumble “good morning fernado, you’re extra bright this morning” to her favorite fern.

RECORD STORES — she loves bobbing her head to the music and weirdly enough, the smell. it’s nostalgic somehow.

STICKERS AND CUSTOMIZATION DOODLES — pretty self explanatory. ellie loves to cover her shit in random stickers and doodles. her laptop, her water bottle, her sketchbook, her guitar. she has the same design as her tattoo painted on her guitar (it took her forever to do and she did it instead of completing an overdue assignment).

SHOWER SEX — it started with the soft, butterfly kisses you’d splurge across ellie’s freckled shoulder blades before you grabbed the soap to scrub her back. eventually she began to press you against the wall, kissing you deeply as the warm water hits you, hands exploring your bare, wet body. (100% is obsessed with soapy boobies too)

POST SWIM NAPS — summer on the farm means sweltering heat. nearly everyday you and ellie trek across the fields and spend all day swimming in the creek by the woods. sun kissed and hot, the both of you collapse in bed in nothing but a tshirt and your underwear, cuddled and falling into a slumber until later that evening when it’s cooler.

GRAPHIC TEES — it’s a strange obsession and she’ll hardly know what’s on the shirt but she accumulates a massive collection.

ESSENTIAL OILS — she thought they were tacky and useless at first until she got a diffuser as a birthday gift and was knocked straight into such a peaceful slumber by her soothing lavender oil.

FOLLOWING YOU INTO FITTING ROOMS — again, self-explanatory. we all know she’s awkward and very much the loser-lesbian girlfriend. so the first time you take her shopping with you, she moves to sit on the provided seats outside the fitting rooms. she’s just as confused as you are as you stand with the door half open and your collection of clothes in your arm. you tilt your head “are you not coming in?”. she fumbles to get up and rushes in. at first she was awkward, head down at the very second you’d take your tshirt off and mentally cursing herself as she peaks at you in the mirror from the corner of her eye. now, your full-fledged girlfriend, she’s got her hands grabbing at every sliver of bare skin she can see before you annoyedly swat her hands away.

LATE NIGHT SESH — it’s usually when she’s feeling anxious, escaping to the roof to smoke a little and talk to the stars. most of the time she goes alone but sometimes you go with her. you usually sit in comfortable silence, pressed against eachother as she smokes and you try your best to keep your eyes awake at 3am because even though she assures “go back to bed, sweetheart. i’ll be okay,” you don’t want her to be alone.

part 2? abby version?

[schmergo]

My mom gave me this chocolate London kit for Christmas and I finally decided to use it as sort of a tongue-in-cheek Fourth of July activity. I love my mom and I don’t think she meant to psychologically torture me, but this experience lowkey led me down a true long dark night of the soul and then utterly broke me. Follow my slow mental unraveling below.

I should add that I am bad at crafts and once got gorilla glue all over my hands while fixing a child’s display-only gingerbread house and spent Christmas break with a hard translucent shell on both hands gradually flaking off over the course of a week, so a fair amount of this may be user error. But also the box says this is for ages 6+ and I’m over 5 times that, so maybe they could have done a wee bit more handholding.

Anyway, here’s my journey, which should absolutely be read in the tone of Jonathan Harker’s letters in the beginning of Dracula.

The first hint that something was wrong happened when I melted the chocolate according to instructions and the next step said to pour it into the molds. The chocolate was not really the “pouring” kind. It was a chunky sort of paste that I had to spoon in. The molds filled unevenly and clumpily and at this point, I asked my husband if he’d let me try to assemble the rest of this on my own because I think I can tolerate my failure better if nobody else witnesses it.

The instructions also cavalierly said to save a “handful” to use as mortar for the chocolate tower.

How much is a handful? A Schmergo-sized hand or a husband-sized hand or what? I have very small hands for an adult, but this is for ages 6+ after all. I opted for a Schmergo-sized handful. I would live to regret that.

I chilled the pieces in the fridge for 20 minutes as directed, then popped them out of their mold. To my surprise, they actually didn’t look THAT bad.

Looking at the pieces of Big Ben that I had to assemble, I became acutely aware that there weren’t detailed instructions on how to fit them together other than just “put them together” and no actual photographs of a real person doing it. The wall pieces were still unnervingly floppy and I decided to freeze them in hopes of hardening them while I focused on the clock itself.

In addition to Big Ben, the kit came with a chocolate taxi and a chocolate double-decker bus. The taxi popped out slightly distorted but in a way I liked, with playful Toontown vibes. But the double-decker bus was still mushy and fudgelike, warping and rippling alarmingly as I tried to push it out of the mold. I opted to put it in the freezer, too, along with the walls of Big Ben.

The instructions said to use the melted remaining chocolate to stick the pieces together and to apply it by sticking my finger in it and rubbing it on. It did not mention that, even after letting the chocolate cool, the warm melted chocolate would make the details of the pieces of the chocolate you’re sticking together start to melt, too.

I began to wonder if this kit had ever been formally tested by anyone and if the instructions were written by AI, like that Google search result that suggests adding Elmer’s glue to your shredded cheese when making pizza to keep it from sliding off.

Nothing can prepare you for how bad the clock part looked, so I’m just going to let you deal with it cold turkey. Et voila.

As I cemented my terrible melted clock together, it occurred to me that I’d have a lot more fun if I really leaned into the ominous post-apocalyptic energy of the abomination before me.

What if this was the result of some kind of whimsical Doctor Who villain— or maybe The Unknown from that infamously bad immersive Willy Wonka experience— transforming major London landmarks into chocolate… during a heat wave?

How will will the new Prime Minister Keir Starmer deal with this on his first day in office?

I yelled to my husband in the adjacent room, “Maybe I’m just turning into the Joker, but this is starting to feel more funny than depressing!”

“Mr. Starmer, a second chocolate vehicle has hit Big Ben.”

The bus actually came out pretty well!

Trying to fit together the pieces of the walls would have been maddening if I hadn’t already been driven mad by the clock portion. The pieces didn’t actually fit together quite right, they were still slightly floppy, and the instructions said— after I was in blood stepped so far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er— that I was supposed to use ELASTIC BANDS to hold together the tower walls while the chocolate was cooling.

The kit didn’t come with elastic bands and I don’t have any in my house except for scrunchies with my gross hair stuck to them, and I’d already come this far, so I decided to forge onward. Then a piece snapped off.

Honestly, this rules, no notes:

I did it, but at what cost? I don’t know much about British politics, but this feels like a poignant commentary on the current state of affairs or something. Should I submit this to the Tate Modern?

[quatregats]

I'm rereading Master and Commander and I'm deeply in danger of just posting every single passage from it ever but I did love the way that the capture of the prize in Chapter 6 was framed on either side by the logbook's entry, and also the way he transitions out of it to set the scene and tone:

Sunday, July 1 … Mustered the ship’s company by divisions read the Articles of War performed Divine Service and committed the body of Henry Gouges to the deep. At noon dº weather. Ditto weather: but the sun sank towards a livid, purple, tumescent cloud-bank piled deep on the western horizon, and it was clear to every seaman aboard that it was not going to remain ditto much longer. The seamen, sprawling abroad on the fo’c’sle and combing out their long hair or plaiting it up again for one another, kindly explained to the landmen that this long swell from the south and east, this strange sticky heat that came both from the sky and the glassy surface of the heaving sea, and this horribly threatening appearance of the sun, meant that there was to be a coming dissolution of all natural bonds, an apocalyptic upheaval, a right dirty night ahead. The sailormen had plenty of time to depress their hearers, already low in their spirits because of the unnatural death of Henry Gouges (had said, ‘Ha, ha, mates, I am fifty years old this day. Oh dear,’ and had died sitting there, still holding his untasted grog) – they had plenty of time, for this was Sunday afternoon, when in the course of nature the fo’c’sle was covered with sailors at their ease, their pigtails undone. Some of the more gifted had queues they could tuck into their belts; and now that these ornaments were loosened and combed out, lank when still wet, or bushy when dry and as yet ungreased, they gave their owners a strangely awful and foreboding look, like oracles; which added to the landmen’s uneasiness.

[...]

Jack leant back against the curved run of the stern-window and let Killick’s version of coffee down by gulps into his grateful stomach; and at the same time that its warmth spread through him, so there ran a lively tide of settled, pure, unfevered happiness – a happiness that another commander (remembering his own first prize) might have discerned from the log-entry, although it was not specifically mentioned there: 1/2 past 10 tacked, 11 in courses, reefed topsail. AM cloudy and rain. 1/2 past 4 chase observed E by S, distance 1/2 mile. Bore up and took possession of dº, which proved to be L’Aimable Louise, French polacre laden with corn and general merchandise for Cette, of about 200 tons, 6 guns and 19 men. Sent her with an officer and eight men to Mahon.

[absurdthirst]

Joel's Children {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Unprotected sex, shower sex, vaginal sex, pregnancy, vomiting, angst, mentions of medical procedures, murder, Joel being ruthless for those he loves.

Comments: One night together in Jackson leads to the discovery that Joel is going to be a father again, right as he lets Ellie back into his heart. Only for that to be threatened when you all meet up with the Fireflies again.

A/N: Remember that ruthlessly sexy scene where Joel plows through the hospital determined to get to Ellie? Thots remember....It's us, we're thots.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s been days, weeks, since you’ve been able to scrub yourself clean. The long walk across the midwest had proved difficult, tiring. Joel’s boots had given out near Cheyenne and it had been lucky that you had found a hardware store that had several rolls of duct tape. Apparently there hadn’t been enough people to loot through all the supplies in Wyoming. Or maybe you had just hit a small patch of luck on an otherwise unlucky journey. 

Now in Jackson, you are getting your first taste of civilization again. The steam is already curling up from the shower as you drop the dirty clothes on the ground. You’ll pick them up later, but you want to feel warm, clean. To watch the dirt and dried blood swirl down the drain while you wait to see if Joel will join you like he had promised he would. It wouldn’t be the first time he had pulled away from the attraction between you, but you hope that he comes.

Joel can’t hold back anymore. It’s been a stressful journey to try and get to Wyoming and he’s struggling to reconcile the fact that he has imagined his brother was in danger, possibly dead. He’s been frantic with worry, only to find out that he’s been living it up in a post-apocalyptic paradise with his wife. It kills him inside, knowing that he’s fought hard to make it to his brother, to save him, and he couldn’t communicate that he was safe the entire time. It makes him pent up and that’s what brings him to the shower where he can hear the water running. Stripping off methodically, he steps into the bathroom and moves behind you, your body tensing until he says “it’s me, baby.” You relax and his hands find your waist, pulling you back against him and he rests his head on yours, breathing you in for a moment.

“You came.” Closing your eyes, you shiver, the heat having nothing to do with the way your gooseflesh rises. The weight of his hand and the feeling of him touching you already has you on edge, needy. Joel sighs behind you and slowly you turn in his arms, sliding your hands up his arms to loop around his neck. “Do you want to get clean?” You offer, suddenly shy now that everything you want is right in the little 2x4 section of the shower. “Do you want me to wash you?” You know he’s fighting his emotions, despite trying to hide it. His eyes are more expressive than he would like and you’ve gotten good at reading him.  

He can’t say a word so he nods, not wanting to start spilling his guts about how much he fucking loves you and he doesn’t want to lose you. He’s lost too much, too many people. He’d die if he lost you. Ellie is better off without him, she needs to get to Colorado, to find the Fireflies. She doesn’t need him. You do. You’ve always been a little dependent on him and he likes that, feeling wanted and needed despite him not willing to give away his heart. It happened though, it’s yours even if you don’t know it. You grab the body wash and start to clean him off, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hands on his body, washing away the dirt but no one can wash away the sins that stain his skin. “Baby.” He murmurs after you wrap your fingers around his hardening cock, digits soapy and he can’t help the groan that escapes him. “You’re - you don’t - we don’t have to do that.” He tells you, knowing you must be tired.

“I’ve wanted to do this for nearly a thousand miles.” You laugh quietly, sure that it was around Lincoln where you had started falling in love with Joel Miller. Despite his angry and tough facade, you were and will always be grateful for him saving you in Kansas City, deciding to follow them out west when there was nothing left for you in the ruins of the cordyceps getting to the surface. You know he’s lost, you’ve seen it in his eyes and Ellie has spoken to you about a woman named Tess, but you want this, you want him. Slowly pumping his cock, you press your lips to his shoulder and then his collar bone, grazing his chin and finally pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I want you to fuck me, Joel.” 

He groans, soft and low, and reaches for you. His hands find your ass to pull you close while his lips press harder against yours. His grunt into your mouth is desperate and you eagerly open to allow his tongue to slide against yours. “Need you.” He confesses, hand sliding around your hip until he caresses the curls at the apex of your thighs, sliding lower until his calloused finger finds your clit.

It’s like a drug, hearing that he needs you. Him touching you. It’s more than you had ever imagined on those nights where you had to slip your hand into your pants in your sleeping bag. Or, Joel’s sleeping bag. Moaning softly, you are happy that you had already washed before he had joined you, wanting this time to be undeterred by the need to clean up. “Joel.” You whimper his name, clinging to him as he presses a finger past your clit and into your cunt. 

He loves hearing you whimper and he’s quick to add a second finger, pushing them inside of you and letting his palm push against your clit. “Goddamn. You’re - you’re tight.” He pants, your fingers squeezing his cock and he kisses your face wherever he can reach.

Closing your eyes, your hips rock forward and chase his fingers as he pulls them back. “Haven’t been f-fucked in a long time.” You pant quietly, continuing to pump his cock. “Please, oh god, it would feel so good to have you inside me.”

He nods, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand off of his cock. “Turn around.” He rasps and you follow his order. He presses you against the cold tile, helping you arch your back, and he grips his cock. Positioning himself at your entrance, he pushes inside of you. He’s not rough but he’s not soft either, his need for you making him desperate to have you.

“Joel!” You cry out, cheek pressed up against the wall and you clench down around him. “O-oh god. It’s so good. Fuck.” You whine when he grinds deep, loving how he feels like he’s in your guts.

He can’t stop himself from trying to get as deep as possible. Grinding into you like he’s trying to mold your bodies together. “Fuck baby. You- you feel like heaven.” He sighs, pressing his head against your neck.

Preening at his praise, you push back and groan his name when he reaches up and cups your tits. “Oh shit.” You whine softly. “Fuck me, Joel. I need you to make me cum.” Your hand slides off the tiles and you reach between your thighs to start rubbing your clit. 

He groans, not wanting you to be the reason you cum, so he knocks your hand away to replace it with his own. Rubbing your clit in harsh circles and he pushes deep, making your tits push against the cold tile. “So good.” He murmurs into your neck.

Your breathing and the quiet moans are all that can be heard in the small shower. The push of his hips against your ass is absorbed by the smack against the tile and you love how steady his rhythm follows his fingers. “Fuck Joel, fuck.” You pant, closing your eyes and enjoying the ride. You’re guess that he would be good at fucking was proving correct.

He needs you to cum, months of pent up tension between you has him on the edge and he needs you to cum first. “Cum for me baby. Cum for me sweet girl. Right now. You can do it. Just - just cum for me.” He pleads, pushing deep while he rubs your clit like it’s the last damn thing he will ever do.

Shuddering, your head tilts back and rests against his shoulder and you cry out silently. Walls clenching down around him as you soak him in a torrent of cum.

“Fuck.” Joel hisses through gritted teeth, glad that you’ve found your pleasure, and his hands grip your waist, keeping you pinned so he can push into you with a groan. “Fuck baby. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His words are clipped until he groans out, biting down on your shoulder while his cock pulses inside of you. He knows he shouldn’t have cum but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to consume you, possess you, make you belong to him. He couldn’t have pulled out if he tried and his cum is hot as it paints your walls.

The warmth of his seed fills you and your eyes flutter closed, enjoying the feel of it. “Fuck.” You pant quietly. “I’m going to sleep good tonight.” Sex always helps you sleep and it was an orgasm that wasn’t by your own hand. The ache between your thighs is one that will linger. Turning your head, you kiss his jaw. “Good for you, baby?”

He hums, turning your head so he can properly kiss you. He wants to spend the night in bed with you, savor every second of this time together. “So good. Come on, let’s dry off and get into bed.” He orders, turning off the water and stepping out to find a towel to dry you with. Once you’re both dry, he guides you to the bed and pulls you close, lifting your leg over his hip so he can curl around you. “I can’t say it but I want you to know I mean it.” He murmurs, hoping you know what he means.

****

The next morning, Joel manages to slip out from your arms without waking you, getting dressed and making his way to the stables. He knows you wouldn’t stay here without him and he desperately wants to take you with him but he can’t be selfish. You’ll have a better life here. One he cannot provide and one he has not earned the place to enjoy. He doesn’t fit in here, Maria made that clear and it’s best if he just leaves.

Tommy coming up the stairs wakes you and your eyes flutter open, the small smile on your face disappearing when you find the bed beside you completely empty. “Fuck!” You hiss, jumping up to dress so you can find Joel and give him a piece of your mind.

Joel is saddling up the horse when Tommy and Ellie enter the stables, and you come storming in behind them, overtaking them. He barely turns towards you before your hand comes up to slap his cheek. Combined with the cold air, he hisses and feels his stomach twist at the hurt he sees in your eyes. He can’t say anything, knowing that he’s a bastard who left you in bed without saying goodbye.

“You fucking asshole!” You hiss, not caring about the audience behind you. Joel brought this on himself. “You were just gonna leave? Without even a goodbye or fuck you?” Angry tears pool in your eyes and you want to smack him again, but you don’t. Unbelievably hurt that he would allude to loving you and then slip from the bed like a thief in the night.

He deserves that but he knows you wouldn’t understand his reasoning. “I want you to stay here. I need to go. I- I want to give Ellie a choice.” He looks towards the teenager. “Do you want to go with Tommy or you wanna go with me?” He asks her and she shoves her pack at him, “let’s go.” Joel’s heart thumps and he looks towards you, “you wanna stay?” He asks, stomach twisting as he gives you the choice like he should have done this morning.

“You wanted to give Ellie a choice but didn’t afford me the same damn thing?” You shake your head and scowl at him. “Saddle another fucking horse.” You demand, not willing to stay behind while the two people you care about most leave. “No offense to your brother, Jackson seems lovely.” Your eyes flicker over to the brother and then back to Joel. “But I said I love you and I meant it. I’m going with you.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she looks between you and Joel, surprised that he finally gave in to those puppy dog eyes he gives you when he thinks no one is looking. Joel nods, biting his lip to suppress the smile that appears on his face. Tommy nods, saddling another horse for you and he slaps his brother on the shoulder. “You’re welcome back here anytime.” Tommy says and Joel nods, helping Ellie up onto the horse before he walks over to you. “I wanted to keep you safe.” He murmurs, knowing it’s pointless now but he had good intentions.

“You have a fucked up way of going about it, Miller.” You huff, shaking your head but you can understand why he thought he was doing what was best. Reaching out, you caress the cheek you had slapped. “We’ll keep each other safe.” You murmur, looking over at Ellie. “All of us.” You care about the feisty girl and you know Joel must be as protective of her as he is.

****

Ellie has been quiet since what happened with David and Joel is concerned. He got up from his death bed to save you both, knowing that you and Ellie were in danger had him pushing through the pain. He has been trying to reconnect with you both since heading to Salt Lake City. “You feelin’ okay?” He asks when you stop yet again to throw up. Flu isn’t really a concern in the new world, there’s no virus that is worse than the one that ended the world but maybe you’ve picked something up.

Groaning, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand straight. “Yeah, fuck, I’m -“ you stop, feeling another wave of bile rise but you manage to suppress it. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Your hand presses against your stomach and you sigh as the nausea passes. “I’m okay.” You assure him with a weak smile.

Joel frowns, watching you, and he hands you the rag he has in his jean pocket. “Here, baby.” He says and hands it to you and that’s when you freeze. 

“Baby.” You murmur, trying to figure out when you last had your period. Joel tilts his head, watching you freeze and Ellie stands there, jaw dropping as she figures out what’s wrong with you.

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant!” She cries out, her eyes wide and for the first time in forever, a real smile breaks out across her face. Leaping forward to crowd you excitedly. “You have to be, you’re getting sick now, but you don’t have a fever. You guys totally fucked, and that’s how you make babies.” She teases. Your eyes dart over to Joel, trying to figure out how he is going to take the idea of you being pregnant

Joel’s stomach drops as Ellie is the one who puts it all together and he swears his heart is about to pound out of his chest. One time was all it took and you’re pregnant. A veritable death sentence in this new world, and it’s all his fault. “Shit.” He murmurs, blinking several times as he watches you absorb the news. “Are you- do you think-?” Joel stammers, unsure of what to say to you.

You frown, shaking your head. “No- I- I’m just sick.” You insist, not liking the panicked look on Joel’s face. It’s not like you’ve been together since that one time, there’s no privacy for it. One of you staying awake to keep watch at night. You look down at your stomach and shake your head. “No, that can’t be it.”

Joel has accepted that you are, knowing that you haven’t complained about how uncomfortable the me still cup is like Ellie has done since you left Tommy’s. He’s not stupid, he knows you’ve complained about your jeans being a little tighter and you certainly haven’t been indulging when all you have is what he can hunt or find. It kills him inside, hearing he’s gonna be a dad again and all he can do is think of when he found out about Sarah. He was so young then. He was shitting himself but that was with the comforts afforded to him then, things like formula and a crib. What the fuck would become of a child in this world? Would he be able to provide? His breathing gets short and his vision goes blurry as he starts to panic, his chest tightening.

“Joel?” Your eyes widen and you rush over to him. Touching his shoulder as he bends over at the waist. “Joel, it’s okay, I’m not- we can-“ you swallow harshly and you know that any words of comfort will be nothing but platitudes. There’s no reassurance in this world. “Just breathe.” 

Ellie walks up on his other side and pats his back awkwardly. “It’ll be alright. You aren’t that old. And she’s younger than you.”

The words sound muffled to Joel as his thoughts come hard and fast, imagining a world with a baby. Then he thinks about you as a mother, how good you’ve been with Ellie, and how you looked at the kids at Tommy’s, the longing in your eyes when you saw a family. He imagines you holding the baby, safe at Tommy’s, a proper home. A second chance. The thought makes his breathing slow and he closes his eyes when you rub his back. “I’m here, baby.” You promise and he stands up straight, dragging you into his chest to hold you, his face in your hair to breathe you in. 

“I’m sorry. So fuckin’ sorry, sweet girl. I- I did this and I- we are gonna get back to Tommy’s and you’re gonna be such a good mama.” He promises, cupping your cheeks so he can look into your eyes, silently letting you know that he’s all in.

You weren’t expecting that response and you immediately tear up. Choking out a sob as you try to nod in his hands and lean forward. Needing a hug and reassurance that everything will be okay. You know that this world is rough but you need Joel with you. Maybe this baby can have a life that is close to what used to be, Ellie giving the world a cure.

****

“Ellie!” Joel growls when Ellie lets the ladder clatter to the level above. “Goddamnit.” He growls and reaches for the ladder. “You can’t go up it.” Joel shakes his head at you as you step towards it, five months pregnant. You are showing and Joel spends each night just holding you, rubbing your belly. In awe of the baby growing inside of you.

You wait until Joel is up the ladder and chasing after Ellie, shouting her name before you slowly start to climb the ladder. Not willing to stay below if there is some kind of issue or danger. You don’t think there is, not with the way that Ellie had sounded right before she had taken off. Slowly making your way up, you groan when you manage to pull yourself up and start following after them. “Joel? Ellie?”

Joel looks at the giraffe, in awe of the gentle beast, and he looks around when you call his name, eyes wide. Joel holds his hand out towards you, unable to reprimand you for coming up the ladder when this was the view. “Come here.” Joel grabs a branch and hands it to Ellie before he hands another one to you.

“Oh my god.” You breathe out in wonder as Ellie steps forward with the leaves. You watch as the giraffe takes the offered food and the girl giggles. “Hey there.” Joel watches, a soft smile on his face as you step up beside Ellie to hand her the leaves. She’s enjoying herself and you won’t take that away from her, not when she’s been so locked inside her own head after the run in with David. “So fucking cool.” Both you and Joel look at each other, your love for the girl evident and you know that you want to go back to Jackson, make your little family safe, you, Joel, Ellie and the baby.

After admiring the giraffe, Joel helps you down and you’re moving through the city when Ellie mentions his scar. “I, uh, it was me. I’m the guy who missed.” He reveals, knowing he’s never spoken to you about this. This was his secret, the shame he carried since he failed. He was barely living after they stitched him back up. Physically he was recovering, emotionally, he was never the same. Until he met you and Ellie.

Your hand covers your stomach protectively, knowing that if he had succeeded, your baby wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, you would have died in Kansas City. Sighing softly, all you can do is watch as he takes the rifle off his shoulder and leans against an old concrete barrier, obviously wanting to get it off his chest. “There’s no story.” He tells you as Ellie sits beside him, you on his other side. “Sarah died and I couldn’t see the point anymore. Simple as that. And I wasn’t scared either. I was ready.” He looks off, not making eye contact with either of you and you know he’s reliving the past. “I couldn’t have been more ready. When I-“ he pauses, ducking his head down and looking back up. “When I….” He gestures towards his head with his fingers pointed like a gun and your heart breaks, imaging the pain he had been in. “-went to pull the trigger, I-I flinched.” He looks slightly shocked that he had. “Still don’t know why.” Tears slip down your face and you want to tell him that you know why he flinched, he wasn’t done living yet.

“Well I'm glad you didn’t do…that.” Ellie offers Joel with a small smile and Joel nods, “me too.” He sighs and looks over at you, his eyes dropping down to your stomach. Ellie bites her lip, “I guess time heals all wounds.” 

Joel shakes his head, his eyes meeting hers, “it wasn’t time that did it.” His eyes are watery and your heart breaks.

Reaching out, you brush his hair back and lean in, pressing your lips to his scar softly before you pull away. “I’m glad that you did heal.” You murmur softly.

Joel reaches for your hand, squeezing it, and he lets his face say what his mouth cannot. Knowing you’ll know what he means. “Come on.” He pats his knees and stands up, taking your hand to help you stand. “You know what I’m in the mood for? Some shitty puns.” He says and squeezes your hand as he looks at Ellie who is eagerly pulling the book from her backpack.

You watch as she opens the book and starts the read. “People are making jokes about the apocalypse like there’s no tomorrow.” Joel frowns slightly and Ellie grins. “Too soon?” She asks and he shakes his head, “no, it’s topical.” 

She laughs, “oh I love this one.” She bends down and then pops back up. “Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?” Joel doesn’t answer but he scratches his head. “‘Cause their meteor.” You groan alongside Joel. “Oh that’s terrible.”

“Zero out of ten.” Joel snorts, bringing your hand up to swing it between you. That’s when the grenade is thrown and Ellie shouts “Joel!” He spins, pushing you behind him to protect you and you’re both thrown back by the explosion. Joel shouts your name through the smoke and he’s trying to protect you and Ellie when the gun comes down on the back of his head and it all goes dark.

****

Groaning, you open your eyes slowly, lids fluttering and you wince at the pain in the back of your skull. “Easy.” Turning, you see a woman, darker skin with a sharp gaze about her. Eyeing you intensely and she seems relieved that you are awake. 

“Where-“ you croak, “Joel? Ellie.”

Marlene steps forward, holding a glass of water for you. “They’re fine. Ellie is being prepped for surgery and Joel is with her. My name is Marlene. I - Joel wanted me to be here when you woke up.” She says, offering you the cup of water after you sit up. Her eyes drop down to your bump and back to your face. “How- how far along are you?” She asks, stepping back once you have the glass of water.

“Around five months.” You take a sip of the water, relieved at the cool liquid as it goes down your throat. You wish that Joel was here, but being with Ellie is his priority. Just like she needs to be right now. You look back at Marlene. “It’s Joel’s.” You offer quietly, rubbing your stomach. “The baby.”

Marlene’s eyes widen slightly, having known that Joel did not like making connections and that’s possibly the biggest connection two humans could have. “Congratulations.” Marlene says, “I’ll go find Joel but in the meantime, I have a nurse who’s going to take some blood and she has vitamins to give you that you can take.” Marlene offers and you nod, grateful for the care. “I’ll go see how Ellie and Joel are getting along.” Marlene says and walks out of the room. 

“Do you think she will work?” Jackie, the nurse asks once she follows Marlene out of the room. 

“She’s our back up plan.” Marlene confirms and makes her way to Joel’s room. He wakes up just as she arrives and he winces as he tries to sit up.

“Welcome to the fireflies.” Marlene tells him, making him quickly roll over. “Easy. Ya got hit pretty hard.” Her hands are folded over her stomach and she smirks. “Patrol didn’t know who you were.” 

Joel groans quietly and looks over at her. “Where’s Ellie?” 

Marlene answers quickly. “She wasn’t hurt. Not even a scratch.” She sounds impressed, she is impressed. “She’s mostly worried about you.”

His head is throbbing and he sits up on the gurney. “Where is she?” He says your name, worried that he can’t see you either. 

“We lost half our crew crossing the country. I had five men whose only job was to protect me. I still almost got killed. How’d you do it? With a pregnant woman too?” Marlene snorts and Joel grips the side of the bed, shaking his head. 

“It was all her.” He says truthfully, knowing he couldn’t have made it without you. “Ellie fought like hell to get here.” 

Marlene shakes her head, “she would’ve been dead on day one. You are the one person I never wanted to be in debt to. But I owe you. We all owe you.” 

Joel shakes his head, “just take me to them. I need to see them.” 

Marlene stares at him for a moment, “I can’t. Ellie’s being prepped for surgery and-” She says your name, “she’s having her blood drawn for testing for the baby.” 

Joel frowns, “what surgery?” 

Marlene bites her lip, “our doctor, he thinks that the Cordyceps in Ellie has grown with her since birth-” Joel interrupts her, “why is she in surgery?” 

Marlene continues, “it produces a kind of chemical messenger. It makes normal Cordyceps thinks that she’s Cordyceps. It’s why she’s immune. He’s gonna remove it from her, multiply the cells in a lab, produce those chemical messengers, and then we can give it to everyone. He thinks it could be a cure, Joel. We think that it happened when her mother was bitten while Ellie was still attached to her umbilical cord. We - we want to see if it’s possible that we could recreate that in case-” 

Joel cuts her off, his jaw clenched, “in case what?” He is hearing that they want you to be bit after you give birth to his child. 

“A cure.” Marlene reminds him but he shakes his head, “Cordyceps grow inside the brain.” 

Marlene nods, “it does.” 

Joel shakes his head, “find someone else. Find anyone else. Not Ellie. Not the mother of my child.” He growls. 

“There is no one else. We didn’t tell them. We didn’t cause them any fear. Your child will be safe. We will make sure the mother is well looked after until she gives birth.” 

Joel shakes his head and stands up, “no. No, you take me to her. You take me to her right now!” He yells, desperate to see you, to save you and Ellie from this nightmare. The guard hits him in the stomach with the butt of his rifle and Joel falls down with a grunt.

“Please, you don’t understand.” Joel tries to reason with Marlene but she’s unsympathetic. 

“I do. I was there when she was born, Joel. I promised her mother I would save her child. I promised.” She pauses. “So I do understand. I’m the only one who understands. I’m sorry. I have no other choice.” She wants this to be over, for the world to go back to what it was and Ellie, and your baby might be the cure. She will sacrifice anyone for a cure. 

Joel looks up at her from the ground, worry and panic swirling in his gut. “I do.” He assures her, making Marlene realize she can’t leave Joel alive. 

She nods and speaks to the guards, “walk him out to the Highway, leave him there with his pack.” Her guards will know that she means for them to take him out of hearing range of the pediatric ward where you are being held and put a bullet in his brain. “Give him these.” She hands off the knife Ellie carried along with the necklace you wore and looks back at Joel. “If he tries anything, shoot him.”

Joel's heart pounds in his chest as he is led down the hall, his mind racing as he tries to figure out how he can save you and Ellie. His heart races and he imagines leaving you and his child, Ellie, here with the fireflies. He swallows harshly, stumbling and trying to slow down. "I didn't hear anyone say stop." The guard says when Joel looks at the sign, "which way?" He is pushed towards the stairwell and Joel imagines not being there for his children. He can't fail them. He can't fail you. 

"The fuck are you doin'? Keep walking." The firefly orders and Joel snaps, unable to let you and Ellie be the burden of this so-called cure. He can't lose anyone else. "I said keep-" Joel spins, elbowing the prick and grabbing his gun, making quick work of shooting them and he grabs the knife and necklace, determined to save his girls.

“Hello?” It’s been a long time since you’ve had a bed and the hospital gurney is actually comfortable. One of the ones obviously used in the labor and delivery ward and for a moment, you imagine actually being in a hospital for the birth. The nurse had told you that she would be right back, going to get Joel and you are starting to worry. There’s muffled sounds from the floors below, and you can’t quite make it out but it’s making you uneasy. “Anyone there?”

Joel is ferocious in his efforts to get to you and Ellie. He knows he has to get to Ellie first, stop the surgery, and he shoots down anyone that gets in his way. When he enters the operating room, he quickly shoots the doctor and the nurses scream, “unhook her. Move!” He demands and the nurses hands shake. “Cover her arm. Fast.” The nurse nods and covers her arm. “Turn around.” He demands and he carries her in his arms as he shouts your name, needing to find you.

“Joel?” You hold your stomach as you heft your weight off the gurney, hearing Joel scream your name. He sounds panicked, like he does when he’s lost sight of you or Ellie when there is danger nearby. That’s never a good sound to hear from Joel. “Joel! I’m here.” You shout back, slipping into your shoes so you can walk to the door of the room you are in.

He hears your voice and he’s relieved, eyes softening when he sees you, but yours widen when you see him carrying Ellie. “What -?” 

Joel shakes his head, “no time. We gotta go. Come on baby. Let’s go.” He demands and leads you towards the elevator.

You’ve learned that when Joel demands you move, you move. You don’t ask him again, instead you are right behind him, wondering what the hell is going on. You know how important this mission was to Ellie, to be able to ‘save the world’. So for Joel to be carrying her around in a surgical gown makes you wonder if the hospital is under attack. 

“What happened?” You ask and Joel can’t speak yet, too overwhelmed and relieved that you’re alive. That Ellie is okay. He looks at Ellie, knowing he’s messed up her plans for his own selfish desires but he couldn’t let her die for this. He sees the car and rushes forward until he hears Marlene. 

“You can’t keep them safe forever.” She says, aiming her gun towards him and he jerks his chin for you to get behind him. “No matter how hard you try, no matter how many people you kill, she’s gonna grow up Joel. And then you’ll die, she’ll leave. Your kid will be left without a father. Then what? How long until your kids are torn apart by infected or murdered by raiders? Because they live in a broken world that you could have saved.” 

Joel stares at her, “maybe but it isn’t for you to decide.” 

Marlene shakes her head, “or you. Your children had the chance to save the world. If Ellie died…we had the baby. A chance to try again.” Marlene says and you gasp, hand lowering to your stomach, unsure of what she means but you know it’s bad. “So what would Ellie decide? ‘Cause I think she’d wanna do what’s right.” Joel stares at the floor, unable to process this when Marlene says “and you know it. It’s not too late. Even now, even after what you’ve done. We have a second chance.” She looks towards you, “we can still find a way.” Joel looks down at Ellie before his eyes meet yours, knowing he couldn’t give this up. It’s his children. He couldn’t save Sarah but he can save Ellie, save you and his unborn child.

You watch Joel as he battles himself, looking down at Ellie and then over at you. You shake your head, knowing that anything that would lead to Ellie dying is not a choice you want to pick. His jaw ticks and he looks back at Marlene. Making you cry out in surprise when he pulls the trigger of the gun that he is holding under Ellie’s legs. “Get in the car.” Joel urges you as he turns and rushes towards the vehicle. 

Marlene groans as she curls into herself and he lays Ellie down on the backseat. He strides back over to Marlene, pulling his gun out, and he aims it at her, “you’ll just come after her.” He says and shots her in the head.

Swallowing harshly, you look back at Ellie laying across the seats. Whatever happened was bad. Joel connects the battery and slams the hood of the car shut, making you jump in surprise before he climbs behind the wheel and turns the key. “What happened?” You ask quietly, needing to know what is happening. From what you understood, Marlene was important to Ellie and it was her that had tasted Joel with bringing Joel here. 

Joel shakes his head, not able to talk about it just yet. He wants to get you out of here so he starts the car and makes his way out of the parking garage, eyes scanning for any more fireflies and he’s on edge. When he’s out on the highway and he reaches for your hand, lifting it to press a kiss to it. “Baby. Oh fuck. I- I thought I was gonna lose you all.”

You hear the way his voice shakes and you squeeze his hand. “You couldn’t lose us.” You promise him, even though you have no idea what was actually happening in that hospital. Craning your neck, you look back at Ellie, “we need to find her some clothes. For when she wakes up.” 

He nods, tears stinging in his eyes, “baby. She - she told me - Ellie’s mom was bitten before she was born. It’s why Ellie is immune and they - they wanted to take Ellie’s brain out to find a cure and if that failed, they were gonna use you - they wanted to use our baby as a second chance.” He chokes, a tear sliding down his cheek as he imagines being unable to help Ellie and you.

“Shit.” You hiss, furious that they had been so cruel. You would have never consented to hurting your child or allowing Ellie to be killed in hopes of a cure. “Then I’m glad you shot her.” You snort. “A bullet is too good for her. That’s unethical.”

Joel squeezes your hand, “and you would’ve been killed. I- fuck- I love you. I love you, baby.” He confesses for the first time, squeezing the steering wheel with his other hand as he makes his way to Tommy’s in hope of having a life with his family.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Joshua Hong x F!Reader TW : it's angsty ; he's still not the gentleman Shua we love ; but he's better than the last part ; reader is wounded ; mention of guns and gunshots ; lots of talk of blood in the first half ; nobody dies though! ; happy ending ; Word Count : 1.8k Request : Anonny : Your stories are so good! My fav is When it’s Done with Joshua! Are you going to do a part 2? I’m dying to see what happened! A/N : I did not forget this request! I reread the first part, and lemme tell ya, I'm so excited to write part two!

The gunshot echoed through the small alleyway that you had run off into, it was loud and it pierced your ears like a firecracker had just gone off right next to your head. A warning shot you were sure of, probably from one of the guards that you had slipped away from. It wasn’t until you felt the sudden heat in your shoulder and the soaking of the shirt that you were wearing. You looked at your arm and saw the blood stain spreading through the fabric, and it was only once you had realized that it wasn’t a warning shot, that you had been shot, that you felt the agonizing burn and the pain that seemed to radiate and hit every single receptor in your body. It was all you could feel. 

You dropped to the ground, practically crawling to hide behind a dumpster that was pressed up against one of the many abandoned buildings that you and Joshua had once scavenged in. With one hand clasped to your mouth, you reached your other hand to your back, gently pressing your finger against the spot where the bullet had gone straight through your skin. It hurt like a bitch, a pain that was indescribable, so bad it made you black out momentarily. 

This was it, you were sure of it. You’d bleed out behind the dumpster because you just had to prove a point to the asshole who was being whisked away to somewhere safe. It was ironic, but you never made the best choices, and this was surely, without a doubt, the worst decision you had ever made in your life… Which now seemed to be very close to over. 

“Dammit! Just let me go!” Joshua fought with the guard who was clearly becoming more and more annoyed with each push that was landed against him, so annoyed in fact that he finally threw up his arms, allowing Joshua to run past him. 

He didn’t know the first place to run to, and to be honest, he didn’t know if he’d be able to find you. Part of him was actually terrified of what he would find if he did come across you. The gunshot had been so loud, it was close, and he knew that you couldn’t have made it far from the group before the shot had been fired. 

What was he so afraid of? Why hadn’t he just let you in? It’s not like he didn’t have feelings for you, it’s not like you hadn’t found a way to weasel into his heart and make it seem like it was only beating for you. Who was there to put the act on for? Everyone else in the world that he thought had mattered were most likely gone now, you were all he had left… And now he was scared that he’d be truly alone in this world. 

There was no one around, no one that could possibly be a threat, not that he could see. But you were also nowhere to be found either. Had someone taken you? The thought alone had his blood boiling, thinking of someone else laying their hands on you, hurting you… He shook his head, his fingers running through his hair to brush it out of his face. He couldn’t think like that. You had to be around here somewhere. 

A small whimper, one that would have gone unheard if the city were alive with pre-apocalyptic sounds, cars and muffled voices would have drowned out the quiet whine that came from the alleyway that he had just walked past. Without a second thought, he turned down the alley, his legs picking up speed to carry him to where the sound had come from. 

Tear stained cheeks and swollen eyes glanced up at him, but he couldn’t stop from looking at the bright red liquid that colored your hand and your shirt, dripping down your arm and pooling onto the dirty ground beneath you. “Oh my god…” Was all he managed to say as he crouched down in front of you, pulling off his jacket and pressing it against your wound. 

“You came back…” You whispered, although he wasn’t sure if your voice was so low because you were trying to be quiet or if you were just losing so much blood that you were becoming weak. “Why did you come back? You could have been safe…” You continued to speak, and it’s like he could see your heart rate picking up, the blood pouring more quickly now from your wound as you got more worked up. 

“Shut up.” He hissed, trying his best not to upset you, but you needed to calm down or else you’d lose too much blood, and that would mean he’d lose you, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. “You’re so stupid, why would you run off like that? Now both of us are back where we started.” He muttered, and your head dropped, but not only that, you shifted away from him, away from his touch, away from the jacket that was being used to try to stop the bleeding. 

“You didn’t have to come back for me.” You mumbled, your knees curling up against your chest as if you were trying to make as much space between the two of you as physically possible. “I’m sure your good karma meter has reached the top by now, you didn’t have to come back.” He just couldn’t get things right, he just kept upsetting you, even when he wasn’t trying to. “You can leave now, I’d much rather not annoy you with my dying.” 

“You seriously need to stop talking.” He urged, watching as, what could be, the remaining blood seemed to squirt from the bullet hole. “I’ll tell you why I came back, but I need to make sure you’re okay first. So just… Shut up long enough for me to try to help.” Your eyes rolled, but he didn’t really care for it, as long as they weren’t rolling to the back of your head. He could deal with your sassiness, it meant you were still alive. 

He carefully got you up off the ground, making sure you were steady on your feet before leaning over in front of you. “What are you doing?” You asked, but he didn’t have time for your questions, and he knew damn well that your time was very limited, so he reached back, wrapping his arms around the bend of your knees and hoisting you up onto his back. “What the hell?!” You shrieked, but your arms immediately wrapped around him to hold on. He liked the feelings of having you close to him like this… It wasn’t intimate in any way… It was just close, and if the situation weren’t so dire, he would have loved to hear you laugh and maybe even squeal with delight as he carried you around. 

“If you walk, you’ll lose even more blood. Just… take a nap… I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe… I promise.” 

///

Joshua sat in the little chair beside the bed where you were laying, it was uncomfortable, but he didn’t mind it, and it almost seemed like he had become one with the chair considering he had refused to leave as long as you were still in there. 

The fact that he had managed to catch up with the group of survivors was a miracle, although the guard that he had pushed around didn’t seem very pleased at his reappearance. Once it was realized that you were injured though, one of the other guards pulled you off of Joshuas back and carried you the rest of the way. 

From the moment of arrival at the “base camp”, at least that’s what they called it, he never left your side. The nurses and doctors that had been saved from nearby hospitals had all come to look at you, taking turns to make sure you were healing okay. You had lost so much blood though that they were basically telling him to say his goodbyes when you first arrived. 

Still, even though you were okay, you were far from healthy. You were beyond weak, and it seemed like all you could do at this point was sleep, and while it scared the hell out of him, the doctors all tried to reassure him that sleeping was exactly what your body needed right now, especially since there wasn’t much else they could do outside the hospitals. 

So he sat, and he waited, he waited for hours, days, it felt like weeks that he just sat in that chair, dozing off occasionally just to be jolted awake thinking that he heard you move only to see the doctor walking in to check on you again. He had many questions, but none of them he wanted the answers to. 

A little yawn, and then the quietest curse had him opening his eyes from the little catnap that he had begun to take. You were sitting up on the makeshift hospital bed, your face in what looked to be a permanent grimace as you rolled your shoulders and tried to stretch. “It’s gonna hurt worse if you keep doing that.” He commented, finally feeling all the tension wash away from him seeing you awake. 

“You’re still here…” You said, as if finally noticing that he was in the room with you. Your head tilted to the side as you looked at him, your eyes narrowed, questioning his presence.

“I’ve been here the whole time, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” 

“How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Too long.” He said flatly, finally getting up from the chair and stretching. Even though he had occasionally taken a small walk around the camp, a majority of the past 3 days he had been in that chair. “How are you feeling?” 

Your eyes followed him as he got closer to the side of your bed, his hand reaching out to touch yours, but hovering just above it. “Uhm… stiff… Sore… Disoriented. Why are you still here?” Your hand moved away from his, but he wasn’t scared anymore. He wasn’t going to hide his feelings from you, he wasn’t going to push you away. You were staying with him, and while he had acted so annoyed when the roles had been reversed, you were now stuck with him. 

“I’m not leaving you… Ever.” He emphasized the ending, his hand coming down on top of yours and giving it a light squeeze. “Now that I know you’re okay, and we’re both safe… I shouldn’t have kept it to myself… But I need you with me. I’ve always been scared of losing you, since the second week of meeting you. Now that I’ve almost actually lost you, I never want to go through that again.” He leaned in, kissing the top of your head as his hand lingered on top of yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles and sending goosebumps across your skin. “I’m sorry for being an asshole, I’m sorry for making you feel unwanted… I’m sorry for causing this… Will you ever forgive me?” 

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[fragilefable]

don't look too far, right where you are, that's where i am.

Pairing: Joel Miller x GN!Reader Summary: As you battle a seasonal flu, your partner Joel makes sure that you don't have to lift a finger. Warnings: sick fic, soft/ooc!Joel, cursing, brief mention of loss of appetite due to sickness, in depth descriptions of being sick, suggestive flirting (nothing crazy), probably too much domestic fluff, established relationship, kissing.

Word Count: 1.1K Currently Playing: Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey ♪

A/N: this is completely self indulgent as I am currently writing this on my death bed (i have the flu). so please accept this oneshot while i finish proofreading another (way longer) fic that i've been working on for a long time! also please keep my immune system in your thoughts/prayers :(

As the color of the leaves became warmer, the Wyoming air turned colder. Another autumn in Jackson came and went. With this seasonal shift came great advantages: Infected became slower, as did Raiders and Hunters. It also came with disadvantages–– sickness being one of them. The Cordyceps Infection plagued every inch of the Earth, but this disease was far more unavoidable. 

Your body ached with each minute movement. The sheets were damp with sweat. Your throat dry, as if you were backpacking in the Arizonian heat, your tin canteen bone dry. Pressing the back of your hand to your forehead, you groaned: You definitely had a fever. Removing your clammy hand, you extend an arm in search of a familiar warmth, only to find the left side of the bed empty. 

A raspy cough escapes your lips as you call out for your partner, "Joel?" Your call is met with a heavy silence, daylight filling the empty bedroom. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. A smile threatens your cracked lips when you spot a glass of water and two painkillers on the nightstand beside a note embellished with familiar chicken scratch: "Went to the market, be home soon. Love ya."

You weakly chuckled as you popped the two pills in your mouth, chasing them with the lukewarm water. A shiver ran down your spine as you threw the covers off your body. Groaning softly, you stood up and extended your arms above your head, permitting the sore muscles a moment of reprieve. Padding over to the dresser, you lazily pulled on one of Joel's flannels and a pair of grey sweatpants. You took a moment to inhale through your stuffy nose, basking in the warm, woodsy scent of his shirt.

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to descend the stairs; your tired limbs were heavy like sandbags, effectively weighing you down. Shuffling into the living room, you collapsed on the worn leather couch. You were useless in this state, resolute to hibernate until this illness left your body. Curling into the couch cushions, you allow your eyelids to droop shut as sleep overtakes your body once again. 

A familiar weight sinks beside you on the couch, just barely rousing you from your slumber. The warmth of Joel's hand rested briefly on your forehead and then on your cheek. You hum in response, nestling closer against the callouses of his palm. He chuckles softly, "Hey Darlin'. How ya feelin'?" Your eyes flutter open, taking a mental photograph of his chill-flushed cheeks: "Like shit." 

A sympathetic smile graced his hardened face, causing you to frown. You were tough–– you had to be. There was no room for weakness or fragility in a post-apocalyptic world. But you truly felt like utter, complete garbage. Joel's large hands wander the expanse of your back, gently massaging the strained muscles. As much as you didn't want to burden him, you couldn't deny that his attention was helping to alleviate some of the discomfort: "You don't have to fuss over me, Joel. I'm a grown-up. I can take care of myself." 

Joel hums in acknowledgment, applying more pressure to the tight knot right below your neck where your spine starts: "I know, baby. I want to. Lemme take care of you." You hesitate but eventually nod softly, your body sinking further into the plush leather. Joel's hands knead your back muscles with such care and precision that any tension immediately dissipates. 

Slowly, you push yourself up, clutching your neck in discomfort. "Your throat hurt?" Joel beckons from beside you, one of his arms slung over the back of the couch–– his fingers absentmindedly caressing the exposed skin of your shoulder. You nod weakly, causing him to stand and wander towards the kitchen abruptly, "Went to the market and picked up some of that tea y'like. Got some soup, too." 

You follow his path to find him unpacking the canvas tote, setting each item on the granite counter. "Thank you, baby. 'M not really hungry though," you stand behind him, arms wrapped around his torso. You press a kiss on his clothed back in between his shoulder blades, eliciting a soft groan from Joel: "Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll get you that tea?" 

Your arms tighten around his tall frame, "Are you sayin' I smell, Miller?" Joel laughs gruffly, "No. 'M sayin' you need to relax if you wanna get better." You separate from him, brushing a stray curl from his face: "Mhm. You just wanna get me naked." He smirks, placing a hand on your waist and pulling you flush against him— his gaze darts between your eyes and lips. You place your hands on his chest and softly protest, "Joel... We can't, you'll catch it too."

He scoffs, "Don't care. Your germs are my germs, darlin'." His lips capture yours; the kiss is chaste but affectionate. His teeth gently tug at your bottom lip, tongue swiping across the subtle indents he left. He pulls away, his thumb caressing your chin: "Now go before I change my mind." 

Rolling your eyes, you trudge up the stairs to your and Joel's shared bathroom. You turn on the shower, allowing the room to fill with steam. You lather your body with herbal soaps made by one of the older women who work in the greenhouse. It smelled of lavender and thyme–– it smelled of Joel. 

After turning off the faucet, you wrap yourself in a large terrycloth towel. Worn and slightly miscolored, but clean nonetheless. When you descend the staircase, the overwhelming scent of chamomile fills your nostrils, accompanied by the mellow chords of an acoustic guitar. A smile breaks across your face at the sight laid in front of you: Joel perched on the worn fabric of the couch with his guitar idly sat in his lap, his deft fingers plucking the strings. 

Your body collapses next to his, head lolling to the side before it rests against his shoulder. "Did the shower help?" His chest rumbles, fingers continuing to play a song from before the outbreak; the name escapes you. "Yes, it did. But this helps more," you bring your knees close to your chest. You relish in Joel's body heat; that man always was a goddamn furnace. 

Joel set the guitar against the coffee table, repositioning until your body fully leaned against him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso, "Is there anythin' else I can do f'you darlin'?" You shook your head, "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" A deep chuckle escaped him, "That I can do." As your eyes slipped closed once more, you felt a pair of warm lips press against your hairline and listened as Joel's breathing evened out. The sound soothing you to sleep like your very own lullaby. 

© 2023 fragilefable do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

divider by @saradika

[spookykoolkat]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 - 𝐣.𝐦. 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗."

pairing: post outbreak!joel miller x plus sized!younger!reader

warnings: age gap, joel is 56 y.o, reader is 25 y.o, slow burn, death, violence, su*cide attempt, mentions of depression, anxiety, self harm, su*cidal tendencies, poor mental health, depictions of violence, torture, sho*ting, st*bbing, self defense, mentions of sexual assault, assault, being held hostage, anger issues, etc. descriptions of living in an apocalyptic world with the infected.

more warnings: drinking, smoking, sex, hunting, fighting (physical and verbal), sexual experiences, descriptions of sex acts (porn with a plot), swearing, MINORS NOT WELCOMED.

summary: joel finds his way back to jackson with ellie after the incidents with the fireflies, and made it his home over the next year. the winter was harsh this year round, hitting jackson a bit harder than they figured. you were a hardheaded girl in her mid twenties, fighting to survive when you found yourself giving up in the middle of nowhere. that middle of nowhere just so happened to be right in the middle of an alarm system outside of the commune. so what happens when the people that find you happens to be none other than the miller brothers?

notable mentions: this is a dark fic! apocalyptic au! set after joel's hospital massacre. ellie is now 15. no use of y/n.

this is an 18+ fic. mdni.

chapter one - stiff and cold

- joel and tommy find your blood soaked body under a thin sheet of snow near the commune, and take you back where you wake up a week later.

chapter two - hell above

- your first week in jackson went just as expected. the world you lived in was hell, but this seemed like paradise to you. except the fact that it seemed like living under joel's roof made him a bit uncomfortable, weary even, and it showed.

chapter three - protection

- it's been three weeks since you made jackson your new home, taking classes in order to patrol, working, and joel is doing his best to try to get used to having you around while you are figuring out your feelings towards him.

chapter four - no good

- one month in jackson and you're still having a bit of trouble fitting in like ellie and joel (sort of) did, until you finally get your patrol route and partner. after he hears that your new partner has invited you for drinks, joel isn't to happy to watch you get ready to see another man.

chapter five - forfeit

- it was your first day of patrolling after earning the right to, but it was flipped upside down when tommy decided he needed to use you and joel for his own little mission. things go awry and soon there's nothing but heated tension that causes little spats to and from the destination.

chapter six - a good man in a bad time

- the next morning after coming back from your unexpected mission with joel was very eventful, and unbeknownst to you, joel felt the need to invade your privacy. it was your birthday, turning twenty six and you were feigning for a little pleasure. at the end of the night, you got it.

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

this is an prolonged series! out now! updates will continue during the last week of october!

[ in the mean time, check out my kinktober masterlist for some upcoming joel miller oneshots! ]

[pamwritessometimes]

The Great Invasion: Chapter 1

Dean Winchester x female!reader

Summary: In a world turned upside down, where monsters hunt and hunters are the prey, Y/N must choose: follow the new rules to stay alive or join a rogue band of hunters determined to reclaim power and change the game for good.

General warnings: dark themes, gore, kind of apocalyptic vibes, language

Chapter warnings: mentions of murders of hunters, horrible description of a fight, kidnapping, demons being demons, captivity.

Theme song of the chapter: Champion by Barns Courtney

Series masterlist

Chapter 1: The Hunter Games

The stadium was packed like it was Super Bowl night and Taylor Swift was about to perform at the halftime show. The air was littered with different kinds of noises, laughing, heckling, betting, heated debates over who’d win this match. Names were chanted aggressively all around the field, bets were shouted across the aisles. From a distance it looked like any massive sports event, even sounded like one.

Just one friendly match…

But upon taking a closer glance one could see it wasn’t a regular game, not by any means.

Those seats weren’t filled with your standard-issue fans.

No, these spectators were monsters in every sense of the word. Ghosts floated uneasily above the cheap and creaky seats like they were haunted by the idea of proper lumbar support. Ghouls gnawed on concessions — and occasionally on each other — while witches cackled from different corners like it was open mic night at a coven comedy club. Werewolves let loose howls at random, probably to remind everyone they were there, and demons? Well, demons were the VIPs, lounging like they owned the joint…. Because let’s be honest, they actually did.

All of them packed the stadium to watch the same spectacle: humans fighting for their lives.

It was a standard form of entertainment now, events like this. Humans, hunters, more specifically, trying to fight for their lives.

And monsters ate up the whole event, not being ashamed of their monsterness. In a chaos like this, anyone could mingle, blend in.

This was the first thing she noticed and was fathomlessly grateful for. Since The Great Invasion, she rarely left the walls of the only safe place she could find, and with good reason. Even now she wore a dark green cloak pulled tight and sunglasses perched firmly on her nose. The kind of low profile look that ironically screamed, I don’t want to be noticed!

But so far, it worked. No one seemed to recognize her, and she intended to keep it that way.

Once seated, she tuned into a nearby conversation.

“Eighty-eight wins! Can you believe it?” a demon behind her said, his voice dripping with excitement.

“Don’t care” grunted another. “She doesn’t look like much. Probably just lucky.”

“She’s more than lucky, idiot. She was one of them. A real hunter. Ya know, back before we took over?”

“Yeah? So what? All of them down there are. She ain’t special. I’m betting she’s done for tonight.”

Rowena smirked faintly to herself. This was the right place, then.

Y/N was here.

Down on the field, the coordinator strutted out, a smarmy grin plastered across his face and a ridiculous suit clinging to his body. He raised his hands, and the crowd hushed in an instant, sensing the greatest shitshow of entertainment was about to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fiends and freaks…” he began, pausing just long enough to milk the moment, “Welcome to the Second Hunter Games!”

It made Rowena cringe a bit; it felt like a tacky attempt to imitate human pop culture, but the crowd seemed to eat it up.

“As you all know” the announcer continued, “this is where the tables turned. We’re the hunters now, and they” he pointed smugly toward the cages at the edge of the arena where ten poor ragged humans huddled, “are the prey. Let’s see if they’ve got what it takes to entertain us, shall we?”

The crowd erupted again and the announcer basked in the spotlight.

The games began with the first hunter shoved onto the field like a lamb to slaughter on its birthday. He was tall, mid-twenties at most, but he had the look of someone who’d already given up. And let’s be real, he probably truly had. His opponent was a standard werewolf, if werewolves could be called normal. The creature took him down in less than five minutes. The crowd cheered but only half-heartedly during the first round. 

They weren’t here for warm-ups.

One by one, the hunters went out. Some tried to fight, others tried to talk. One even tried a heartfelt speech about unity and coexistence — he didn’t make it past “coex—” before a wendigo clamped down on his skull. The audience howled with laughter, blood spattering the arena floor like confetti.

Panem et circenses.

Finally, the energy shifted after the ninth round.

Here comes the main event.

The announcer strutted back to the center of the field, his grin somehow stretching even wider and smug enough to suggest he was about to introduce King Charles to a stadium full of overly enthusiastic Brits.

“And now” he drawled, stretching every syllable like he was getting paid by the second, “the match you’ve all been waiting for! Our reigning champion. The hunter who’s racked up more monster kills than you’ve had hot meals. Eighty-eight wins across countless blood-soaked battles. A walking nightmare for anything with fangs or claws. The only reason she’s not still out there handing you all your asses on a silver platter is… well, someone got to her first.”

The crowd roared with laughter.

“Give it up for the one, the only… Y/N Y/L/N!”

Rowena’s eyes were glued to the field, her anticipation was running high and it seemed like for a moment even Earth stopped turning. She heard a ton about you, some seemingly far-fetched anecdotes about the only hunter who could make it this far in this world. Just thinking about it, a strange feeling tugged at his heart.

Then you stepped out into the arena.

And for a second, Rowena hesitated, even looked crestfallen almost.

Her? This plain-looking thing? 

Was this the great champion she’d been sent to find, or were Jack and the trench coat baby just shitting her? Was she the one she was strangely excited to see?

Your appearance didn’t scream legendary hunter nor acclaimed champion, just… a plain ole regular hunter. Your hair was thrown into a sloppy ponytail and you wore a basic black tank top under a khaki jacket that looked more functional than fashionable. The only things that were new were your boots, but that seemed more like a perk of your status than an actual necessity.

However, for some reason, you didn’t have that desperate, hunted look that clung to the others’ faces. 

Then your opponent stepped into view and the crowd fell silent. 

He was tall, broad and built like a marble statue from afar, his every movement a study in control and power — like seeing a perfectly executed villain performance in a Broadway musical. His jawline could have cut glass and his eyes were cold enough to freeze it. He was dressed in all black, looking more like an assassin sent from the upper echelons of Hell than a combatant. Even his walk wasn’t just a walk. It was a declaration: he wasn’t here to fight. He was here to win.

Rowena watched as you faced him. No dramatic pose, no fear, just you, standing there, calm and almost… bored. Meanwhile, the guy smirked, already acting like he’d won.

The whole thing felt strange.

The crowd was a mess of cheers and jeers, half rooting for you, half betting you’d finally crash and burn. But Rowena noticed the phlegm in your eyes and your suppressed confidence that didn’t match the plain outfit you were rocking on the outside.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that you had something up your sleeves.

Then, the bell rang. 

The man lunged first but you sidestepped his hand and his attack sliced through empty air. It was all for a show, really. Any match like this was. You knew it, your opponent knew it, the whole arena knew it.

This is not how you fight a demon.

But that’s what the crowd wanted and that’s what they are getting. A circus.

The audience gasped as you landed a swift, clean jab to his ribs. It wasn’t a heavy hit but it was precise enough to make him (or rather his vessel) flinch.

Your opponent circled you, his smirk widening, but there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes now. He was used to fights that ended fast and messy, but you weren’t giving him that satisfaction.

He lunged again and this time you were ready. A subtle flick of your wrist sent a splash of liquid from a hidden vial straight onto his hand. The faint sizzle that followed was drowned out by the crowd’s cheers but Rowena saw it and so did he. His smirk faltered, just for a moment.

Holy water.

Rowena’s lips twitched into a smirk.

There she is. 

She had no idea how you managed to keep holy water on you (smuggled it, stashed it, conjured it, got it, who knew?) and she couldn’t understand why the other hunters hadn’t done the same. Could they not? But one thing was crystal clear: you weren’t here to lose.

The fight went on but calling it a fight feels generous. To be fair, you were running the show. You moved like you’d choreographed the whole thing beforehand, because you dodged his strikes like you knew everything was going to happen.

And all the while, you were muttering something under your breath.

Rowena tilted her head, her ears catching the sound with some magical help. Latin.

Her grin spread wide.

An exorcism. Clever little thing.

You weren’t just fighting him but you were dismantling him piece by piece.

Your opponent’s movements grew sloppier as his vessel started to reject him by your ancient words. Each syllable you muttered chipped away at his hold and every dodge, every counterstrike added to his frustration. The crowd thought he was just losing steam, but Rowena knew better. 

You were breaking him from the inside out.

Then came his final, and just as desperate charge. He lunged at you without actually realizing how clumsy his punch was. You dodged easily, stepping out of the way like it was nothing. This time, your voice got louder, the words now audible even to the crowd:

“…ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”

That was it. His body jerked violently, a guttural scream tearing from his throat as thick black smoke poured out of his mouth. The vessel dropped to the ground, staying limp and seemingly lifeless. You just hoped the human was alright.

You stood there, brushing off your hands like you’d just finished a chore not a fight to the death. Rowena leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs with a look that screamed satisfaction while her red lips curled into a sly grin.

Maybe she isn't as fragile as I thought so.

You hadn’t just won, you’d also put on one hell of a show.

And in this world, where blood and spectacle ruled that was what mattered most.

Sunlight poured through the long red curtains, spilling a golden glow across the pearly white walls of your room. It was the kind of quiet beauty you’d never taken the time to notice and bask in before.

Your dad’s voice echoed in your head: It’s the little things that count. Back then, you’d dismissed it as sentimental fluff people spouted when life was falling apart. But now, sitting in this room that was yours, but not quite yours, you got it.

Because everything had fallen apart. Or maybe it was better to say it had been shattered. And now, the only thing you had left were the little things. The way the light slanted just so or how you could still catch the tail-end of a sunset through your window, even in this messed-up new world.

It wasn’t always like this. You still remembered a time before The Great Invasion, even though it felt like a lifetime ago. It hadn’t been that long, though. Maybe two years? Who knew anymore? The calendar didn’t matter when monsters were in charge and time itself felt like a joke.

The knock at the door broke the stillness and your thoughts’ overflow. You glanced at the clock. 

Six p.m. already. 

The door creaked open, and in walked Rommer, your suite’s assigned waiter, carrying a tray. His hands were a bit shaky and his posture was stiff but he still managed to hold onto that old-fashioned professional air. Well, mostly, since the tension in his eyes betrayed him: He was scared. Not that you blamed him. You were scared, too.

Rommer had been working here at the Mandarin Oriental long before the monsters took over, so he knew how to fake calm when it mattered. But the truth was in his eyes: he was human, just like you. And every time you looked at him, you were reminded of the kind of life you could’ve had. What other kind of slave you could have ended up as.

He was a little grounding point in your life. The only presence you felt somewhat safe around. The only one that somewhat understood you here.

The little things.

Once or twice, you even tried to make him stay just a bit longer, just to talk and exchange more than five words. You were desperate for human contact, even for just getting to know his first name, but he didn’t seem to be a partner in your little attempt — his rigid posture and tight lips a clear indication of that.

But again, you couldn’t blame him.

Anyone would be tense and terrified if a demon billionaire essentially held them hostage.

It was strange, this life of luxury you were given. A room in a five-star hotel with all the trimmings and a staff that treated you like some lower level royalty. By all accounts, it should have been a dream. But dreams didn’t come with the kind of shadows that stuck to every step you took.

“Evening, Miss Y/L/N” he said, setting the tray down in front of you. Not silver, of course.

“Evening” you replied and offered him a slight smile despite the oddity of the entire situation. 

“The usual” he nodded at the plate of perfectly cooked steak and vegetables.

You thanked him and stared at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world… assuming the other seven were still standing.

He hesitated, as if about to say something, but he decided not to. His eyes flicked toward the door where the demon guard stood, watching rather indiscreetly. With a quick bow, Rommer left without saying another unnecessary word.

You stared at the tray, the smell of the food wafting up to you. It was good. It was always good. But somehow it never quite tasted right. It wasn’t the flavor, nor the texture, nor the temperature. Maybe it was because no matter how fancy the room, no matter how golden the sunlight, you couldn’t forget the truth.

This wasn’t freedom. This was a gilded cage.

Still, it was the only way to stay alive… And better than a life spent running forever.

Dean was in his element. A wide, open garage with all the tools he could ever need. It was way better than the bunker’s setup. His hands were covered in grease as he leaned over the Impala, carefully tweaking something under the hood. Honestly, he didn’t care who to thank, Jack, Cas, or the afterlife fairy, just as long as Baby was here with him.

Fixing her up wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was steady work. Something simple. Something he loved. Something that brought him peace.

Metallica blared from somewhere, though he had no idea where. Heaven magic, probably, since he’d never seen a stereo in this place. Not that he was complaining.

Maybe it was the afterlife thing, but there was no rush here. No monsters to kill, no apocalyptic prophecies to stop. Just the hum of the engine and the whiskey-smooth riffs of Whiskey in the Jar keeping him company.

It was nice.

He could feel the presence of someone appearing in the background, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Sammy, hope you found a few glasses of cold ‘cause I’m running out here” he said, still focused under the hood of his car.

"Hi, Dean."

It wasn’t the voice he expected. Dean straightened up, glancing toward the garage door. There, standing in the sunlight with hands shoved in his pockets, was Jack.

Dean blinked, staring for a moment. It’s been a while since he saw the kid. Jack was still… very much Jack. He looked just as young as before somehow, still nothing like a god… more like a kid just stopping by to say hello. 

And as much as he wanted to hope this was just a casual visit, a “hey, how’s it going, maybe drink a beer or two” Dean couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t that simple. After all, Jack was the most powerful creature in the universe now — was it weird to want to grab a beer with him?

“Jack” Dean wiped his hands off again, eyeing Jack with a half-smile. “What’s up? You’re not here for a good time, are you? Because I gotta tell ya, I’m on a roll with this carburetor.”

Jack’s eyes flashed with something uncharacteristically serious and Dean’s gut twisted at the sight. Shit. If Jack was showing up here on a peaceful, lazy forever-afternoon, it had to be for a reason.

Dean straightened. “Let me guess… If the big guy himself is here, it’s gotta be an emergency, right?”

“It’s kind of an emergency.” Jack nodded.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Jack took a step forward, and just when Dean thought he’d get a straight answer, the kid held out his hand. A flash of glowing light flickered, and bam, Sam was suddenly standing there in front of them, a pack of beer in his hand, blinking like he’d just been yanked out of whatever peaceful afterlife he’d been enjoying in Heaven.

Well, he was heading this way anyway.

“Huh?” Dean blinked, half-amused and half-confused.

Sam rubbed his eyes, still processing what had just happened. “What’s going on, Dean?” Then his eyes ended on the kid. “Jack? Hey, how—“

Jack didn’t waste time answering, cutting him off. “We need you both. Something’s going on back on Earth. We gotta go to the bunker. Cas is already there.”

It was well past your usual lights-out when you heard a chopped Latin chant. You bolted upright in bed, the satin of your pajama top slipping off one shoulder as you fumbled for the first object within arm’s reach: your bedside lamp.

Damn Barbas. Of course, that bastard wouldn’t let you keep a single weapon for protection. Why would he? Keeping you helpless was part of his twisted game, though you weren’t precisely sure what that game was. Vessel or not, you loathed every inch of him, including that smug, sadistic face of his.

Your eyes scanned the dimly lit room, and it didn’t take long to spot a flashing light flickering in and out in the middle of your suite’s plush carpet.

“What the hell?” you muttered, freezing in place.

Someone had just teleported into your five-star hotel room.

Teleported. Not walked, not snuck in, teleported. No human could pull that off. And with all the layers of magic and muscle guarding this place, no low-tier spell-slinger should’ve been able to either.

As the last remnants of the shimmering magic faded, a figure emerged, a woman from what you could see, her back to you. She wore a dark cloak, though strands of red hair slipped out messily from beneath the hood.

“Oh, dear, you couldn’t have been more precise” her Scottish tone rang out.

Your grip tightened on the lamp as she turned. Rowena MacLeod. The ex-Queen of Hell herself. Your pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding your veins as your mind raced with all the reasons to hate her. Maybe she hadn’t masterminded The Great Invasion, but she’d failed to stop it. Hell’s gates had burst open on her watch, and the world had paid the price.

“Don’t look at me like that, dear” Rowena said, brushing a stray lock of red hair from her face. “We don’t have much time. I see you recognise me, that’s great. Saves me a lot of trouble.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” You narrowed your eyes, heart pounding in your chest.

Rowena sighed dramatically, folding her arms across her chest. “No time for that little debate club. I’m here to save your hide.”

“Save me? Excuse my ass if it doesn't believe the former Queen of Hell.”

Her lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Yes, my résumé does tend to precede me. But I assure you, I’m quite serious. Your little fortress of luxury here?” She gestured around the room with a dismissive wave. “It’s about to be less... secure.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked as your grip on the lamp was firm as ever. “And why would you wanna save me?”

"Well, let’s just say the ex-Queen of Hell has her ways. I’ve been keeping tabs on you since the Games. You… are quite the showstopper, dear.”

“That still doesn't answer my question.”

She tilted her head. "Well, this place is guarded, almost as much as the hideout I’m about to take you to. And to your misfortune, I couldn’t get past the gates without notice."

The implication hung in the air. “You…”

“I know, I know, I'm a piece of garbage, yes, you can let it all out later. But right now, I advise you to get out of that California king and let me get you out of here before your not-so-lovely captors arrive” she said, her voice dropping an octave and with that all traces of sarcasm was gone. “Unless you’d rather face them on your own. I’d love to see their expressions when they figure you let me in. After all, you’re not exactly on the friendliest terms with them, are you? And I have a feeling they will jump to conclusions about me being here.”

Your eyes widened in shock. She hadn’t just put you in an impossible situation, she’d made it worse than you could have ever imagined. If Barbas’ guards noticed her slipping through the magically guarded gates, and you were damn sure they had, they were already on their way. And if they found the two of you together in ‘your’ room? You might as well write your own obituary. Forget reasoning with them. You were already on dangerously thin ice with Barbas and his crew. Seeing you in this situation would be all the justification they needed.

No second chances. No questions asked. Just the sharp click of triggers being pulled.

No championship would make them listen to you. You weren’t important to them, not really. All they cared about was your skills and the reputation they could leverage from it. You were just a tool in their game, nothing more

The words barely left her mouth when a loud thud echoed in outside from the hallway. Your heart jumped into your throat as Rowena turned her head toward the noise.

“Well, that would be them” she said. “No time for debate, am I right?”

Before you could process what was happening, Rowena’s hands were moving, her fingers weaving through the air in fluid motions. You barely had time to protest when the air around you shimmered and the world around you vanished with a gut-wrenching lurch.

“Y/N! You little piece of shit!” Barbas’ voice thundered through the room, shaking the very walls as he and his entourage of guards stormed in and ripping the door off its hinges like it was a cheap piece of cardboard from a bargain bin as they did.

His eyes scanned the room with the intensity of a bloodhound on a hunt. The bed was empty and there was still a faint shimmer in the air jaut above the plush carpet in the center. Barbas’ jaw clenched so tightly one could hear the bones grinding together.

One of the guards (probably the one that drew the shorter straw) stammered, “There’s no s-sign of her, sir. She’s... g-gone. W-with Rowena M-MacLeod.”

Barbas’ fist collided with the nightstand with enough force to rattle the room. The wood groaned under the impact. “Find them. Now,” he barked, his eyes seething with rage as they flicked over his guards.

That anyone he implied was a very specific someone that can’t know Barbas messed this up.

When the swirling magic cleared, you were standing in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of dust, gunpowder and old books.

“What the—?” you stumbled forward, clutching your stomach as the nausea of teleportation hit you like a truck.

Shit, I shouldn’t have eaten all that steak.

“Welcome to your new home” Rowena said with a flourish, already brushing herself off as if nothing had happened.

“You can’t just—” you groaned, doubling over slightly. “I can’t believe you just did this!”

“Oh, no need for dramatics” she said. “You’ll feel better in a moment. And you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” you snapped and you stood upright despite the dizziness. “You just fucking kidnapped me!”

“Oh, please” She scoffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “If I hadn’t, you’d be in a demon’s stew pot by now.”

“Which you caused!”

You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing from deeper within this strange yet seemingly enormous building. Your heart skipped a beat and you turned toward the noise, tense and ready for anything.

Mostly for throwing a few punches.

A tall man in a beige, worn trench coat appeared from one of the doorways.

He paused and took a long look at the both of you, his expression was almost completely stoic but you could see a hint of some stress and worry buried deep within.

“You made it back” he said to Rowenaz then his attention shifted to you. “I see you found her. Hello, Y/N. My name’s Castiel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Next on The Great Invasion (Sneak Peek from Chapter 2)

Guns N’ Roses blasted through your headphones, drowning out every thought except the music. You made it your mission to listen to every cassette tape you found in the boxes. By the time you hit cassette number three’s flip side, the music was doing its job at making you feel a bit calmer a little too well. Your eyelids got heavier with every riff and before you knew it, you’d dozed off against the headboard. 

The music was loud enough to block out the creak of the door opening but not the voice that followed.

“Why’s there a chick in my room?” a gruff voice demanded. A pause. Then louder, like the words were physically offensive: “Listening to my damn tapes? Wearing my damn clothes?”

Maybe that last part didn’t bother him as much as the rest, though he wasn’t about to admit it. He was too busy scowling and reminding himself that this room, his room, was supposed to be his sanctuary. Instead, here you were, in his flannel, looking entirely too cozy and he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but also borderline irresistible for someone squatting in his space.

Or was this Jack’s way of saying, Sorry I yanked you out of Heaven, but hey, thanks for agreeing to help me clean up yet another apocalyptic mess!?

Because if so—

Congratulations, hunter, you made it this far! Welcome to the bunker.🤭

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the Great Invasion! AndI also hope you buckled your seat belts because we are going to have a wild ride, I tell you.

Can’t wait to read your thoughts on this!!

xx Pam

Read Chapter 2 here

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@thebiggerbear @spnaquakindgdom @globetrotter28 @kaz-2y5-spn @artyandink

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@roseblue373

[dreadfutures]

I do have my issues about the Corridor YouTubers but this is a really good discussion about the current wildfires in SoCal, the destruction, and the geography of the area and how it contributes to our fires.

In some you can see the hurricane speed winds. You can see that the brush does get trimmed back but the whole state is so dry that it will still burn with 100mph wind friction and heat. It's not any political *fault, this is the worst wind storm and worst fire conditions ever. It's a natural disaster.

One thing that's not the most apparent is how hard it can be to get out of neighborhoods in the foothills where the roads are really tight and switchbacky. Another thing that's blink and you'll miss it is the mention of embers getting caught on the winds. You can be ok and far from an evacuation danger zone one minute and then the sparks get blown 100mph into your neighborhood and your house goes up; or one side of your house could be on fire and you are in such an apocalyptic situation that you might as well take a video :-/ I hate it when people are saying those people are dumb or it's their fault if things get destroyed when you don't know the conditions they might be (not) able to drive in or (not) evacuate from their neighborhood or how it feels to lose absolutely everything.

Anyway the ad revenue on this video will be donated.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞-𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 4.3k

chapter summary: heavy words are exchanged, and swallowing your pride, you try to make it up to Javier. Scouting for supplies doesn't go as planned.

warnings: canon typical violence, no y/n, mentions of suicide/attempted suicide, heated arguing, mention of side character deaths, angst, mentions of blood

Whistle-Stop - A small station where a train stops only on request, typically for rural or low-traffic areas.

You wonder what this train might’ve looked like when it was up and running. 

The grunts Javier makes while securing the fence fade into the background. You stare at the rusting vehicle. How many people did it used to hold? Where did it go to? When the sun shined through the moving train just right did the people that occupied it felt mesmerized by its beauty? Did they feel like they were in a movie? Were there couples who sat and listened to music together? An old lady sitting with groceries between her legs? 

Is the train happy that it’s only you and Javier who occupies it now?

You will never know the answers to these questions. 

“What are you doing?” Javier hisses between clenched teeth. Your eyes slowly drop down to him. He’s glaring at the rusty chain links. You hear him angrily muttering something in Spanish. “If you don't start holding that properly, I’m going cut myself and get fucking tetanus in the damn apocalypse.”

You hold the chain links higher and he shakes his head, his tongue tight between his lips. “But I guess you’d like that.” 

“Not as much as you think,” you answer. “I would feel obligated to look after you. It wouldn’t be that fun.” 

“Why?” he snorts. “Because I saved you? Just end my misery if I ever get sick. I don’t think you’d make much of a nurse. No offense.” 

“Offense fully taken. I totally could.” 

“Nurses are compassionate,” he emphasizes, rolling his tongue. “They look after you and tell you everything is going to be alright.” 

“So you want me to lie to you?” 

“I want you to make my last moments bearable.” 

Javier stands up, brushing his hands off on his pants. "Just, give me that," he grumbles, taking the chain links from your grip. He walks over to where the posts have already been secured in the ground and starts to attach the links to the posts.

“You’re not actually sick, you know that right?” you ask, following him. Sweat clings to your skin. 

“Hm?” he turns to you briefly before turning his gaze back to the fence. “No, I guess not.”  

He begins by using U-shaped fence staples to secure the links to the posts. He hammers them in with a mallet until they're tight and secure. Once he's finished securing the links to the posts, he stretches the chain links across the length of the fence, making sure they're taut.

And all you do is watch. 

Before the outbreak, you might’ve been mesmerized by his face, his neck. Even now it’s hard not to be entranced, but you feel disoriented with your thoughts. You don’t feel like you’re a part of the world, but you also don’t feel like a part of yourself, your mind churning on its own without a soul in it. It’s like a constant fog in your head. Clouding your judgment. 

Javier uses pliers to twist the links together at the end of each row, connecting them to the next row of links. He repeats this process until the entire fence is complete. Finally, he adds a top rail to the fence, securing it to the posts with brackets.

“That should do it.” he says, turning to you and clapping his hands together. You can tell that he’s proud. “It should at least keep us safe from wandering animals.” 

You look around. The wind blows warm. Surprisingly enough, you don’t feel trapped. You feel free. Safe. Secure. These are emotions you aren’t used to, for years you haven’t felt safe with anyone, not even the fireflies. 

“What about infected?” you ask, meeting his gaze. 

Javier, chewing on his bottom lip, comes closer. The space between you and him is paper-thin, almost non-existent. Your skin prickles as you feel his need to touch. If you just leaned in, move a bit closer, you know that he’ll wrap his arms around you in an instant. The air is heavy with his longing need to comfort you. 

You’re still not sure if this habit of his has something to do with you specifically or if he’s just generally like that with women. 

“We’ll be safe,” he says firmly. He’s trying to convince himself more than you. “Besides, I think the one you ran into was a one-time thing. Just…” he sighs and drags his thumb down the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t go on any late night strolls and you’ll be fine.” 

“I wasn’t strolling,” you say, for some reason defensive. 

Javier’s brows crease, his frown deepening. “Then what the hell were you doing out there?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t sleep in the uncomfortable fucking seats.” you shake your head with frustration. He takes a step back, pulls out a cigarette, and stuffs it between his lips. His movements are rigid, yet he’s buzzing. 

You meet his glare and he lights his cigarette. Takes a deep inhale. You watch as his chest expands. 

“I don’t answer to you.” you remind him. “This isn’t some FEDRA mission where you have foot soldiers working under you. I can do what I want.” 

“You almost died.” 

“Yeah? So? What’s it to you?” you lift your chin, relishing in the defiance of his words.

His jaw is set tight, molars grinding together. He takes another inhale of his cigarette. He answers as smoke pours down like a waterfall from between his chapped lips. “You’re a goddamn pain. A thorn in my side ever since—” 

“You met me?” you bark a laugh. “You’re doing the same thing I said I would do if you ever got sick.”

His brows pinch with confusion. “What?” 

“You feel obligated to take care of me,” you explain. “Because I dragged your ass away before Kathleen could hang you. Before she could put a bullet through your head.  Just like she did with your friends.” 

He takes a sudden step forward and you flinch back, your stomach drops. 

Your eyes are round with shock. As if you were burned, your hands move to cover your mouth but upon noticing the instinct, you lower them. You said what you said. Your heart sinks into the dark pits, and your gaze falls to the ground. You don’t want to look at him. He’s right, you are a pain. 

You feel the heat of his anger on your skin like ashes raising with the wind and kissing your cheeks. He’s glowering at you. A bit too long for comfort. You only hear the gravel crunching as he takes a slow step back. A noise vibrates in his throat. 

“We’re going to go and find some mattresses. Rip the seats out, try to modify them.” he suddenly says. You refuse to look at him. “If that’s alright with the righteous rebel?” 

You’re far too stunned to come up with a witty response. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” he mimics you, and flicks the end of his cigarette to the ground. He steps on it. You’re positive he’s imagining it’s you when he does it. “Maybe you’ll stop being so fucking unpleasant all the time if you get some sleep.” 

You look back to the train and you wonder. 

Is it happy that it’s you and him occupying its metal walls?

He doesn’t talk to you. 

It’s kind of funny that he’s giving you the silent treatment. Like either of you is close enough for that to have an impact. He walks ahead, you a couple of steps behind. The cabins you came across so far were rummaged to death, only rubble and one can of Chef Boyardee’s ravioli left behind. He wrinkled his nose when you showed it to him. You shrugged and put it in your pack. 

The cabins were basically falling apart, one had a tree going through the roof, and the other had some parts of its wall stolen for—what you assume at least—use. 

Javier suddenly stops and points ahead. Following his finger, you notice another cabin. Nodding, you follow him. 

Is he actually not going to speak to me? 

Oh, the guilt. It comes crawling back. It rakes your skin from your feet to your head, leaving uncomfortable lingering blossoms of pain. He blames you for it. That much you can say with certainty. And to a degree, even if you didn’t know what Kathleen was capable of, it was your fault. 

The soles of your feet ache, burn, every time you take a step. It would be great if you could find some new insoles. Your pretty sure the inside of your boots is filled with blood. 

A soft hiss of pain rattles in your throat. Javier slows— he doesn’t look back, doesn’t say a word, but he does slow down. But you might’ve be imagining it, you have no idea. Maybe you sped up without knowing and it looked like he slowed down. Why would he care anyway? He hates you. You hate him. The silence shouldn’t be bothering you. 

However, you are a decent person, at least in these conditions, and you are grown-up enough to acknowledge that you’ve gone too far with your words. This man isn’t a punching bag. You had no right to vomit your anger at him. 

“Javier,” you speak up and he actually does slow down, leaving only a step or two in between. Still, he doesn’t turn around to look at you. The cabin looms closer now. “I’m…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right, I’m just being unpleasant.” 

His steps come to a full halt. Your breath hitches as he turns to you. You think he’s going to come closer, cup your cheeks and whisper that everything is going to be alright—But he doesn’t. He remains rooted just a bit ahead. Observing you, his brown eyes a shade darker. He tilts his head, and a chill settles at the bottom of your spine. 

“I don’t hate you,” you blurt out, his look feeling like an uncomfortable second skin stretching over your body. “But I still can’t fully trust you either. I—” you swallow and close your eyes. “I don’t know what to think of all of this, Javier. One moment I was trying to save the world, and now I’m…playing house with a FEDRA officer. I’m…it’s hard. But it’s not fair of me to put that on you. Especially since—” 

You shake your head, the rest of the words dying on your tongue. You don’t want to think about what happened in Kansas City. You don’t want to even verbalize it. You bury it down. Force yourself to forget what you had unknowingly contributed to. Javier seems to understand that because instead of acknowledging your sudden loss of words, he says something else. 

“We’re not playing house, we’re surviving.” he says bluntly. “The fireflies lied to you. FEDRA lied to me. We were both promised something impossible from the start but believed it anyway. I…I don’t…” he lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know how to talk to you. There’s this—this fucking ball of fire sitting on my chest, and whenever I think too hard about…everything, I get so fucking angry with you. I shouldn’t.” 

He takes a step forward, you fight the urge to back away like you did earlier today. You raise your brows when he opens his palm, and without much thought, you place your hand on top. Javier gently curls his fingers, sliding them up so he’s holding your wrist. The pad of his thumb lies directly on top of your pulse. He can feel your rapid heartbeat. 

“I don’t want to be mad at you,” he states calmly. “But you need to stop treating me like the enemy. Like every dialogue between us is an ongoing war. It’s not. We’re not on the battlefield anymore. It’s over.” he turns and starts walking again. You’re left behind, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I trust you, you know.” he calls out. “I might be angry, but I do trust you.” 

Javier has always been good at noticing details. 

Before FEDRA, before the outbreak, he didn’t have much of a life other than his job. He would’ve thought dealing with cartels and working at the DEA would prepare him for all of this. For the violence, for the inhumanity. 

But it didn’t. 

He takes the first step inside the weathered cabin. Details. It’s all in the details. He doesn’t need to look to see. You walk in without a thought, you don’t see it. You don’t see the small armless doll on the floor, the broken shards of glass on the coffee table, the splatters of blood on the window. 

But you do notice the stench. You see the bodies. There are two of them, a woman and a man decaying, their hands still locked together. Javier sees the gun and his skin prickles. 

It smells god awful. His gaze moves towards you. You don’t seem bothered— No— That’s not the right observation. You look like you’re used to it. There’s a difference. However, you’re definitely bothered. He can tell by the way your nostrils flare, by the way your eyes move a beat faster around the room. 

You move closer to him unconsciously. He wants you to feel safe so he gets close enough so that his shoulder is touching yours. You visibly relax. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs. “Maybe there’s something there.”  

When they stand at the bottom of the set of stairs, a loud banging echoes. By pure habit Javier slides in front of you, his arms slightly outstretched with the intent to keep you away from whatever lurked in the house. He pulls out his gun, and he notices you doing the same. 

It’s a slow climb. The sound gets louder and louder, screeching and clicking bouncing off the rotting walls. Your breathing is fast and uneven, his probably isn’t that much better. In hindsight maybe leaving the cabin as soon as they noticed there was an infected inside would’ve been a better choice, but where they resided isn’t that far off. It wouldn’t be a stretch for more infected to come this way if they don’t get rid of it. 

They reach the door and Javier’s stomach churns. On top of the molding door is written “ALICE’S ROOM” with stickers covering the rest of the wood. His eyes snap to you, your gaze glued to the writing. 

Bile coats his tongue, his stomach lurching uncomfortably. By looking at you, he’s reminded of the younger FEDRA soldiers. The ones that had nothing to do with anything. They were fresh out of school, orphans, mostly. 

As soon as Javier opens his mouth, the door shakes with a bang, and both of you jerk away. His heart beats in his throat. He meets your gaze, he lifts three fingers. 

“On three,” he mouths without making a sound. You nod. 

For the first time, he’s pleased that you used to be a firefly. He doesn’t want to imagine being in this situation with someone without any experience. This whole thing would be much harder then. 

It all happens in a flash. Javier kicks the door open, you aim and shoot it right between its eyes. The small body drops, the sound of it making his skin crawl. 

“Shit,” you murmur, exhaling a shaky breath. “It’s just a fucking kid.” 

It is. A girl, probably seven or eight. She’s wearing a polka-dot dress and a pink neon slap bracelet around her tiny wrist. Her face is indescribable, the fungus had corrupted her from the inside out, bursting from her skull. 

“I guess they couldn’t…” Javier swallows, his fingers twitch and he goes to feel the outline of his cigarette pack. “They couldn’t. And locked her in here, then took their own lives.” 

“That’s a shitty thing to do.” 

He scowls as he turns to face you, you’re quick to shake your head and raise your hands. 

“That came out wrong. I meant leaving your kid to suffer like this and escape. We…” you close your eyes, hold them like that for a while before opening them again. “We all thought about it, one way or another, to take a way out. That’s not something I judge. But why make her suffer alone?” 

“I imagine it was more complicated than that.” he licks his lips, and follows his jawline with the pad of his thumb. “But…I do agree with what you’re saying. 

We all thought about it, one way or another, to take a way out.

He doesn’t like the images his brain flashes at him. You, with a gun in your hand, aimed at your head with tears flowing down your face. He’s felt the same, tried the same, so it’s hypocritical of him to get angry at you for going through something similar. But he can’t help it. His blood boils, the skin underneath his nails itching. 

“I want to bury them.” he says suddenly. “They were a family. They deserve to be together.” 

He’s not sure if you’re giving him a look of pity or compassion. Your brows are turned upward, lips stretched into an affectionate smile. He expects you to say no. That’s all you’ve done after all. Get angry with him, chew him out. He deserved it. But still, it hurt. He didn’t expect all that to happen, he wasn’t aware he was just a clog in a fucked up machine. Javier grinds his teeth, goosebumps flare over his skin. Unknowingly he had closed his eyes. He was weak. He was—

“Sure.” 

His eyes shoot open but he doesn’t look at you. His gaze glued to the child infected that lays in a puddle of blood, threads curling out of the poor girl’s bloody lips. 

Javier closes his eyes, lets out a deep breath, and answers. 

“Thank you.”

The sun was hell. Javier never actually liked the heat. He was used to it, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being under it for hours non-end. The fabric of his shirt felt like second skin. 

Images of him peeling it off flashed in his mind. It was a bit gross to think, but he imagined himself feeling relieved after it. Like a snake shedding skin. The cool air would caress his overworked muscles, his body would feel a thousand times lighter. 

Then he would hop into the shower, wash away the residue of the sweat and grime.

Javier's gaze drifted towards his father, Chucho Peña, who was regarded as a pillar of the community. Always willing to lend a helping hand, he was a trusted confidant to many in town. Javier, too, had received his fair share of unsolicited wisdom from his father, who never shied away from imparting his knowledge to his son. It didn’t matter if Javier asked for it or not. His dad was always eager to push his son in the right direction. 

His father came out of the ranchhouse holding two sandwiches and two beers. Javier watched as his father took a seat on the stairs, creaking under the old man’s weight. 

At first glance, the younger Peña could see the similarities between him and his pop. The eyes, the lips, the stubbornness on world views. They never seemed to see eye to eye. A fact of life he grew up knowing, something that made him acutely aware of other sons and their relationships with their dads. 

Their noses were different though, a stark reminder of Chucho’s once other half, his better half, as he liked to put it. 

The thought tugged at his heartstrings. He wondered what his mother would think of him now. Would she be proud? Or would she share a similar disdain for Javier’s choices in life like his father did? Would she be worried? Would she clutch the phone whenever something came up on the news about the cartel? 

Javier's dad grunted, clicked his tongue, then tapped the pre-packaged sandwich against Javier's calf without looking.

“You sure you don’t want one?” 

“I’m good dad, thanks,” he answered. “Those taste like shit by the way. I’m pretty sure they put plastic instead of actual cheese.” 

“Well sorry we can’t accommodate to your taste buds son,” he pushed his sunglasses up and gestured next to him. “Sit.” 

Javier did what he was told and picked up a bottle. The cold condescension chilled his fingertips, made him almost drop the bottle. He cracked it open with his lighter, then opened his father’s beer as well, placing it next to him. 

He took large gulps as Chucho peeled off the plastic of his sandwich. 

“Seriously pop, don’t eat that.” 

Side-eyeing his son, Chucho sunk his teeth into the bread. He winked at Javier when he swallowed. 

Javier let out a low chuckle and shook his head. 

“It’s your funeral.” 

Javier brushes his hand over the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. His sunglasses, perched on the bridge of his nose, start to pinch uncomfortably and the skin on his nose begins to itch. He takes them off and hangs them over the collar of his shirt.

“What was your family like?” you ask.

Javier stills mid-shovel and looks down to the ground. They had buried the parents first, now it was Alice’s turn. The sight…isn’t pretty, to say the least—not like burying bodies is ever is pretty. He looks over to you, his stomach flipping as you look at him with expectant eyes. He’s not sure what it is that you’re expecting, but he resumes his shoveling, covering the girl’s face first. 

“I lost my mother when I was young,” he answers, matter-of-factly. “I lost my dad on outbreak day. We were just done fixing up the fences. He asked me to come over so I could relax a little,” with a smile, he shakes his head. He hadn’t realized his voice started to tremble. “But of course his understanding of rest was work. Bless him. He ate one of those crappy gas station sandwiches.” 

“Then…you were there when he turned?” 

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t need to say more. What else can he say? It was obvious what he did. Javier had blacked out and when he came to, the gun was already in his hand, smoke twisting out from the nuzzle, his body acting by instinct. 

Now that he thinks about it, if it wasn’t for his trigger-happy finger, he might’ve rather gotten bitten instead. 

But his dad had probably preferred to go out the way that he did. Still disagreeing with him, even after death. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Javi.” 

Javi. It’s the first time you called him that. His stomach twists and his muscles tense. You always went the more official route in referring to him, which makes him believe he looks like absolute shit right now. So much so that he was garnering your pity. 

The way you sound reminds him of clouds, a softness that would disappear as soon as he decided to jump into it. He sighs and instinctively touches his sunglasses without the intent to put them back on. 

“Your father’s?”

He jerks at the question, his skin prickling at how intently you’re observing him. 

“How about we keep our histories to ourselves,” he mutters without any real emotion behind his words, his chest heaving as he piles dirt over the tiny body under him. 

He feels you coming closer. The dirt moves under your boots as you take the shovel from him. His fingers twitch at the sudden emptiness, his lips parting with surprise when you look to him. It’s been a while since a woman gazed at him like that. Like he’s more than what he is. You’re seeing him for the first time. The hurt, the helplessness. Or you’re only now choosing to see it, your anger and hatred towards him finally fading. 

Javier’s not sure if he likes that. Some masochistic part of him wants you to treat him the same way that you had for the last couple of days. It’s what he deserves. You’re supposed to be his divine punishment, not a blessing. 

“Sit down,” you say. “I’ll do the rest.” 

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t snap and say that he can do it himself, or that this was his idea and he should be the one to bury them. He drops down from where he’s standing, crossing his legs and pulling a cigarette to his lips. You’re slower than him. And he notices you struggling with the shovel, your knuckles white as you put more pressure on your fingers so your soft palms don’t chafe against the worn-out wood. 

The sun beats down on them both and he wonders when the autumn chill will start. He desperately craves the caress of cooler weather. 

As he watches you, he takes mental notes of what the two of you would need for the coming winter. Before carrying out the bodies, Javier couldn’t help but check the master bedroom, the bed there was somewhat intact. It should do you good for now. The seats of the train didn’t bother him that much. 

Javier shakes his head, taking a deep inhale, he fills his lungs with nicotine. He’d gotten quite good at lying to himself. His back cracked with protest, but his mind conjured up other reasons why his bones might be aching. 

You’re almost done. He remembers the guilt he had in not being able to bury anyone as he ran away with you. Not that Kathleen left him much time to think it over. Some part of him still wishes he had some fight in him back then. Maybe he could’ve at least found Steve, bury him someplace nearby the city, but it would be impossible to carry someone his size, maybe even heavier. 

You throw the last patch of earth and turn to him, you’re out of breath, your chest moving up and down as you lean against the shovel. 

He glances at the graves, his lids feeling heavy over his eyes. He wonders if they were at peace now. 

Javier muses to himself, he thinks about the daughter running up to her parents in the afterlife, hugging them, crying. 

It’s stupid, but he likes to believe it to be true.

[hamsterclaw]

The world is burning, and Jimin's struggling to find meaning in anything, until he meets Namjoon.

Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon

Genre: mem x mem, post nuclear war apocalyptic AU

Rating: 18+

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of blood, injury, mentions of military, PTSD

Jimin tucks and rolls, the moulded alloy of his droid armour scraping against the tarmac.

The flash of heat and light blinds and deafens him, for a few long moments he’s completely vulnerable to attack. 

He blinks, and the world comes back in a rush. 

With it, the face of his partner, creased with concern as he leans over him. He taps his visor, and as Jimin says his name, his voice filters through to Jimin’s earpiece.

‘You’re not going to die on me, are you?’ Namjoon asks, his light tone at odds with the way his eyes are fixed on Jimin’s face.

‘Not today, Joon,’ Jimin replies. He accepts Namjoon’s hand, lets Namjoon put his muscles to work hauling him up to his feet.  

‘Where’s the kraken?’ Jimin asks.

‘Took care of it,’ Namjoon says, nonchalant.

Jimin rolls his eyes. ‘I set you up for the kill.’

‘You’re good like that,’ Namjoon agrees. He’s quiet a moment, setting his co-ordinates, getting his bearings. Finally, he turns to Jimin.

‘Let’s get back.’

***

Whenever Jimin ventures out of skylock, he finds that more of the world is burning. The nuclear war was two scant years ago but it feels like a lifetime. 

The first nuclear explosion took out half of Asia, the second, North America. After that, the world was dying too fast for anyone to keep track. 

He’d been on secondment in Algeria, thirty miles west of the first skylock base. He’d been lucky.

He’d made it into skylock hours before the final explosion set the whole world on fire. 

The first person he met in skylock was Kim Namjoon, brisk, efficient and decent, even in the face of total devastation. He’d been so overwhelmed by the engineer’s kindness it had taken him a while to notice how attractive he was.

He’s facing away from Jimin now, stripping off his droid suit in the annexe. He’s lean, his shoulders and back corded with muscle.

He turns unexpectedly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He catches Jimin staring at him.

Jimin does a terrible job of hiding his reaction, startling and dropping his visor on the concrete. 

He ducks his head.

He’d been fine facing off against the kraken, one of numerous predators that had mutated out of the nuclear war. 

It’s beyond him why he can’t handle himself with one man.

He’s just a man, even if he’s got the body of a Greek god and dimples that make Jimin’s stomach flip.

Jimin realises Namjoon’s talking.

‘Your lip’s bleeding,’ he says.

Jimin presses a finger to his lip. ‘I must have bit it,’ he mutters.

He steps out the rest of his droid suit and lines it up with the others. His hair, usually a shade long and now longer than he’s ever kept it, is matted to his forehead, covering his eyes.

Namjoon says, casual, as they both step into skylock, ‘want to eat together after we report in?’

‘Sure,’ Jimin says. 

He keeps forgetting how popular Namjoon is. They’re both by the food arena, about to enter, when they get stopped. 

‘Hey Joon, we wanted to catch up about the greenhouse,’ says Miyoung, one of the botanists. 

‘Sure,’ Namjoon says, glancing at Jimin. ‘What about ——‘

‘Why don’t you eat with us?’ asks Jae, gesturing.

Jimin smiles at Namjoon. ‘I’ll catch you later, ok?’

He ends up eating alone, taking his tray outside the foodhall to the benches that overlook the large lake in the centre of skylock. 

When he’s putting his tray back Namjoon catches up to him.

‘Hey, you should have stayed,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin looks up at Namjoon. ‘Sounds like they wanted your help.’

Namjoon had been an engineer before the world disintegrated, and whilst this skylock was stabilising  after the first nuclear bomb, he’d been pivotal in resource planning and a maintenance regime for their skylock’s many moving parts, none of which could be allowed to fail.

The atmosphere outside skylock is pure radiation, rearranging cell lines for fast spreading cancers and worse things Jimin’s never had the stomach to consider. 

To top it all off, Namjoon had also been an avid gardener as one of his many hobbies. His encyclopaedic knowledge of botany has come in useful more than once.

In a world that’s been destroyed, Namjoon is valuable in many ways.

Jimin? Not so much.

He’d joined the military out of high school, had kept going whilst he was trying to figure out his life until one day ten years later he’d realised that it was his life. 

For Jimin, there’s not much that’s familiar in skylock, the world going to shit has a way of flattening the hierarchy.

Jimin makes himself useful by volunteering for missions venturing out of skylock to gather information, collect items that haven’t been obliterated to allow them to be reverse engineered. 

There’s a limit to how many he’s allowed to do though, the medics are strict about it. It’s mainly Min Yoongi, and although Jimin will go toe to toe with anything with a pulse or a current, there’s something that makes him hesitate about challenging Min Yoongi.

The man isn’t physically intimidating but he looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty. 

Jimin realises Namjoon’s still looking at him.

‘Sorry,’ he says, sheepish, ‘I got distracted.’

Namjoon’s dimple flashes as he smiles, the warmth in his eyes making Jimin’s own skin prickle with heat. 

‘I asked if you wanted to visit the underwater channel with me. I need to run some tests on the stucture, and I could use the company.’

‘Yeah,’ Jimin says.

‘Great. Are you free now?’

***

Jimin’s only visited the underwater channel once, he gets claustrophobic after one of the tasks he had to do in the military was crawl along a few hundred feet of underground tunnel and the sides caved in when he was mere yards from sunlight.

He’d survived, physically, but he has recurring nightmares of being trapped, choking on loose rocks and dirt, unable to call for help.

Jimin’s never had the interest to unpick his past traumas, he’s alive and the dreams are few and far between and there’s always been inanimate objects for him to take his grievances out on when he’s needed to.

He’s following Namjoon further into the channel, which thankfully is high enough that even the taller man doesn’t have to stoop. He’s staring at the breadth of Namjoon’s shoulders when Namjoon turns.

Jimin looks away too quickly, too obviously, and facepalms internally. 

‘Do you see?’ Namjoon asks, voice low, leaning closer.

Jimin swallows, hopes it’s not obvious that his mouth has gone dry at the handsome engineer’s proximity.

He’s been told a few times how good-looking he is, himself, but he’s never just relied on his looks. 

There’s something about Namjoon’s serious demeanour that stops Jimin from sharing the flirty remarks he usually gets by on.

‘Wh-what?’ asks Jimin.

Namjoon points, so close his chest brushes Jimin’s shoulder, and Jimin pleads to whatever god is in charge of this mess for composure because popping a boner right now, in the dark, with Kim Namjoon’s solid chest against him, would just be too much for him to handle.

Jimin would rather toss himself out of skylock and take his chances with the krakens.

‘That,’ Namjoon says.

This time, Jimin looks.

A gold luminous fish slips between the mud and aquatic plants. It gleams even in the low light, and it’s been so long since Jimin saw anything beautiful there’s an odd tightness in his chest.

‘It’s pretty,’ he says, hushed in his awe.

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something but he just smiles.

‘I’m going to set up my equipment, it’ll probably take twenty minutes. If you get claustrophobic—‘

‘I’ll watch the fish,’ Jimin says. He crouches down next to the closest porthole, face next to the glass.

The bottom of the lake is dark for the most part, but there are lights under the tunnel that illuminate it just enough to see.

Namjoon watches Jimin press his face to the porthole for a moment, then he starts unpacking his things.

Jimin awakens without the sense of rising panic that he usually feels, the uptick of his heart rate that’s so unbearable he usually leaps out of bed. 

Instead he’s gradually aware of the low drone of machinery, the unyielding solidity of the ground beneath him, the gooseflesh on his skin from the coolness in the air.

Jimin opens his eyes.

Almost immediately Namjoon’s voice sounds in the dark, the warmth and timbre of it reassuring Jimin further.

‘We’re still in the tunnel. I’m almost done.’

Jimin rubs sleep from his eyes. His voice comes out husky like it does when he’s slept a while.

‘Was I out long?’ he asks.

‘Not long, half an hour,’ Namjoon says.

As Jimin’s eyes adjust to the gloom he sees the outline of Namjoon moving, packing his equipment.

‘Do you —‘ Jimin’s voice cracks. ‘Do you want help?’

‘I’m done,’ Namjoon says. ‘Don’t worry.’

It’s only when they’re back above ground that Namjoon asks, ‘Do you have nightmares?’

Jimin’s instantly self-conscious. ‘Why?’

‘You talk in your sleep,’ Namjoon replies.

‘What did I say?’

‘It sounded like military shorthand,’ Namjoon says, shrugging. He looks at Jimin. ‘I’d have woken you but you settled down.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jimin says. He hesitates. ‘I was only in active combat once, I’m really not that —-‘

‘Once is enough,’ Namjoon says. He puts his hand on Jimin’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t mean it critically, I was curious.’

For some reason, Jimin can’t stand the thought that Namjoon might think he’s traumatised or damaged in any way. He’s thinking of something to say that doesn’t sound defensive when Namjoon takes his hand away.

‘Side note, you look cute when you’re sleeping,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin’s instantly ascatter. He stares at Namjoon, but Namjoon’s already walking away.

***

‘Yes, yes, Jungkook!’

Jimin waits outside Jungkook’s pod, trying not to look like he’s some sort of voyeur as Jungkook apparently fucks the living daylights out of some chick.

Ah shit, it’s Miyoung the botanist.

She emerges disheveled from Jungkook’s pod, bows demurely in Jimin’s general direction and hurries away.

Her shift is still tucked into her panties but Jimin doesn’t want to be the one to mention it and judging by the glow on her face, she probably wouldn’t care anyway.

A moment later Jungkook emerges, shirtless, his hair a mess.

‘You couldn’t save the fucking until after?’ Jimin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook snorts. ‘What after? You mean when we all die on our radiation ravaged remnant of a planet?’

The kid’s got a point.

Jungkook’s not done. 

‘Maybe if you got laid once in a while you’d be less tightly wound,’ Jungkook advises.

He takes the walkie-talkie Jimin’s holding out to him, tattooed arm a stark contrast to the plain beige of his jumpsuit.

Jimin rolls his eyes. Jungkook’s a cocky little shit, and why wouldn’t he be?

There weren’t many people who looked like him in the world before it all went to shit, much less in a skylock with barely six thousand people.

Add to that a devil may care attitude and an uncanny ability to look hot in skylock-issued beige, and Jungkook’s got it made.

Jimin would be tempted himself, if the kid wasn’t so aggressively hetero.

Once a week he and Jungkook patrol the perimeter of their section of skylock, looking for breaches, gathering information about new creatures and wildlife outside the dome to share with the scientists.

It’s a two day job usually, although lately they’ve been having to cover more and more ground as patrol teams are gradually dwindling.

People are dying in their skylock, sometimes at their own hands. 

Hope springs eternal but not in the presence of total destruction. People have given up on looking for a savior.

Which is why Jimin’s tone softens as he asks, ‘Want an energy bar?’

For all his faults, Jungkook’s so fiercely, vitally alive that Jimin finds it hard to be apathetic around him.

Jungkook accepts. 

After a moment he says, ‘I’ve had a couple people ask me about you, you know.’

Jimin concentrates on a mound of rubble just outside of the perimeter of the dome. Is it bigger than it was?

He says, unencouraging, ‘Yeah?’

Jungkook’s got the log out, starting to fill it in. ‘Yeah. I said you have a type.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Dimples,’ Jungkook says, so innocently Jimin has to laugh. 

‘Shut up, you asshole.’

Jungkook laughs. 

‘If we weren’t stuck in this skylock there’s no way I’d ever hang out with a little shit like you,’ Jimin says, but there’s affection in his tone.

‘Please,’ scoffs Jungkook. ‘You’re littler than me.’

Jimin laughs and takes the log out of Jungkook’s hands. 

‘Give that to me, Kailash said he could barely read your writing last time.’

Jungkook shrugs. ‘Who gives a shit what I write? We’re all dying, just slow.’

Jimin pointedly crosses off the panda that Jungkook’s drawn in lieu of an observation.

‘There are other skylocks. We just need to get to them,’ Jimin says, quietly. 

‘More people, just what this dying planet needs,’ Jungkook retorts.

Jimin says, ‘The nuclear explosions didn’t touch the poles.’

Jungkook tilts his head back, towards the radioactive orange glow from the atmosphere. 

For a second Jimin has a glimpse of Jungkook how he would have looked before the world fell apart, sun on his face, grass around him, and it’s so unbearably tragic he has to look away.

For all that there are barely two years between them, Jungkook’s so young sometimes Jimin feels like there are lifetimes between them.

Jungkook blinks, and the cynicism etched in his young skin falls away. 

‘I like penguins,’ Jungkook declares, eyes bright. 

The absurdity of it makes Jimin laugh again, what else is there?

***

Jimin’s running along the lake, trying to burn off the fatigue he feels from another sleepless night.

There’s a noise behind him, and he whirls because he’s always hated being followed.

It reminds him of being hunted.

‘Sorry,’ says Namjoon.

He’s stayed a reasonable distance away, as though he’d known Jimin’s a hair trigger away from—

From what?

Jimin doesn’t know. It’s been a while since his last mission, and he can feel tension building inside him again. 

Fuck Min Yoongi, Jimin has to get on another mission outside skylock, and soon. 

The turmoil inside him needs an out, and what better way than to take it out on a creature that would otherwise kill him?

Kill or be killed are better options than dying inside, although Jimin’s tempted by Jungkook’s approach of fucking everything that moves.

Jimin realises Namjoon’s still looking to him for a response.

‘It’s ok,’ Jimin says. He swipes a hand over his face. ‘How are you?’

‘Been better,’ Namjoon says, quietly.

He gestures, and they start running together. 

Jimin finds he has to put effort in to match Namjoon’s longer strides, and although the taller man looks elegant when he’s standing still, when he’s loping along at pace he has a discoordination to his movements that’s sort of….

Goofy.

Jimin smothers his smile as Namjoon nearly trips over a tree root. 

‘You ok?’ he asks, touching Namjoon’s arm.

Namjoon gives him an embarrassed smile. ‘I can be a little clumsy.’

Jimin smiles back. ‘Thank god, I was worried you were perfect.’

Namjoon gives an incredulous snort. ‘Perfect?’

Jimin thinks of Jungkook and is emboldened to double down.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘You’re pretty impressive.’

Namjoon’s smile is shy, dimples stamped into his cheeks. ‘I think you’re kind of cool too, you know.’

Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be embarrassed, but Namjoon’s brown eyes are warm and he seems perfectly sincere, so he responds in kind.

‘Thank you.’

They’ve gone almost full circle now. 

Namjoon looks like he’s about to speak when the siren blares.

It’s an assembly.

***

Jimin shifts restlessly from his vantage point near the raised dais. Namjoon, next to him, says uneasily, ‘I think I know what this is about.’

Jimin thinks back to the underwater channel.

Their skylock is run like a civilisation of sorts, there’s a collective of committees who are responsible for running various essential areas, the leaders of which form the Council.

Water and food supplies.

Air purification.

Defense.

Health.

Joseph Poon, leader of the Council, a Chinese military strategist who proved his brilliance time and again in the early days of skylock, starts the assembly.

He lays out the problem with his usual crisp brevity.

‘Our skylock was never meant to sustain this large a population for this long. Although the intelligence and tech gained from missions has helped, we of the Council are of the belief that the time has come for difficult decisions to be made.’

Beside Jimin, Namjoon murmurs, ‘The tunnels.’

Jimin has an uneasy vision of the tunnel that collapsed on him. He wills the unwanted image out of his head.

‘We’re going to need to seek alternative means of shelter and survival. The world atmosphere remains hostile to human life, but—-‘ 

Joseph looks grave. 

‘But, from what we know, the nuclear bombs weren’t detonated at the Poles. We of the Council feel that the only chance of survival of the many is to create a path to the Arctic circle.’

There’s murmurings, raised voices. Jimin looks to Namjoon for verification, and immediately knows that this information isn’t new to him.

Namjoon puts his hand on Jimin’s arm. Jimin hadn’t realised it, but he’s been clenching his fists so tightly he’s drawn blood. Crescents of crimson bloom on his palms when he releases.

‘We can die hiding or we can die trying to forge a future for humankind.’

Jimin knows which option he’d pick.

‘We’re going to select a team to venture out to get the tech we need to join our underwater channel to the tunnels of the Nordic skylock.’

Joseph looks grim. ‘Hopefully the Nordic skylock has realised the same as us and have already started extending their underground bases Northward.’

There’s a flurry of discussion, shouted questions, but Jimin’s stopped listening.

All he sees is a course of action and orders he can get behind. There’s a reason he thrived in the military, after all. 

***

Jimin’s suited up in droid armour, checking for breaches in the protective cladding of his suit. 

Beside him, Namjoon’s doing the same.

It’s two days since the assembly. Jimin had walked straight up to the Council after and volunteered himself for the first mission.

And all missions thereafter but he hadn’t declared that openly because Min Yoongi had also been present. 

Min Yoongi had pointedly switched out Jimin’s radiation counter for a second one, trading a full line of bars for a clean slate. Two counters were all one was allowed before enforced sabbatical.

Jimin doesn’t intend to go on sabbatical. He’d rather….

Rather what?

Jimin’s worried that death won’t provide the relief he seeks. Worse, he’s worried that for all his bravado  he doesn’t really want to die.

Namjoon motions for Jimin to turn so he can check his armour. He hands Jimin his helmet with its visor, his respirator. 

Jimin snaps his helmet into place, depresses the tiny button beside his jaw.

Namjoon’s voice fills his in-ears. 

‘Remember, we get into the digger and we head straight back. No fighting, even if we run into kraken.’

They’re heading to a farm three miles west of skylock, to see if they can acquire equipment that might aid in constructing the tunnels.

Jimin watches as Namjoon checks his video camera and deioniser, and when the engineer gives him a thumbs up, he hoists the backpack of their supplies onto his shoulders and checks the clip on his yag laser.

Namjoon punches in the eight-figure code to exit skylock and they’re off.

As always, it’s eerie venturing out beyond the confines of skylock. 

The air is still, stagnant, and there’s a thin heat in the atmosphere that feels like standing outside an oven set to high.

There’s distant screeching, occasional growling, none of the birdsong Jimin’s used to.

The worst was when he and Namjoon ventured towards the sea on a previous mission. The scores of dead fish and the odd dolphin washed up on the red shores, silent, unblinking, haunt him to this day.

Jimin’s always loved the beach and now he can’t imagine the ocean how it was before without feeling uneasy.

He and Namjoon keep close together, each on high alert. 

Namjoon’s voice crackles through. ‘I never get used to it.’

‘It’s worse every time,’ Jimin agrees.

‘I used to like hiking,’ Namjoon says. There’s sadness in his voice that Jimin’s not used to hearing. 

‘What do you think of the Council’s plan?’ Jimin asks.

They’ve settled into a steady rhythm now, easing past the tension that sees them off whenever they start a mission.

Namjoon says, ‘It’s a long shot.’

Jimin agrees. ‘I guess it’s better than staying put and waiting to die.’

Namjoon turns to him. ‘You’re a realist.’

Jimim shrugs. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘I have hope,’ Namjoon says, so simply Jimin can hear the honesty in his words.

Jimin can’t see Namjoon’s face at all through the visor and respirator but he gets the sense that he’s smiling. 

‘It’s easier to talk to you like this,’ Namjoon says. ‘When I’m not distracted by your pretty face.’

Jimin’s trying to think of a good comeback when Namjoon says, ‘Sorry, that was inappropriate.’

‘Are you flirting with me?’ Jimin asks, finding his voice.

‘Trying to,’ Namjoon replies. 

‘You couldn’t have done it in skylock? When we’re not masked up and in danger of being attacked by mutant creatures?’

Namjoon laughs. ‘Are you complaining?’

‘Yes,’ Jimin says, but he’s smiling under his visor. 

Namjoon says, ‘I did ask you to go to the underwater channel with me.’

‘Was that….. your idea of a date,’ Jimin wonders.

Namjoon laughs. ‘There are limited options,’ he points out.

‘At least you tried a date and didn’t just skip to the fucking like Jungkook,’ Jimin says.

Namjoon says, droll, ‘I’m a gentleman.’ 

Jimin laughs. ‘We can try again when we get back,’ he suggests.

‘I’d like that,’ Namjoon replies. 

‘Me too.’

Jimin realises he means it.

***

Jimin’s got a prickly feeling in the back of his neck but he can’t work out why.

He and Namjoon arrived at the farm uneventfully and were able to get the information they needed from an excavator that had been stored in a barn, untouched by the extreme atmospheric changes.

There had been a kraken lurking around the peripheries which hadn’t detected them, and they’d been able to leave without being attacked.

Now they’re less than half a mile away from skylock, making good time, and he’s got the oddest sensation that they’re being watched.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Jimin’s yag laser is drawn, finger on the trigger guard, and beside him, Namjoon’s been uncharacteristically subdued.

Then Namjoon says, ‘You feel it too, don’t you. Something’s watching us.’

‘It’s close,’ Jimin says, clipped.

The hair’s rising on the back of his neck now, the tension ratcheted up so high he could scream.

He whirls, and Namjoon moves to protect his back.

There’s nothing, but his sense of unease deepens.

‘Can you run the rest of the way,’ Jimin asks, quietly. 

‘Yeah. Say when,’ Namjoon says, tersely.

‘Now.’

Jimin starts running. 

They’re within sight of the annexe when Namjoon says, wonderingly, ‘Holy fuck.’

There’s someone else in droid armour between them and the annexe, but it’s wrong.

It’s all wrong, because only two people venture out of skylock at any one time.

It’s all wrong, because the droid armour doesn’t belong to their skylock.

Jimin’s already raising his yag laser when the other person raises their own weapon.

Jimin recognises it immediately. There hadn’t been many people on Earth before the nuclear war who’d faced down an AK-57g and survived to tell the tale.

Jimin could list out the specs but the crux of the matter is that no one faced down an AK-57g and survived because it didn’t just annihilate —- it vapourised. 

Jimin had been one of the lucky ones, and he doubts he’d be so lucky as to survive it twice.

He fires off a shot, aiming at the centre of the breastplate, and immediately puts himself between Namjoon and the enemy.

‘Get into the annexe,’ he shouts.

Namjoon’s shouting something back, but Jimin’s focus is narrowed down to the man who’s trying to kill them both.

He fires off another shot, this time aiming for another kill shot. 

There’s the hiss and screech of rubber and metal. 

In his periphery he can see Namjoon at the entrance to the annexe, and just beyond it, Jungkook, armed to the teeth and hastily donning his droid armour, ready to step in.

The kid’s brave as fuck but he’s too late.

Jimin’s got no cover, just a burning desire to get his ass out of the trajectory of the AK-57g before it gets handed to him.

He’s three feet from the entrance to the annexe when he hears the low drumming of the AK-57g.

Jimin wonders, idly, how much force droid armour can withstand.

He wonders if he’ll ever find out.

At least Namjoon got back into skylock.

Is this the end? 

Jimin waits for his life to flash in front of his eyes.

There’s a wave of heat, then a force so great that mercifully, it knocks him out.

***

The roof of the infirmary is open to the sky through two sheets of titanium enforced clear plexi-shield.

Thank god for small favours. If Jimin had to look at an actual ceiling he’d have wriggled out of the steel cage restraining him long ago.

Jimin’s quite sure he can move all of his body, he’s been trying out different muscle groups over the last two weeks whilst he’s been healing.

The blast from the AK-57g would have liquefied him to a pulp if Jungkook hadn’t dropped the rest of his droid armour and yanked Jimin out of the worst of it.

As a result the kid’s in the next bay with minor burns and a sprained wrist, and Jimin?

Jimin’s alive to tell the tale.

His shoulder will probably never be the same and Min Yoongi’s worried about a spinal injury so Jimin’s immobilised for the time being, but he’s alive.

Jimin closes his eyes as the door to the bay slides open.

He hears a distinctive shuffle, then Min Yoongi’s dry voice.

‘I know you’re awake.’

Jimin opens his eyes.

‘How long till I can move, Dr Min?’

‘Trust me, as soon as it’s safe I’m kicking you out of my infirmary,’ comes the reply. 

Min Yoongi sounds like he’s shaking his head. ‘Between you not listening to anything I say and the menace in the bay next to you, all my nurses have whiplash.’

Jimin stifles a grin. 

He’s heard most of Jungkook’s pickup lines in the two weeks he’s been next to him.

The kid’s even sleazier than Jimin had thought, with a side of being so fucking sweet and endearing he’s surprised anyone can resist. 

He also snores like a bear, it’s just as well Jimin doesn’t sleep much.

Yoongi’s face comes into view above him.

‘Soft tissue and ligament injuries take weeks to heal but I think if you carry on the way you have been, you should be good to start moving properly in the next week or so.’

Yoongi says, ‘No missions until you’re fully recovered.’

Jimin says, ‘With me and JK out, they’re going to need new patrol.’

Yoongi says, straightfaced, ‘Funnily enough, there are more than enough volunteers in this skylock to keep this place safe. Everyone kind of has a vested interest.’

Jimin can’t argue with him.

Yoongi dips out of view. ‘While you’re here, there’s someone I’d like you to speak to. He’s an ex-army doc who got extra qualifications in psychology and behavioural therapy.’

Jimin scowls. ‘I don’t —-‘

‘Don’t you?’ Yoongi interrupts. Jimin still can’t see him, but there’s kindness in his voice that makes Jimin shut his mouth.

Yoongi comes back into view. ‘I can see your PTSD a mile away, Jimin-ah.’

‘While you’re waiting to die have you ever thought that maybe life could be a bit more bearable?’

Jimin stares at him, mouth shut, afraid of what might come out if he opens it.

‘Or you could be like our friend there and fuck everything that moves,’ Yoongi says, loud enough for Jungkook to hear.

Jimin can hear the pout in Jungkook’s voice.

‘I can’t help that everyone wants me, hyung.’

‘It’s Dr Min to you,’ Yoongi retorts. ‘And you won’t be this handsome forever, Jungkook, better think of a backup plan.’

‘How about dying from our imploding planet,’ Jungkook mutters sulkily.

Yoongi’s silent a moment. Then he sighs. ‘What am I going to do with you both?’

‘I did well,’ Jungkook declares. ‘I saved Jimin.’

‘Thanks Jungkook,’ Jimin says.

Yoongi’s exasperated. ‘Who’s going to save me from the both of you?’

***

It’s sometime in the early morning, Jimin thinks, he can tell from the way Jungkook’s snoring has changed to quiet breathing that he’s in deep sleep.

Jimin hears the swish of the infirmary door, assumes it’s one of the nurses but whoever it is has a heavier tread than either of the two nurses on tonight.

He wishes he could turn his head.

‘Jimin?’

It’s Namjoon.

Namjoon’s been coming by at odd times since Jimin got injured. He hasn’t asked for the details but from piecing together what he’s heard he knows that work on the tunnels has started in earnest.

The stranger in droid armour who attacked them was from an underground military bunker who was trying to access their skylock. They weren’t able to find out more — Jimin’s last shot had been fatal and destroyed any chance of finding out more. 

The AK-57g had blown a fissure into the skylock panel where Jimin had been before Jungkook yanked him out of harm’s way.

‘Still here,’ Jimin says. 

He wishes he could see Namjoon’s face, there’s barely any light. He knows the moon’s still up there in the sky but truly, he hasn’t seen its familiar shape since the world fell apart. There’s only the ghostliest of glows that separates the total darkness of night from the inflamed red of day.

‘Can I get you anything?’ Namjoon asks. 

‘I’m fine,’ Jimin answers. 

He’s worried he sounds curt, but a moment later Namjoon’s face hovers above him.

‘They’re close to reaching the furthest Nordic tunnel,’ Namjoon says.

Jimin thinks about that.

He realises Namjoon’s still looking at him.

‘What time is it?’

Namjoon hesitates. ‘It’s 4am.’

‘Can’t sleep?’ Jimin asks.

‘I know you have trouble sleeping sometimes,’ Namjoon says. He moves out of Jimin’s field of vision, the shape of him wavering around Jimin’s peripherals. 

He shrugs. ‘I figured I’d keep you company.’

It’s true. The early mornings are the darkest part of the night for Jimin. 

‘Do you want me to read to you?’ Namjoon asks.

Jimin tries to nod but doesn’t quite manage it. Somehow Namjoon gets the gist.

‘I’m reading this book I think you’ll really like,’ Namjoon says.

He pulls a chair close to Jimin’s bed.

‘Tell me what it’s about,’ Jimin says. 

‘It’s set in the future,’ Namjoon starts. He breaks off abruptly. ‘Well, it was written in the past and it’s how the author imagined the future to be.’

Jimin can think of a thousand responses to that, each more bitter than the last, but he likes Namjoon’s voice and he’s stuck in this bed and part of him wants Namjoon and his story to take him someplace else.

He shuts his eyes and listens.

***

Jimin’s upright for the first time in weeks. He ignores the warning sound from Min Yoongi, swings his legs out of bed and promptly collapses on the floor in a heap.

Yoongi can’t resist an ‘i told you so’ but he also helps Jimin up so there’s that.

Jimin stretches his calves experimentally, sighing at the newfound tightness. This is worse than the time he was shot on duty near the borders but at least he’s still here to tell the tale.

Yoongi says, dryly, ‘Thank god, come take him off my hands.’

Jimin looks up to see Namjoon approaching.

‘I can make it back to my living space,’ he says, lying through his teeth because he doesn’t want Yoongi to know he was right about suggesting a transport pod.

‘Yeah,’ says Namjoon, agreeably. ‘But if you take a transport pod it means I can’t play the big buff hero.’

He flexes jokingly but Jimin’s mouth goes a little dry as he gazes at Namjoon’s broad shoulders. 

For the first time in a long time, Jimin can feel flirtation lacing his voice as he says, ‘Yeah ok, you can carry me back home.’

Namjoon’s dimples flash. ‘Why don’t we start with leaning on me.’

He offers his arm, and Jimin slips his hand into the crook of it.

Jimin’s no slouch in the muscles department, he’s got a core honed through years of training, but his physique is lithe, slim.

Namjoon’s not just tall, he’s also got the broad shoulders and chest Jimin’s always had a weakness for.

His bicep tenses under Jimin’s hand.

‘Can you walk?’ Namjoon asks, low, so that Yoongi can’t hear.

Jimin nods. He’s going to walk at least until he’s out of Yoongi’s line of sight, he’s not going to let the smug asshole medic win this one.

Behind them, Yoongi sighs, exaggerated. 

‘It’s not too late, I can call a transport pod now, Jimin-ah.’

Jimin can feel Namjoon’s arm tighten again. 

‘We’ll be fine, Yoongi,’ Namjoon says, so firmly Jimim could kiss him.

He smiles up gratefully at Namjoon and for just a second Namjoon blinks.

‘Shit, if I’d known playing the big strong hunk would have made you smile like that I’d have done it from the start,’ Namjoon teases, gently.

Jimin’s laughter is genuine, and despite the ache from his long unused calves, he hasn’t felt this good in a while.

***

Jimin’s running again. He’s been seeing the ex-army psychiatrist Yoongi recommended, having therapy sessions once a week.

He’s not sure if they’re helping him, except he’s dreading waking up less. It’d taken him a while to realise he was sleeping more and waking up feeling less panicky. 

He’s been seeing Namjoon almost every day, helping with excavation work on the tunnels, and he thinks that’s going well too.

Both the tunnels and this thing with Namjoon.

Whatever it is.

Namjoon’s waving at him now, all near six feet of him, all bulky arms and dimples and Jimin’s damn near blinded by the sight of him.

The man is beautiful, and Jimin’s not been able to flirt since he stared down an AK-57g. The first time.

Jimin waves back, then pretends he has to check on some of the excavation equipment so he has an excuse to turn his back and compose himself.

Moments later he hears footsteps, Namjoon’s familiar loping gait.

‘Checking equipment, huh?’ Namjoon’s voice is dry, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

‘Yeah,’ Jimin says.

He risks a glance at Namjoon.

‘Looks like the heating coil’s down,’ Namjoon observes.

‘They don’t work with a heating coil —‘ Jimin starts, before realising Namjoon’s just fucking with him.

He is an engineer after all.

Jimin looks up at Namjoon, pretending to be annoyed. ‘I know I’m just a soldier but I know how to work machinery.’

Namjoon eyes Jimin’s crossed arms, and a dimple appears in his cheek. 

‘You’re cute when you’re mad.’

‘I kill enemies,’ Jimin says, unable to keep the pout out of his voice. He can hear himself sounding like Jungkook but he can’t help it.

‘I know,’ Namjoon says. ‘You’ve saved my ass a few times.’

‘It’s a good ass,’ Jimin concedes.

There’s a spark in Namjoon’s gaze, a fizzle that makes Jimin feel warm all over. 

He’s about to say something, but Jimin never hears it because there’s shouting near the entrance of the tunnels, the low, menacing rumble of a landslide.

To Jimin’s horror, the mouth of the tunnel starts to crumble, partially obscuring the entrance.

‘There are people in there,’ Namjoon breathes.

It’s the last thing Jimin hears before he’s running to help.

He knows what it’s like to be buried alive.

***

Jimin’s not there, not all of him anyway.

He watches, detached, as he helps with the rescue effort.

He thinks, dispassionately, that no matter how much planning takes place, rescue efforts don’t go to plan because humans are wildcards in an emergency.

Fight. Flight. Freeze.

The people around him are doing variations of all three.

Jungkook, covered in sweat and dirt, driving an excavator, single-minded in his focus.

Yoongi, staying where he is like he’s rooted, directing the people around him, triaging and treating.

Namjoon on comms coordinating teams of rescuers.

Himself, choking on rubble, half buried because if he wasn’t he’d be running. Jimin can’t run so he leaves part of him here and no one’s checking if all of him’s there and that’s ok.

Jimin’s shoring up the sides, packing rubble with his bare hands. His shoulder stopped screaming a while ago, now it’s seized up. He has to turn his whole body to move rocks but he keeps going anyway.

Gradually he becomes aware of hands on his, his name being called. Jimin tries to shut it out but eventually he can’t.

Namjoon’s voice, coming like it’s from far away. Hands on his arms, on his busted shoulder, making him step away.

Jimin comes back into the shell of himself, a mess of tears and blood and pain, and immediately wants to leave but there are arms around him, holding him like a child. Namjoon’s voice keeps him grounded, low and urgent. Jimin can’t understand the words but he listens anyway, until he’s anchored and he can no longer get away.

***

There’s the light of the moon in the pod, dead quiet all around.

Apart from breathing, separate from his own.

A shape next to his.

Jimin looks.

He’d know the slope of that deltoid anywhere, the curve of that torso.

There’s an arm around his own waist that Jimin explores, tentative, with his fingers. Skin smooth as marble, muscle roped underneath.

Namjoon, stretched out in the moonlight like a man who’s never worried that death is coming for him in the form of an enemy soldier, an AK-57g, a landslide.

Jimin envies him.

He touches along Namjoon’s shoulder, down to his chest, his waist.

Taking his fill.

A tension’s building into muscles that were lax with sleep. Jimin can’t see Namjoon’s face but he’s stirring under his touch.

Namjoon says, in a tone that makes Jimin shiver, ‘Don’t stop.’

Jimin tilts his face towards Namjoon’s, and he obliges with a kiss.

Feather light, the faintest pressure on his mouth.

For a big man, Namjoon’s so gentle.

It’s Jimin who seeks another, wanting another taste. He sighs when Namjoon obliges again.

Namjoon huffs out a breath. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,’ he tells Jimin.

Jimin kisses him again so he doesn’t have to speak. His skin warms under Namjoon’s fingers wherever he touches.

Under the thin blanket his body responds, curving into the heat of Namjoon’s body until they’re close, skin to skin.

Namjoon doesn’t take, so much as let Jimin give, and Jimin revels in it. He relishes the way Namjoon’s breathing stutters as he places his palm on his chest, the way Namjoon groans thickly into the skin of his neck as he rocks his hips against his.

There’s fabric between them still, but Jimin can feel how beautifully hard Namjoon is, pressed between them.

Namjoon utters a curse, emphatic, and the gravel in his voice makes Jimin’s eyes close. He can feel Namjoon touching him, exploring the ridges of his abs, sliding round to his back, pulling his hips closer, curving round his ass, hands so big his fingertips dip between his cheeks.

Then, whispered against his ear, ‘Can I?’

Jimin has no idea what he’s agreeing to, only that he wants whatever Namjoon wants.

‘Yeah.’

There’s the click of a lid, and Namjoon’s hand delves under the waistband of Jimin’s bottoms. 

His grip is firm, like Jimin likes, slippery with lube that’s warm. Jimin wonders how he managed that, idly, but then his thoughts fade as Namjoon strokes him.

He’s hard, so hard. 

It’s been so long since someone else has touched him like this.

‘Stay with me,’ Namjoon says, voice thick now. ‘Fuck, stay.’

Jimin reaches up to curl his hand around Namjoon’s neck, tug him closer. 

‘Fuck me,’ he breathes in Namjoon’s ear, and Namjoon shudders, big man that he is, his skin prickling under Jimin’s touch.

Then he’s turning Jimin over, onto his front. The cool sheet against Jimin’s cock makes him moan a little in protest.

He can feel Namjoon behind him, pressing kisses down his spine, down to his cleft, parting him. Namjoon’s tongue flicks against his rim, and Jimin muffles his cry against the pillow.

There’s more lube, sliding down his hot skin, then Namjoon’s pressing two fingers against him, slow.

Jimin groans at the feel of him, and Namjoon stops. 

‘Is this ok?’ he asks, calm like his cock isn’t throbbing against Jimin’s ass, hard and smearing precum.

‘Yeah, fuck, don’t stop,’ Jimin pleads. ‘Don’t stop.’

Jimin moans as Namjoon’s fingers rub inside him.

‘Sound so pretty,’ Namjoon grunts. He presses, gentle, and Jimin’s cock jerks, spilling more precum onto the sheets.

‘You like that?’

Namjoon lifts Jimin’s hips, runs the head of his cock between Jimin’s cleft, tantalisingly close to his rim.

More lube dribbles down on him, then Namjoon’s lining himself up, pushing in.

‘So fucking tight,’ Namjoon utters. 

He curls a hand around Namjoon’s forearm, braced against the bed.

‘You feel so good, baby,’ Namjoon croons, reassuring him even as Jimin can feel the tension in Namjoon’s body as he holds himself back.

‘Fuck,’ Jimin moans. ‘Don’t stop.’

Namjoon curses, slips in another inch, and the stretch of him is so good Jimin can barely breathe.

Namjoon moves a little, a short thrust that makes Jimin’s hand tighten on Namjoon’s forearm.

‘Doing so well,’ Namjoon praises. 

He thrusts again, slipping deeper, sending another jolt of pleasure up Jimin’s spine. 

He can feel his release beckoning with every thrust, the heat of Namjoon’s cock inside him, the friction from the sheets against his own cock, and Jimin’s not sure how much longer he’ll have any form of control.

Namjoon presses a kiss to the back of his neck, cock slipping deeper as he reaches around to take Jimin’s cock in his hand.

Jimin wants to warn him but he can barely breathe to speak.

Namjoon groans, deep, as Jimin pulses in his hand, spilling white streaks of cum between his fingers, the pleasure making him loose, floaty.

Jimin thinks he cries out as Namjoon pulls out, fisting himself.

‘Fuck,’ Namjoon gasps, ‘fuck’, as he comes and Jimin can feel his hot release dripping over his ass, the backs of his thighs.

Namjoon’s turning him over then, wanting to see his face, and Jimin pulls him close to tell him it’s all right.

Everything’s all right.

***

Jimin’s running again, a loop around the lake, only this time it feels different.

Jimin stops so that Namjoon can catch up. The atmosphere in skylock has changed again, whatever Earth’s trying to do to heal itself is changing the climate outside skylock.

It’s cooling down, and Jimin doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad sign.

Namjoon approaches, sticky with sweat, his skin golden and gleaming in the light of the rising sun.

Jimin tilts his head and Namjoon leans down for a kiss.

He knits his fingers in Namjoon’s.

Later today, the first team of explorers, including Namjoon, Jungkook, Yoongi and Jimin himself, are setting off into the tunnels where they’ll breach the last few hundred yards to the tunnels of the Nordic skylock. Then, after that, the Arctic.

The possibilities are limited, and terrifying.

Namjoon squeezes Jimin’s hand, pulling him back into the present. His profile is beautiful, and Jimin reminds himself to really look just in case this is the last time he sees Namjoon like this.

For the first time in a long time, Jimin wants to remember. 

©hamsterclaw 2024

[rachoxpotato]

🦕 Commander Mills x female reader 🔞 NSFW ⚠️ CW // skinny dipping, praise, waterfall sex ✏️ 2.8k words

-

Between securing shelter, exploring your surroundings, and running from creatures you still can’t believe exist in this world, it has been an endlessly stressful, restless three days since the crash.

"This way," Commander Mills says. He marks another tree as you both turn right down a semi-clear path lined on either side in trees, palms, shrubs. You follow and walk together for another half-mile or so.

You hear it before he does.

"Oh my god," you gasp, reaching for his wrist.

Mills steps in front of you, gun ready. "What?"

His instinct to protect you makes your body vibrate. A warmth spreads throughout you that you haven't felt in years prior to crashing in this god-forsaken place. You know it's wildly inappropriate fantasizing about a man who spends every second of every day and night protecting you and trying to get you home...

"Through here," he says, using his corded forearm to push a palm frond out of the way for you.

...but then his eyes do that thing when they look at you, and then that sexy strand of hair falls into his eye, and his hands are just so /so/ big. 

"Mills," you gasp, but he's already a step ahead, slipping out of his gun strap, and dropping it to the ground.

Before you... is paradise. 

It's a blue lagoon shaded by a canopy of palm leaves and lush, greenery. It's crystal-clear water and ample protection provided by the mountain behind. It's several thin streams of rushing water cascading from the cliffs above and into the pool below. It's...

Mills's chiseled back as he strips his shirt while approaching the water.

He falls to his knees at the shore and cups water into both of his massive hands, then lifts them to his mouth.

"It's fresh," he announces, looking over his shoulder. "I think it’s a cold spring."

He turns back to the oasis and you take the opportunity to drop your own pack, your gun, your knife. 

He must hear you unzip your pants because he turns to look, but stops himself. 

"S-sorry," he mutters, his attention returning to what he can gather in his paws and slurp down. (It's a lot).

"Don't mention it," you say, shucking your shirt and padding toward the water in just your bra and panties... the same ones you'd been wearing since the crash. 

And you know a bra is impractical in a post-apocalyptic, dinosaur infested, Jumanji-land, but... surely he'd notice that despite the heat, humidity, and relative discomfort of this location, your nipples are consistently as hard as diamonds.

"How is it?" he asks as you wade deeper into the lagoon.

You turn, just as your breasts disappear beneath the cool water, and clench when you realize his eyes are mid-snap from your chest to your face. Despite the naturally cool spring, you're warm all over again.

"It's perfect," you moan, dunking your head under.

"I'll keep watch," he says when you resurface. "Enjoy."

"No, come in!"

He clearly wants to. A bud of hope blooms inside of you that the cool water isn't the only reason he's considering joining. "I can go after you're done."

You frown and without warning, slap your hand across the water to splash him.

Mills feigns offense as you do it again and he wastes no time in unzipping his own pants. 

You squeeze your legs together like you do when you talk yourself out of letting your hand wander at night. When it's his turn to sleep and you're taking watch. When his soft snores consume your thoughts and make you wish you were lying next to him, against him, with his arm caging you in, keeping you safe. 

His black boxer-briefs and happy trail disappear beneath the water as he wades closer. You float onto your back, close your eyes, and attempt to picture anything over than the definition and contour between each abdominal muscle. 

"Please tell me you remember how to get here," you say, dropping your feet to find the sandy bottom. It's a bit shallower than you remember, and standing upright, the water only reaches your ribs.

Mills's eyes drop and his jaw clenches when he takes in your soaked bra, water droplets racing over the swells of the tops of your breasts, and getting trapped in the lace at the top.

All things considered, if you were doomed to one bra for an apocalyptic eternity, at least you're wearing a cute, lacy black one.

He clears his throat and looks at your face. "Yes, I remember."

His voice is low, eyes dark. You don't hide beneath the water.

The closest waterfall is just off to the right and as much as you'd love to stand there and have the sexiest man you've ever seen ogle your t!ts, a natural waterfall might be just what you need to truly cool you down.

"Where are you going?" he asks as you swim away.

"To check this out!" you reply, reaching the cascading water and giggling as it beats down on your head. The sandy bottom supports your feet as you tip your head back and let it pull your hair away from your face.

He smiles and makes his way over before placing his hand beneath the cascading water to catch it in his palm. Then, he ducks his head under, groaning as it beats down on his head, neck, and back.

You practically watch his tension melt away as his shoulders drop away from his ears.

You swim a little closer. 

You crouch down until the water reaches your neck and take some into your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you spit it out. He watches you intently but must not notice your arm bent behind your back because as soon as the cups of your bra float to the surface, his eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" you ask, removing the straps from both arms. "I'm just sick of it."

"Yeah," he says immediately. "I get it. I mean... I don't but... fine. 's fine."

His voice breaks when he says 'fine,' for the second time and you begin to wonder what he thinks of you.

Admittedly, when you fling your bra onto a nearby rock, you hope he thinks you have nice tits.

Mills clears his throat. "Any chance you're sick of your panties?" He jokes.

"Now that you mention it," you say, already working the elastic around your hips.

He notices your arms shifting. He says your name. His gorgeous mouth over-pronounces every syllable. "I was kidding, I... it was a joke. I never want to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," you assure him, kicking your legs free.

You lift your panties out of the water with one finger before tossing them to the side. The tiny garment clops loudly against the rock and he clears his throat.

"They're pretty wet."

"Yeah, well," you start. "The lagoon is only partially to blame."

That's all he needs.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped around him as he grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you close. His body is so hard, so solid.

"Commander!" you say with a smirk. 

Mills growls, pressing his face to your sternum, his nose preventing his lips from reaching your skin.

"Tell me. What else has you so wet?" he asks as you lock your ankles around his lower back.

"I think you know," you whisper.

"Say it." It's a command.

You swallow and look into his eyes. "You."

Mills groans and lifts his head to kiss your lips.

You can't help it. A moan immediately escapes from deep in your throat as your body processes what's happening:

Mills's big body holding yours secure, his plush lips working yours open so his tongue can find yours, his hands digging into your hips and pressing you down so your bare pxssy rubs against the bulge you'd spotted earlier.

"Please, Mills," you beg into his mouth, shaking from how desperately you need him, as you pull away.

You dip down to capture his mouth in another kiss and his hands immediately roam to your ass, making you whimper as he squeezes you, holds you steady with one hand, and lets the opposite wander up your torso to cup your breast.

His mouth catches your moans as he massages your flesh and gently pinches your nipple. You're helpless as you grind your center against him, desperate for some semblance of friction to ease the incessant ache that shouldn't even be there considering you've been fighting for your life the past three days...

But there's something about him.

"Mills," you gasp as he releases the hold on your breast and shifts down to rub between your legs.

"You're fucking soaked," he says, fingers slip-sliding through your folds.

"Uh huh," you agree, grinding down onto him.

"Who did this to you?" he demands.

"You."

"Did I?" He smirks. “I only kissed you, Baby.”

"Thinking of you," you amend. 

"Thinking of what?" A finger grazes your entrance and you gasp as you attempt to line yourself up. He manages to pull away, his teasing finger shifting to trace the crease where your thigh meets your hip. 

"Your hands."

"My hands?"

"They're so big and strong," you admit. "And your fingers are so thick. Makes me wonder what they're capable of. And how they'd feel..."

"Where?"

"On me. In- inside me."

He hums thoughtfully as a finger finds your entrance once more, barely applying pressure. 

You moan. He smirks.

"These fingers?" Mills confirms. "Here?"

"Yes!" you gasp.

"Fuck," he groans into the crook of your neck as he slides a fingertip inside. "So tight, Baby. Not sure how we're gonna get my cock in this tight little pxssy. But we'll make it fit."

It's embarrassing how close you are, considering he's barely touched you and only has half of a finger inside of you. But between the stress, the chaos, and the inappropriate pining, your body is so /so/ ready to feel good.

"Please, more," you moan. 

A second finger joins the first beneath the water and you gasp, moan, and cry out all at once when he pulls them back and thrusts them inside.

He keeps his rhythm consistent as he kisses your neck, your collar bone, your breasts. You've more or less surrendered your entire body to whatever he wants to do to it, so you're grateful he's holding you tight.

"Come for me, Baby," he coos when you start grinding against his hand. "I can feel you're close... squeezing my fingers with this perfect, hot, tight pxssy. Fuck, Baby. My c0ck is so jealous right now."

That does it.

"Ohh!" you cry out as his fingers curl forward toward your front wall and the heel of his hand rubs your c|it just right. Desperate to keep the angle, you lean into him, grinding down on him, moaning, panting, heart racing, as your orgasm tears through you, sending pleasure into every last bit of you.

Mills slows his hand but keeps moving, bringing you down from your high as your head falls back and he takes the opportunity to wrap his hot mouth around a nipple, sucking at it and injecting more pleasure into your already convulsing, overwhelmed body.

"Atta girl," Mills coos against your breast, lifting his eyes to look up at you. "Think you're even wetter after that. Wish I could taste ya, Baby."

"Later," you say hurriedly as you reach between you for his underwear. He shucks them down one-handed as best he can and as soon as your hand wraps around his thick, hard, ready c0ck, you gasp.

"I told you we're gonna have to make it fit," he says with a smirk. 

And something about this talented, protective, humble man admitting he knows he's got a huge d!ck just… does something to you.

"Please fuck me," you purr in his ear, letting him shift your pelvis back so he can line up his length. “Commander.”

He growls when you nip at his earlobe and the tip slides inside of you.

"Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna split you in two," he says, taking a bracing step backwards. 

Suddenly, you find yourselves beneath the cascading waterfall, clinging to his shoulders, and giggling as he kisses you, pressing in a bit more.

He stops to look around briefly and ultimately decides to carry you up onto the shore at the backside of the waterfall. You groan as he slips out of you and he chuckles. "Gimme one second, Baby. I gotcha."

Carefully, he lays you down in the sand and crawls between your legs, planting a hand on each knee to spread you wide. Instinctively, you want to close them. He's staring so intently, you almost feel self-conscious, but then he presses his thumb to your slick flesh and swallows as his eyes scan your body.

"You're beautiful," Mills tells you. "Fucking gorgeous, I'm... I can't believe you're letting me touch you like this."

Your back arches and the sand collecting in your hair will be well-worth it.

"You can touch me anywhere," you tell him. "Everywhere."

He slides his middle finger inside of you and it feels thicker, longer than it had in the water. When he pulls it out, it's covered in your slick, and he makes eye contact with you while popping it into his mouth.

He savors it while you remain laid out in front of him, your own gaze locked on his huge, hard c0ck bobbing, teasing.

"So sweet, Baby," he says.

Then, he's wrapping his arms around your spread thighs and yanking you closer. His massive hands support your ass as he lifts you to line your entrance up with his c0ck.

"Ohh, god. Yes," you pant as your walls struggle to contain him.

The stretch as he bottoms out is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

It’s  a tight fit, especially when he plants a hand on your lower abdomen and allows you to truly feel the pressure of every movement.

"Don't stop," you tell him as he picks up the pace, both of you keeping an eye on the bulge in your lower abdomen. "Do this to me forever."

He chuckles as he readjusts, planting one hand on the sand next to you and keeping the opposite on your ass so he can pull your body in every time he thrusts. 

He's hitting you so deep, you're not convinced he isn't hitting your lungs. At least, it feels that way, with the way he's forcing air out of you.

"So good, you... you feel so good, Commander," you purr and he seemingly loses his mind at that.

Mills's eyes darken as seemingly every muscle in his body bulges simultaneously. His fingers dig into your ass cheek as he thrusts harder into you. Spray from the nearby waterfall mists you both as his body pleasures yours, leaving a shiny sheen across your skin.

"You feel fucking incredible," he grunts as the sand beneath you caresses your body.

You can tell his rhythm is faltering a bit as he picks up the pace.

"Can you come again?" he asks, panting.

"Uh huh."

"Do it," he commands. "Touch yourself, Baby. Come on my c0ck."

Mills gaze is focused, intently zoned in on his c0ck as it slides in and out of you, and your fingers drawing circles into your swollen, throbbing c|it.

"That's it, Baby. Doing so good. You feel perfect.... I'm close, Baby. I'm close. Come for me..."

With his encouragement and deeper-than-ever thrusts while he chases his own release, you soon find yourself barreling over the cliff of pleasure as your orgasm crescendos. Your intimate walls squeeze his c0ck tight as he fights to stay inside of you, uses every ounce of strength within him as his face turns red, his jaw falls open, and the veins in his neck bulge over you.

"Yes!" he roars, accentuating each word with a deep thrust. "Fuck... Baby... god... so... fucking... good... UNGHHHHH."

You moan as his hips fuse to yours and hardly pull back before pushing deeper, deeper, deeper. The pressure is insurmountable but your waiting c*nt takes all of his warm cum as deeply as possible until he collapses over you in a hot, glistening, panting heap.

"Mmmm, Commander," you purr. "That was-"

"Yeah," he agrees, still out of breath, but suddenly more desperate than ever to kiss you. 

"Aren't you glad you joined me instead of taking watch?" you tease, dragging your nails up and down his back.

He chuckles against your sweaty neck and presses a kiss there, too.

“So glad, Baby,” he coos, nudging his nose against yours. “I’ll be joining you every time.”

[bagofmice]

I prayed i'd meet You again, but why like this?

A/N: I finally got the motivation (and time) to finish a Michael and Lucifer angst minific i begun in [checks calendar] march. :). This piece takes place in the armageddon AU timeline. While i do reccomend you go read the source material to understand this fully, here's a 'quick' summary:

The Demon King and Father never step away from leadership, and the exchange program is never created. Tension between the realms keep rising, and eventually spill over, which results in a war.

In an effort to prevent invasion, the Celestial Realm and Devildom become nigh inhospitable. The Celestial Realm becomes blindingly bright, even at night. Heat from the light results in burns, scorched feathers (loss of flight), and vision loss. The Devildom is clouded by a light-consuming mist. It becomes too dark and too cold to grow any kind of tree, crop or flower. Demons try to cope with famine through canibalism, all while dealing with wide-spread hypothermia* and madness. Sometime during this period, Michael's form is warped beyond recognition in an attempt to make the perfect demon killing machine.

Many angels and demons lose faith in the ambition of their sovereign, and thus create rebellion groups, which eventually fuse into one. Both Father and the Demon King are overthrown. The war is over, but the realms are still far from peace. Infighing in the Coaliton begins. The minific takes place at this point in the timeline. Two ideologies arise from the sea of arguments and discussions; Cohabitionism - belief that the CR and DD are far too damaged, and that angels and demons should permamently reside in the human world (as they have for a while already, many chose to flee to the Human World) Reformism - demons and angels miss their homes, humans want them out of theirs, so a plan of re-establishing CR and DD under new, proggresive leaders hangs in the air.

Reformism died out due to failed attempts to re-ihabit the other realms.

An institution called the World Council is established, angels, demons, and humans all inhabit the Human World.

For the first time in forever, the future that awaits everyone is a bright and happy one.

Written in 2nd person | Lucifer’s point of view Warnings: Angst | body horror | mentioned character death | mentioned self mutilation | existential dread? | post-apocalyptic world | heavily dependent on the source material [Obey me! armageddon AU created by @luckykittysshowerthoughts] Word count: 0.8k (+ 0.3k AU summary) tag list: @floydsteeth @lemidvet

You stand atop scorched ground covered by blood and ash. You and your brothers are here to participate in one of the many  meetings discussing the future of the realms and their surviving citizens. There are many people you know here-  Solomon, Thirteen, Diavolo, the surviving members of the Devildom House of Lords and the seraphim, a couple of other angels (including Simeon), and also a few high ranking Sorcerers’ Society members, guessing by their uniforms.

Although, this time there is a very peculiar… person? Amongst the Celestial Realm representatives that you don’t recognize. You also notice Michael isn’t in attendance again, but it’s no wonder he isn’t after what happened to him.

…

The mysterious angel bothers you. Well, it’s not doing anything to you, you just find it unsettlingly familiar - but you’ve never seen anything quite like it. The creature’s head, ankles, and four wrists are circled by golden bands littered with eyes. There are even more eyes on its wings, but you’re not sure how useful they are, given that said wings are on fire. Its eyes are frantic - looking, observing, but never quite locking eyes onto anything or anyone. Such features are only reserved for an angel’s higher form, but seeing how it was let into the conference like this, it mustn't be able to turn back. 

That was a person, once - or maybe it never was. Maybe it was created specifically to be a killing machine, without a choice and no mouth to voice its complaints.(Maybe its literal facelessness is meant to signify its lack of identity?). Is this really your father's doing? In pursuit of eradicating demon kind, did he truly go as far as to do this to one of his own children  your kin, once? Is this really what he wants? To create an inhabitable world for children malformed, dead, and broken? Is that how he shows 'love'? 

…

Staying in the Devildom’s frozen wasteland for so long clearly didn’t do wonders for your eyesight.*

The golden flames of its wings blinded you from noticing the most important detail about the angel. Beautiful, knee-length hair that shines like the purest gold. You know who this hair belongs to- you ruffled it a lot when you were still your Father’s favourite.

(How could you not have recognised him? You grew up with him. Did all that time you spent together mean nothing to you?)

This isn't just an angel- this is the angel who entrusted Mammon into your care, the one who commissioned the construction of the first ever planetarium in the celestial realm, the one you got a leg up on by going to it before he could, the one you playfully shoved your responsibilities onto when he did the same to you, the very same one you once co-ruled the celestial realm with, this- this is-

Michael is attending the meeting, after all.

The realisation is horrifying. Father did this. He did this to his most loyal and faithful soldier. His current favourite. His own child. If you hadn’t rebelled, if you hadn’t torn out your wings in anger, hadn’t lost your sister- would he have done the same to you?

A distant shout brings you back - the debate is getting heated. You watch as a member of the now nonexistent devildom nobility hollers profanities at an ophanim - Ribkiel, if memory serves you right. The angel can barely wait for the noble to finish before they slam their fists on the table and yell something back. Their pointless squabble incites many others to join in. A few people try to calm the screaming match, though, with Simeon included among them. This isn’t all that surprising -  the last meeting was just as disorderly as this one too. You can’t help but sigh. Something tears your attention again, but this time, away from the ongoing scuffle. There’s a dainty and delicate hand squeezing your arm. Despite your deteriorated eyesight, you can see the scarring on them - and something quite unheard of in such times - nail polish. Things have been peaceful enough recently for Asmodeus to paint his nails his signature blue and pink. Good. Though, the frown on Asmo’s face isn’t. He’s probably worried that you’re zoning out so much. You shake your head and he slides his hands away from you. You don’t notice him shooting you another concerned look as your eyes return to boring into Michael.

This time, he looks at you, too. His brilliant blue eyes gaze deep into your own. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear there was a flash of pain and longing in them.

*- Extreme cold can damage your eyesight, and even lead to blindness. Though this isn't mentioned as something plauging the survivors from the Devildom in the AU.