#brown headed gull | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

targaryenimagines · 4 months

Text

The Khaleesi’s Queen

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,559

Summary: Daenerys doesn’t like to be interrupted; not when she has everything she could ever want within her grasp.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, slightly rough (and possessive) sex, oral (R!Receiving).

Author’s Note: Changed up the prompt, which I hope is okay Tried to figure it out the first way, but I wasn’t doing it any justice in the slightest. I suppose this can be seen as a continuation of My Khaleesi, but it can be a stand-alone too. (This is told mainly through Dany’s POV, if you’d like me to make a partner through the Reader’s just let me know!)

Series Masterlist

“Do you take me as some sort of fool, Councilor?”

The question is asked in an airy tone, one that a person would use when making a remark about the weather or the coming crop season, but the fiery undercurrent, like iron piercing through the sky, kept the man it was directed to in place. Violet eyes locked on dark brown, a message clear within them: Speak. Now. I’m running out of patience.

“O-Of cou-course not, Your Majesty,” the man stumbles, trying to alleviate the situation. “I-I just wished to tell y-you what your ancestors used t-to do.”

A sneer works itself across a beautiful face. “Yes,” she drawls, disgust clear in her tone. “But those same ancestors didn’t have the bond I do with my son.” Rising from her chair, Daenerys pins the cowering man in place with her gaze. “What will you have me do, Councilor? Have sex with my queen on the back of my son’s back in hopes of creating another?” She takes another measured step closer. “Do you think I’m unaware of what’s being said about me? That I’m oblivious to the gossip and rumors being spread?” Daenerys is a mere five feet from the man now. “Everyone within the Seven Kingdoms knows about my bond with my children, but you choose to council me into doing something that’d be sacrilegious in their eyes? That’d create even more discord within the land?”

Daenerys pauses then, tilting her head as she surveys the cowering man— from his balding head down to his recently polished shoes— and her gaze darkens further.

“So, I have to ask, do you take me for a fool?” She reiterates. “Because you must if you think I wouldn’t question you or your motives.”

He shakes his head, practically throwing himself at his Queen’s feet. “I-I swear to you, Your Majesty, I’m just a lo-lowly scholar. Ju-Just trying to help.” Fear weasels its way down his spine when he felt her lean closer to him. “I-I swear it.”

A breathy chuckle echoes across the room, barren of any form of amusement. “Oh? You swear it?” Crouching down, Daenerys forces the man to look into violet eyes. “I must believe you then.”

Snapping her fingers, the shadows around the edges of the room come to life as figures clad in obsidian black step from them, silver spears glinting under the light.

“Grey Worm.” The Captain of the Queensguard steps forward, back dutifully straight. “Nādīnagon zirȳla.”

At once Grey Worm, and another Unsullied, step forward and clasp the now begging man under his armpits and begin dragging him from the room. His cries for mercy falling on deaf ears: “N-No. Ple-Please, Your Majesty! Don’t do this. Please.”

Dark oak doors close with a resounding bang, cutting off his pleading.

Silence settles once more over the office, save for the faint crashing of waves against the surf outside and the cries of gulls. If Daenerys closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in Essos. Back when things were simple but infinitely more complex. Settling back into her high-backed seat, Daenerys lets loose a soft sigh.

“Did you just have that man executed for telling you something you didn’t wish to hear?” A teasing voice breaks through the silence, the warm cadence of it bringing a smile to Daenerys’ lips. Looking down, she’s met by the sparkling gaze of her wife. “Or did you have that man executed for interrupting us?”

Huffing out a laugh, filled to the brim with adoration, Daenerys pulls you from your kneeling position, placing her hands on your hips once you’re comfortably straddling her. “I didn’t have him executed, ñuha perzys.” She places a delicate kiss to the corner of your lips. “I just wanted to have him leave my presence in a timely manner.”

You nuzzle closer to her. “And to do that you had to scare him? Are you certain it has nothing to do with his untimely entrance?” Wiggling on her lap, Daenerys has to bite back a groan as your familiar weight bears down on her growing erection. One that had found its home in your mouth a mere twenty minutes before— only to be unceremoniously ripped out when the man had knocked, requesting an immediate audience. “I know how you get when certain things don’t go your way.”

“Careful,” Daenerys warns, nipping at your exposed neck. Delighted in the way your breath hitches at the slightest bit of pressure to the small area underneath your jaw. “It’s not polite to tease your Queen.”

Rocking your hips more, you quip back. “It’s a good thing you’re not my Queen then.” Dipping your head, you press a heated kiss to her lips, groaning when her hardness hits just the right spot through her tailored pants. “You will always be my Khaleesi.”

The sound of the title, the first one she had ever truly earned, falling so sweetly from your lips, when the taste of you was still heavy on her tongue, brings a small snarl forth from deep within her chest, rumbling out across the relative stillness of the room. Standing, Daenerys grips you tightly by the waist and deposits you on her desk, uncaring of the various baubles that fall off due to the action. She easily finds her home between your thighs, pressed flush to your beautiful form.

“A Khaleesi is very different from a Queen,” Daenerys purrs, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. Running her tongue against the bottommost one, a husky sound of contentment being made when you let her gain access to the warm heat of your mouth. Fighting for dominance, one that she easily wins, Daenerys plunders further into your mouth, running her tongue along the roof of it, savoring the taste of you. Once she starts to become impeded by the lack of air, she pulls back and nearly comes undone at the wanton expression across your face— kiss swollen lips, lust darkened eyes, a delicate sheen of sweat along your brow. Exquisite. “A Khaleesi takes without question. A Khaleesi is rough, making sure her claim is known, but a Queen is soft, gentle.” Driving her hips into you, Daenerys snarls. “Are you certain you want a Khaleesi instead of a Queen?”

Throwing your arms around her, Daenerys is pressed firmly down, both your fronts flushed together. “Yes,” you hiss, nails digging into her shoulders. “I want my Khaleesi to claim me. To show me that I’ll only ever belong to her.” Your hips cant once more, trying desperately to get some friction. “Show me what a Westerosi Queen could never accomplish.”

At the mere thought of you being claimed by another, at anyone else having the privilege of seeing you come undone, Daenerys’ world view narrows to only you, only bringing you pleasure, so that you’d never think about leaving her.

She’d turn this world into nothing but fire and ash before she’d ever let that happen.

Nostrils flaring due to the possessive fire roaring within her chest, Daenerys takes in the delicate symphony of scents that wash over her due to the action: the sweetness of your bath oils mixed with the heady scent of sweat and the musky undertone of your arousal, strong despite the layers that separated her from the source of it.

“Lean back,” she growls, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips before she began to make her way down your body. Nimble fingers tearing at the buttons and fabric that she comes across, tongue and teeth lavishing the newly exposed skin with attention, until you’re lying delicious bare, save the last bit of your smallclothes, across the dark wood of her desk. The sight of your laid open, and waiting, for her brings a jolt of arousal straight through her body, but she didn’t wish to satisfy her own needs. Not yet. For now, she’d remind you that she’d only ever be the one to give you this sort of pleasure, that no one would ever be able to replace her. Daenerys settles onto her knees between your thighs, rubbing her nose lightly across the patch of darkening fabric at the apex of them. “Don’t even think about cumming until I say you can.” Violet eyes rise to meet your own, expression stern. “Do you understand?”

Nodding, almost frantically, you spread your legs further, giving her more room to maneuver within. Taking advantage of the additional space, Daenerys mouths over your soaking center, tongue flexing against the sodden material that kept it covered from her, as her hands clasped your hips to keep you in place. The sound of breathy moans and pleading whines from above her sending a delicious thrill down her spine.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" The question is rhetorical, she doesn't expect you to answer, but the questioning keen in response brings a soft smile to her lips for the briefest of moments. Pressing closer, Daenerys finally tears at the last barrier keeping you from her, the sight, and the scent, of your glistening center causing her own mouth to water in renewed hunger. "I crave you, ñuha perzys. More and more with each passing moment. I crave to bring you as much pleasure as you can withstand." Daenerys places a delicate kiss to your throbbing clit. "I crave your taste." Lowering her head, she dips her tongue teasingly into your entrance, savoring the flavor that could only ever come from you. "I crave the sounds you make as I ruin you."

Without preamble Daenerys buries her head between your thighs, thrusting her tongue as far into you as she could reach, the keening cry of pleasure tearing itself from your lips music to her ears. You pulse around her tongue, inner muscles flexing, as you try to pull her deeper into your depths, the feeling a reminder of how exquisitely tight you always are for her, something that brings another jolt of arousal coursing through her, making Daenerys aware of the throbbing between her own legs. Forcing her thoughts away from her own need, Daenerys consumes you, tongue lashing across your clit before diving back into your slick hole, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as she keeps you in place, despite your clear desire to chase whatever friction you could find. Your desperation for her, the clear need you had for her, almost made her take pity on you, almost allowing her to let you fuck her tongue, but the only thing you'd be cumming on in the near future would be her cock -- nothing more and nothing less.

Taking notice of the heightened pitch of your cries, the growling rasp building within your moans, Daenerys knows that you're close, that you're almost cresting the peak of the pleasure she's giving you, which means, with a small bit of reluctance, Daenerys tears herself away from you, tongue running along her bottom lip, savoring the remnants of you upon it. Your responding whine allows for a satisfied smirk to grace her beautiful face, soothed that you clearly wanted her as much as she wanted you.

Maneuvering quickly, Daenerys didn't have time to deal with all of the buckles that she wore, not to mention her boots, she simply opened her zipper and shoved her tailored pants as far down as they would go, her erection finally free once more, poised to claim what had always belonged to her. Rubbing herself against your wet heat, Daenerys arches a brow. "Do you want this?" It was the last warning she would give you before she claimed her wife completely, as a Khaleesi should. "You still have time to choose your Queen."

With a heaving chest, and narrowed eyes, you spit back. "The only woman I could ever want is my Khaleesi." You hook your legs around her hips, arching against her. "So, fuck me."

Not giving you a chance to rethink your words, not that she believed you would, Daenerys thrusts into her wife, the slick channel greeting her like an old friend, the feel of it causing a deep snarl to rumble from her chest. If she could manage running Westeros from right here, then Daenerys would never leave, but the times that she could make herself at home between your legs once more were that much more important to her when she could manage to find the time -- her devotion to you superseding all else barring the devotion she had to her son.

"Yes," you hiss, nails digging harshly into her clothed back. "It feels so good, Dany. So good."

Lowering her head, Daenerys harshly bites the sensitive spot just below your ear, tongue soothing the burn that no doubt appeared due to the action. "You're so beautiful." She nuzzles against a slightly older mark she had left a few days prior, quickly going to work to make it as fresh as the one she had just left. Slamming with more force into you, delighting in the sharp keen that's torn from your lips, and the way you flutter around her, due to the action, Daenerys finally detaches from your neck. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and you're all mine."

Nodding frantically, you arch against her lithe body. "I will only ever be yours, Dany." Taking her by the face, you press a needy kiss to her lips, all tongue and teeth as you pant against her. Clearly trying to stem off the encroaching orgasm. "I will only ever want you."

"And you'll only ever have me." Legs beginning to burn due to the power behind her thrusts, and the familiar fluttering within her belly, telling her that she wouldn't be able to last that much longer, Daenerys tugs at your bottom lip. "Cum for me, my queen. Cum for your Khaleesi."

As if a switch had a finally been flipped, your body arches completely off the desk, arms and legs slightly spasming, as your inner muscles tighten completely around her, and a fresh wave of wetness coats you both. The feeling coupled with the delicious sight, causes Daenerys to come with her own groan of your name, her hips still softly thrusting as she leads you through the last waves of your own orgasm.

Once you stop shaking, for the most part, Daenerys leans forward and places a delicate kiss to your brow, still firmly planted inside of you, nuzzling against your sweat-stained temple. "You were wonderful, ñuha perzys, but don't think that I've had my fill of you yet." She runs her hands down your sides, rubbing gently across your lower abdomen. "I still have to put my heir in you."

With a delightfully tired smile, you run your fingers through sweat-matted locks, the silvery-gold still looking radiant despite it all. "I love you, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes flutter shut at the title, the affection in which it falls from your lips, warmth suffusing itself within her chest because of it. Cradling your face delicately between her hands, Daenerys confesses. "I love that you still call me that."

You huff out a laugh, pressing a light kiss to her inner wrist. "Even if we're in Westeros now, Dany, you will always be my Khaleesi. No matter what."

"And you," Daenerys replies, adoration clear within her tone and gaze. "Will forever be my darling Queen."

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #house of the dragon #all of the unsullied left by the way #they’re just outside the room now instead of being within it due to daenerys no longer having an outside visitor

654 notes · View notes

teejaystumbles · 5 months

Note

Idea/Ask for Mermay?

I love the line: "A bird may love a fish but where would they live?" With mermaid/dreamling twist?

Thanks! :)

this made me go feral over the idea of harpy!Dream and merman Hob! I wrote this in about two-three hours and it's not edited or anything but I hope you like it even if the question where they would live is not answered 😅

I may write more for them/expand on this scene or draw them, but it won't be today.

Anyway Happy Mermay everybody! Let's gooooooo!

Dream sees the glint of scales under the waves and veers in its direction. With a smirk he drops down, claws outstretched-

When he realises his mistake it is too late. He cannot break his descent without risking dropping into the sea. His claws glance off the coppery scales, leaving long sharp scratches behind. A long copper coloured fishtail rises from the water and slaps at him, missing Dream's right wing only by a few centimetres. He hastily pulls himself up into the air again with a heavy flap of his wings and stares down in disbelief.

A dark-haired man's head rises from the waves and yells at him, "Oi, mate, watch it! I'm not a fucking sturgeon!"

A merman! Dream has heard of such creatures before but he has never seen one in his life. Admittedly, he has not been around these shores for long. He cocks his head, curious. The merman frowns and shouts, "Hey, I've never seen you around here before. Aren't harpies usually living in the South? Where it's warmer?"

Dream scoffs and flaps his wings again to stay in the air.

"If you want to interrogate me, perhaps you can accompany me to a place where I can rest my wings. I'm not a seagull, I can't just land on the water."

The merman stares at him open-mouthed, a perplexed look on his face. Dream frowns. Has he not used the correct language? But then the merman nods and flaps his tail. There's a blush on his cheeks and he pulls at the fin on the side of his head where an ear would be.

"Yeah, sorry, 'course. Follow me. It's not far, there's a rock close by."

Dream had seen the rock earlier and nods before steering towards it. The merman ducks back into the water and with a flash of his brown-golden fin he is off, faster than Dream expected. He follows, pondering his decision. What is he doing, seeking conversation with this being? He is not usually one for social interaction. He came here to be alone.

Hob notices the shadow above and thinks it’s just a gull flying overhead. He doesn’t look up, there’s no flying predator large enough for a merman to worry about. When suddenly a sharp line of pain is scored into his flesh he thrashes his tail on instinct, trying to knock the attacker down. What the fuck?

He surfaces quickly and looks up. There’s a giant bird flying above him, flapping its black wings to gain some height and distance from Hob’s fin. Except it’s not a bird. It’s a man with bird wings! A harpy, his memory supplies.

Angry and shocked, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind: "Oi, mate, watch it! I'm not a fucking sturgeon!"

He feels stupid straight afterwards, talking to a stranger like that, what if the harpy can’t even understand him?

Hob has heard about harpies. They don’t live in these colder climates, though, or at least that’s what he’s been told. They stick to the Mediterranean, being sensitive to cold. Shows how much there is to learn still. Hob loves to learn new things.

The bird man cocks his head as if considering Hob’s words. He shouts again, testing if the creature can understand him, "Hey, I've never seen you around here before. Aren't harpies usually living in the South? Where it's warmer?"

The harpy scoffs, a very human sound and says, "If you want to interrogate me, perhaps you can accompany me to a place where I can rest my wings. I'm not a seagull, I can't just land on the water."

Hob gapes at the man. So he can understand him! The harpy’s voice is deep and carries far without being raised. Hob stares at the harpy’s sharp face, his plush lips pouting at him. He narrows his piercing blue eyes at Hob and Hob hastily jerks himself out of his stupor. Embarrassed, he pulls his ear fin.

"Yeah, sorry, 'course. Follow me. It's not far, there's a rock close by."

The creature nods and Hob dives, swimming towards the rocks a few hundred metres away. They are close to the shore and there are plenty of cliffs and rocks nearby.

Hob reaches the rock first and watches the harpy approach. The being lands gracefully, its sharp black claws gripping the rock for support. It has black wings instead of arms and the feathers shimmer purple and blue in the sunlight. Its legs are also densely feathered, plumage covering its body up to the hips. The man’s torso is white, his face human and beautiful with a shock of unruly black hair framing his sharp cheeks and falling over his brows. Hob knows he’s staring but the harpy is the most stunning thing he has ever seen. Dangerous and beautiful, all sharp claws and bones and feathers that look both sharp enough to cut and so soft that Hob desperately wants to touch them to find out how they feel. He restlessly jerks his tail and hisses when he feels the sting of the wound the harpy gave him. He had completely forgotten about it. He lifts his body to the surface to inspect the wound. It’s not that bad, just a shallow scratch. The harpy shifts restlessly behind him.

“I apologise for my error. Do you require medical assistance?”

The harpy’s deep and dulcet voice rolls over Hob like a wave of warm water and he sighs, temporarily forgetting that he has been asked a question. He stares back up at the bird man, lost in a fuzzy haze.

“Are you alright?” the being’s inquiring voice draws him back to reality. Hob blinks and then frowns. He ducks a bit deeper into the water, eyeing the other warily.

“Sorry, I…I’m fine, it’s just a scratch. But tell me,” he says, deciding that it’s better to set things straight right away, “are you a siren? Your voice, it’s…it’s messing with my head.”

Dream’s back stiffens when the merman asks him if he’s a siren. Has he been involuntarily charming the other? He curses himself and carefully focuses on stopping any latent magic from entering his voice when he answers, “I apologise. Again. I was not aware I was doing it. It’s been a long time since I…talked to anyone.”

The merman raises an eyebrow but seems mollified and ready to listen, rather than just swimming off. He seems to be a very curious person, too curious for his own good. Dream sighs and shuffles his wings nervously.

“There is indeed a siren in my family line. Some of her magic has been passed down…to me. And some of my siblings. I do not use it…intentionally.”

No need to tell the merman that the mentioned siren is his mother and that Dream has indeed inherited quite a lot of her powers. He truly is not in the habit of using his voice to charm others. He prefers to not be around others anyway.

The merman blinks, seemingly fascinated. Dream studies him more closely. He is an adult male with copper skin and dark brown, almost black hair that flows over his shoulders and down his chest into the water. Dream wonders how long it is. The man’s face is handsome, with a strong nose that would make any harpy envious and amber eyes that look kindly up at Dream, shining with curiosity and intelligence.

“Apology accepted. Just please don’t use it on me anymore,” the merman says easily and draws himself a bit more onto the rock. Dream notes the length of his hair, the wet ends curling just around his dark brown nipples. The feathers at Dream’s neck stand up as he fights his irritation at the alluring display. He draws his gaze away from the merman’s chest to meet his eyes again. The man is smiling guilelessly.

“My name is Hob,” he says brightly, “can I ask your name, stranger?”

Dream straightens and tries to answer with dignity, hoping the other has not noticed his staring.

“I am called Dream. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Hob.”

He is surprised that he means it.

#eeee I hope you like it Anon! I do xD #mermay 2024 #dreamling #harpy Dream #merman Hob #the sandman fanfiction #asks

113 notes · View notes

acti-veg · 1 month

Text

It’s important to understand that this panzootic “is a man-made problem,” says Vincent Munster, who heads the Virus Ecology Section at the U.S. National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases.

Avian flu is not uncommon in wild birds, particularly in its natural hosts: ducks, geese, gulls, terns, swans and other waterfowl. They carry a low pathogenic form, a mild virus that may be asymptomatic. It spreads seasonally, when multiple species congregate at migration stopover sites or cluster together to nest.

But when avian flu spills over into poultry, it can morph into a highly contagious, fatal virus.

The current panzootic began when this H5N1 strain jumped from domestic poultry back into wild birds — which happened because of modern livestock production methods. Humans further facilitated spillover by destroying wetlands, which crowds migrating birds into small scraps of habitat, often with poultry farms nearby.

When farms encroach wetlands, it creates the perfect interface for this type of virus, Walzer says. It’s a veritable petri dish of opportunity for avian flu to swap genes and mutate into potentially more virulent or transmissible strains. This environment allowed the virus to infect chickens, geese and ducks –– and jump back into the wild in a virulent form.

“The emergence of Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza is a direct result of commercial, large-scale poultry farming,” Munster says. There are more than 34 billion chickens on Earth, according to Food and Agriculture Organization estimates.

#vegan #bird flu #avian flu #global health #pandemics #thanks to @stupidsexyflanders for sharing this with me

51 notes · View notes

chrrybombshells · 1 year

Text

Keep Each Other Company

Honeymoon imagine with Mark, because I imagine once his girl, is finally his forever, he's going to be insatiable.

Word Count: 1,850 Warnings: Smut (minors DNI), daddy kink, eating out, overstimulation and typos.

The sound of crashing waves and the calls of sea gulls could be heard as you lie in bed in your beach bungalow. It was your honeymoon, and the warm golden sun beamed into your room as the white curtains danced in the ocean breeze. Everything was perfect. Your now husband, which still made you giddy to say, left you alone in your suite so you could get some much needed sleep. Mark, on the other hand, decided to take this opportunity to sit on the sand and play his guitar. It’s so rare for him to have quiet time like this, so he wanted to take advantage of it. He stopped strumming when he heard your stirring, looking back from his spot, through the double doors, to see you lazily lift your head. He knew you had just awoken from the kind of nap that left you a little delirious and unsure of your surroundings, your cute snores were a dead give away.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Mark called out. He gently placed his guitar down and sauntered over to you. His eyes couldn’t help but travel along your body, which laid spread out against the crisp white sheets. He’s seen your body before, he could worship it all day if he had the time, but this is different. He feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. But he guesses, in a way, he is. You’re his now and he’s yours. Legally bound, for all the world to see, he had officially dedicated the rest of his life to being with you and it was the best decision he had ever made.

You rolled over to your back, looking up at Mark at the end of the bed. A stretch took over your body and you couldn’t help but involuntary moan and the feeling of your muscles being awakened, but the sound stirred something in your husband. His eyes shifted from his usual soft brown to something a little darker, a little more mischievous. He leaned over you, slowly, purposefully, until he was faced to face with you, your body trapped beneath his. His fingers traced along your cheekbone and a shiver went down your spine as you watched the way he was gazing at you.

“You know, my love, we were so busy with the wedding arrangements, I didn’t get to give you a proper wedding night.” Mark whispered deeply. The tone in his voice was like warm honey, dripping of promise of a long and eventful evening. “Why don’t I show you what it’s going to be like to be my wife, to be my girl, forever.”

You nod shyly as goosebumps rise on your skin. Mark was so close and he smelled of his cologne and a faint smell of sea water. He leaned down and left feather like kisses on your neck and jaw. Mark kissed your skin lazily. He knew all the places that would make you melt in seconds, but he was in absolutely no rush. This was your time together, you were the only company he cared to keep.

“Mark” you whispered softly. You felt electricity coursing through your veins as his hands slid across your skin so softly, it was almost like it wasn’t there at all. “You have goosebumps” Mark whispered, lifting away from your neck to look you in the eye. “Do I still make you nervous?” He asked as his fingers traveled up to your cheek to feel the warmth underneath that rushed there. The question perplexed you. This man, your husband, was your best friend and confidant, but in this moment, his gaze was strong enough to see into your soul, and somehow his eyes were still filled with love and a deep seared desire that you’ve never seen before. “Just be a good girl and trust me.” Mark leaned down, taking your jaw into his grip, and kissed you, deep and slow. You sighed and felt a tear roll down your cheek as you pulled you closer into his body. This kiss was slow, but strong, you felt so secure in your place in his arms. He really loved you and it was like his whole body was screaming to let you know.

“Lift your arms for me, Princess” He requested after the kiss was broken. He regretfully let you go as you lifted the thin dress over your head. You didn’t have much underneath, which was no issue at all for your lover. He couldn’t help but smile as he looked over you. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.” He stated, mostly to himself, but when he caught you looking back at him, his smile only grew as he returned to his position over you. Wordlessly, he commanded your body to lay back on the bed. You melted into the soft white comforter, while Mark took the opportunity to return to his spot at the crook of your neck. He kissed the area, sucking it gently to get the gasp that you couldn’t keep in any longer. He slowly moved downward in his quest to worship your body, the way every husband should. He kissed both sides of your collarbone, the center of your chest, before turning to the spot right above your racing heart. He kissed the area and looked up at you. “I promise to never break it.” He swears to you in a low strong voice, an overwhelming feeling rushed over you when you took in how serious he was. He refused to break eye contact until you had acknowledged his commitment. “I know.” You whispered back. Once he was satisfied with your answer, he kissed the spot again before continuing downward. When he reached your breast, he gave each of them a firm squeeze, pinching each nipple with just enough force to have your back arching and your eyes rolling back. He let the left one free so he could kiss the hardened area, before sucking it lightly and letting his teeth graze across its expanse. Once satisfied with your heavy breathing and quiet gasps, he repeated the action on the opposite side.

“Mark” you sighed. “My love” he answered back. He kept his journey down, but kept his fingers teasing your nipples, loving the way you were at his mercy, no matter how small the touch was. The man of your dreams kissed your stomach, each of your hip bones, and the top of the band of your underwear. Finally, he released your upper body to take care of his final destination. “You’re so wet” he cooed as he gently opened your legs apart with his hands. The wet patch of your panties was evident under the warm glow of the setting sun. Mark looked up with a smirk as his middle finger traced the outline of the spot. You whined and closed your eyes tightly, you always swore his teasing would be the death of you one day. “I don’t know what I want to do with my pretty little bride. Part of me wants to tease her as long as it takes for her to feel nothing other than her throbbing pussy, but then again, I also could make her cum so many times, that she cant even lift herself off the bed” Mark pondered the endless possibilities as he continued to tease you through the outside of your panties. “Please” you begged, grabbing on to his wrist. Mark’s eyes met yours questioning why you were interrupting his train of thought. “Oh little girl, let Daddy choose for you. If all you can say is please, you’re not helping. If anything you’re making it harder for yourself.” Mark took hold of your panties and slid them down your legs, making sure to kiss both thighs and calves while doing so. “I think I’ve decided, but too bad for you, you’re going to have to wait to find out what your wedding gift will be.”

The smirk on Mark’s face grew as he threw your panties carelessly behind him. He pulled your legs down to the end of the bed in a swift motion. He bent down so he was face to face with your most sensitive area. With your legs pushed back, he had a completely unobstructed view of you. He just looked for a moment, which felt like a decade, before leaning down and placing soft kisses across your clit and opening. Your hands instinctually reached for his hair. His new short hair was harder to grasp, but you made due with what you had. The feather-like kisses turned into rougher licks. The noises he made were obscene to say the least, but with your whole body practically on fire, you could care less as he put the bundle of nerves between his soft plush lips. “I’m so close” you tried to warn Mark, but your words left no affect on him. He continued to move his tongue in ways that your brain couldn’t bother trying to understand. It only took a few strokes of his tongue to have you moaning his name and your legs trying to snap close. And although you thought you were done, your husband was fare from finished. He continued to kitten lick your clit, your body tried to pull away, but his strong arms wrapped themselves around your legs so he can keep them open and his hand could keep you grounded by your stomach. “Mark!” You cried out once you felt one if his hands push back against your pubic bone to expose your clit to him even more. And you all but choked as you felt one of his hands leave your stomach to trace your opening. Without much resistance, Mark was able to push two of his thick fingers inside of you, filling you in away the made your head spin. He curved his fingers ever so slightly to hit the small spongy spot inside you. Your mouth dropped, but no noise came out. You were going to cum again and this time you didn’t have the strength to warn him. HIs tongue was still mercilessly toying with your clit and you couldn’t tell if you wanted him to stop or to keep going. But what you wanted mattered very little to him. He continued to eat you out like you were the best meal he has ever had, and if you asked him, he would swear to it on his grave.

The second orgasm ripped through you, causing your body to shake and whither on the bed. This time you gripped his hair to pull you off of your throbbing pussy. “Mark, please. Give me, give me a moment” you begged breathlessly. Mark moaned as he watched you and licked your taste of his lips. He wiped the excess off with the back of his hand before standing up and looking you dead in the eye as he unbuckled his belt.

“Did you forget already?" He shook his head calmly, "I decided your wedding gift. I’m gonna make sure you don’t leave this bed tonight...or tomorrow” Mark smiled as he unzipped his jeans.

#mark lee smut #mark lee #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct fanfic #nct 127 #nct mark #nct u #nct

298 notes · View notes

wilbursprincess · 7 months

Note

wil and reader are at the beach but the reader is scared of the ocean and doesn't want to go swimming, the reader still wants to understand what he likes about it so wilbur picks them up and carries them bridal style out into the sea while making sure they don't touch the water

“Do You Have Any Idea What’s In The Ocean?”

Wilbur Soot x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: None :)

Greetings, lovely @sootwilb! I’m actually afraid of the ocean… like have you seen what’s in there??? Have you seen photos of shipwrecks??? Yuck. I grew up swimming in lakes, and the few times I’ve been in the ocean, I was terrified. Never again.

Fic below cut!

“You’re not going in the water, baby?” Wilbur asks, and I peek up from my book to see him standing with the waves lapping at his ankles.

I shake my head. “Do you have any idea what’s in the ocean? I’ll pass.”

He nods sympathetically. “I get it. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

Wilbur dives into the ocean, and I dive back into my book. Or, at least, I try to. I keep looking up at my boyfriend splashing around, having the time of his life. He’s always loved swimming in the Brighton sea, and I’ve always hung back.

“Will?”

He pokes his head up out of the water, splashing his way back to shore. “What’s up?”

“I want to see what you like so much about the ocean,” I admit, setting down my book and pulling off my cover-up. “Will you carry me out into it?”

Eyes lighting up, Wilbur scoops me into his arms, the cold, salty water on his skin making me shiver. “Of course, darling.”

Carefully, so I don’t touch the water, he carries me out, stopping when the sea water laps at his waist. “Still good?”

“Mostly,” I laugh. “It’s peaceful out here.”

Wilbur grins, kissing my forehead. “Just us and the gulls.

“And all the bodies, shipwrecks, and deadly animals that live in the sea,” I retort. “But yea, it’s peaceful.”

His brown eyes crinkle in amusement. “Deadly animals, huh?”

He’s carrying me deeper and deeper into the ocean, slowly, but I’m not as scared as I thought. It’s nice to have the drops splashing my legs, being in his arms, and getting to experience this together.

#princesswrites #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur x you #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot x gender neutral reader

61 notes · View notes

surlifen · 1 year

Text

second batch of gulls! all already claimed

first is a brown-headed, or brown-hooded, or black-headed gull... I didn't decide because they are all so similar and this design takes plenty of liberties with species features. but they're based on a black-headed gull in the middle of getting its breeding plumage!

second is a pacific gull! they've got those wild huge beaks

third is a glaucous-winged gull with an ocean rainbow theme!

fourth is a sabine's gull, themed around lovebirds and peaches!

fifth is a gray gull with a misty forest theme!

and last, a sooty gull with an 80's slasher theme -- look at the red tips on their bills and you'll understand my vision

#character design #sharp pencil

105 notes · View notes

thevikingwoman · 5 days

Text

written for @idrellegames Wayfarer’s 3rd anniversary!

Fandom: Wayfarer IF | Words: 740 | Read on Ao3

Illia Strand | before episode 1 | gen Rating: Teen. Illia receives bad news, contemplating your place in the world, spoilers for ep1, rough times, complicated family

Legacy

It’s beautiful weather when the news reach Illia Strand. The sun is out, but it’s not too hot and a pleasant breeze brings fresh air through the streets. The large port city is an oft used stopping spot for Wayfarers heading home – home to the Spire – so it’s not strange that Varyn’s letter finds her here. It takes her two times to understand the content of it.

The Spire is gone.

Her home is gone.

She’s numb. She stands there, in the street outside the apothecary that sometimes serves as a delivery hub for wayfarers. She has no idea how long time passes, or how many times she reads the letter. Illia doesn’t move until someone bumps into her, swearing and swearing again when they discover she’s magiani. She mumbles an excuse and puts the letter away, shoving it into her pack.

What if she’d received Sero’s summons in time? What if she’d been at the Spire?

She wanders aimlessly, cobblestone and dirt under her feet. The busy calls of the market, jumping aside for a noble in a carriage. She doesn’t really notice any of it.

It was too complicated getting out of Vestra. The civil war has ripped the country apart, people seeing enemies everywhere. The countryside torn up, dead cattle and fields burned or crops left to rot. It was a wonder she even got Sero’s letter at all. Varyn’s network is strong, though – but not strong enough to prevent an assault on their home. Is it burnt? Rubble? She wonders if her fellow wayfarers are dead, bloated corpses in the snow like those in war. Aeran… She balks at the thought, willing it away. It’s no use. Don’t dream up information you don’t have, Varyn always said. Illia sucks in air, attempting the calming breaths of her mentor. It doesn’t help much.

She finds herself at the harbor. The gulls scream and the port is bustling, busy sailors loading and unloading. Off-duty crew looking for entertainment, or just a nice meal and a change of view. It’s tedious to be at sea, she knows.

Of course, there’s a familiar flag on a large ship at the end of the dock. She knows her family has been busy. Her father keen on expanding his power, though for all she knows it’s Aristos who runs the business now. She has avoided the ships when she saw them, likely as she is to run into one of her siblings. Her parents’ legacy, a family trade empire, every child captain of their own ship if they should wish. All except one, of course.

Illia can’t help but walk closer, some sort of bitter curiosity perhaps. The ship is big, and must have been here long enough to trade, sailors bringing goods aboard. Familiar Coveran is barked out as orders and idle chit chat both. The captain is by the gangplank, arguing with an official. She freezes. The same brown hair and grey eyes as herself. Same freckles, just fewer of them, scattered across the bridge of their nose. Lorsan, their sibling.

To see them here, now –

Illia wonders what they would do if she went to them. Would she be welcomed or turned away? Would Lorsan even recognize her? She’s a far cry from the forgotten little sister who got shoved out of their life many years past. But, she’s alone now. The letter in her pack tells her so, tells her to run. And Tol Covere and the Strand fleet is one place to run. She imagines Lorsan, greeting her like the long lost sibling she is. Mother, tearfully hugging her. Her father, saying she did well for their name after all. Maybe that one is a stretch.

Lorsan opens their pack and draws out brass scale. The magic unfolds itself, the scale balancing in the air. Some last-minute haggling, spices probably. A simple instrument, easy to use, and every merchant’s stable if they can afford it. The Strand family can, but it’s not something she can use. She’d break the delicate magic with a simple careless touch.

No.

She does not belong in the Strand fleet. Their legacy is not hers.

She belongs with the Wayfarer Order, even if it no longer exists. Some were scatted, Varyn said. Perhaps she can find them. That is to be her legacy now, bitter as it is.

Illia turns from away the dock, her feet leading her back to the city.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer fanfic #wfr anniversary #Illia Strand #writing about Illia #the complicated relationship to her family #viking writes #published 9/19/2024

19 notes · View notes

bestgullpoll · 1 year

Text

Round 1, Side A: Match 11

[Image ID: Two pictures of gulls. The left is an Iceland gull walking on dirt. The right is a brown-headed gull standing on a concrete ledge. /End ID]

The Iceland gull (Larus glaucoides) is a large gull that breeds in the Arctic regions of Canada and Greenland -- not Iceland. They migrate to winter in the northern Atlantic (including Iceland) and Pacific. They typically measure 50-64 cm (20-25 in) in length and 115-150 cm (45-59 in) in wingspan. They have white underparts and head, pale grey upperparts and wings, pink legs, and yellow bill with small red spot. Their wingtips range from white to black depending on the subspecies. They eat fish, molluscs, eggs, and carrion.

The brown-headed gull (Chroicocephalus brunnicephalus) is a mid-sized gull that breeds in central Asia and inner Mongolia and migrates to winter on the coasts and large inland lakes of India. They typically measure 40-45 cm (16-18 in) in length. They have white underparts, grey upperparts, brown head, white eye crescents, and red bill and legs. Their grey wings are black at the tips with white "mirrors." They eat fish, insects, and carrion.

Iceland gull image by Seabamirum

brown-headed gull image by Rushen

#bestgullpoll #polls #tumblr tournament #birds #iceland gull #brown headed gull

4 notes · View notes

mutant-distraction · 8 months

Text

Sanjay Pandit

Brown-headed gull

49 notes · View notes

inaconstantstateofchange · 5 months

Text

Bond!AU | Wyll & Ansur [Pt. 3]

Part One | Two

Wyll is slightly less surprised when he finds himself in the clearing again after closing his eye beside the smoldering cinders of his campfire. Such a thing happening twice is still circumstantial – albeit somewhat odd – but thrice? That makes a pattern, and Wyll’s life over the past year has increasingly depended on him taking note of those patterns.

He considers the space around him with more interest, now that he knows it to be something more than a mere dream. The pool draws the eye first, filling the center of the clearing as it does. He resists its allure, however, determined to finalize his surveillance before he allows himself to see if his little friend yet remains a part of this confounding dreamscape. The trees surrounding the clearing appear as solid and well-defined as the rest of the clearing, but as he makes toward them, they fade out in time with his steps. By the time he stands before them, they seem like nothing so much as the memory of trees — gray, wavering, and ephemeral.

Beyond them, in the formless fog, he hears the crashing of distant waves, and the furious shrieking of the gulls, songbirds of his youth. He swallows hard, the click of it catching in his throat. His good eye prickles, and his empty socket aches.

He turns away from the far-off call, trying to convince himself it does not make of him a coward. No longer so keen to unravel the mysteries of the dreamscape, he slumps to the ground in his ‘usual’ spot, against the rocks that have supported him twice before. He doesn’t imagine they will mind doing so again. Eager for a distraction, he looks for his little friend. After the last two meetings, he no longer expects to see it in the same form, watching solely for that tell-tale bronze.

He gazes into the pool for some time, inspecting it intently, and finding his breathing unconsciously matching the gentle lapping of the water. He settles into a state similar to what he imagined meditation must be like, when he heard it described as a child. He is aware of every splash and rustle before him, but every one that does not resolve itself in some new form of his friend is noted, then disregarded. Somehow, this sustained focus does not exhaust him — as he is certain it must, were he to attempt it upon waking. Instead, it feels almost rejuvenating, the aches of his body carried away along with the rest. The aching of his mind is not so easily disregarded, but he fancies it too, is somewhat soothed.

After a time, his attention is drawn to a portion of the pool, something about it sticking with him, rather than flowing through. He makes the decision – barely a thought, really – to trust his instincts, and keeps his attention focused upon it. Some minutes later, his patience is rewarded, as a tiny brown snout he had taken for a twig ‘til now pokes further out from the water, revealing dark eyes and a head striped with bronze. Below the water the coloration continues, muted but still visible, as the light reflects off of the angled patterns of its shell.

Wyll smiles helplessly down at the turtle, which cannot be any larger than the palm of his hand. “I hope you have avoided further mishaps, friend.”

The turtle turns its head to stare at him, and, for no reason he can clearly define, he perceives it to be disgruntled. He considers it for a moment, then owns that he does not greatly enjoy having his own blunders thrown back in his face — something the devil he is sworn to is all too happy to engage in, under the guise of “counsel”.

He bows his head to the little creature. “Apologies; that was ill-done of me. I meant only to wish you well, and inquire after your health. Although… I suppose you likely can’t talk, which means that is also quite rude—”

Turtles certainly can’t roll their eyes, but Wyll discovers that mysterious turtles one encounters in a dreamscape can manage a very convincing impression. With a gurgling huff, the little thing clambers its way onto the sun-warmed surface of a small rock, settling in to bask. Its head is still angled loosely in his direction, which he decides to treat as invitation enough. It clearly does not have any great trouble making its opinion known, no matter the limitations of its form.

Wyll has a fair few more stories under his belt now than he did when he first awoke in this clearing, and he shuffles through them in his mind, searching for the best of them to entertain his companion. If they are to meet only sparingly, as seems to be the case, then he will no doubt have plenty more at their next encounter.

Leaning back fully against the rock behind him, he settles upon his choice, and begins his tale.

“So this particular wizard – although those toffs out in Waterdeep would likely take umbrage with him claiming that title – had struck upon the brilliant idea of employing both a choker and a gargoyle as guards…”

#here you are have some more #bg3 #bg3 fic #wyll #wyll ravengard #ansur #bg3 ansur #bg3 spoilers #bg3 act 3 spoilers #bg3 au #my writing #wyll & ansur

27 notes · View notes

hopefuloverfury · 4 months

Note

Hi moot! Hope you're doing well! <:)

Can i request about pilot harvey meeting the farmer (GN) ? (Those HCs about the bachelors archieving their dreams is living rent free in my head for a while )

Maybe harvey taking a break from aviation after an accident and spending some time in pelican town to rest ? 👀

It could be HCs or a little oneshot, whatever you're comfortable with!

(If Anything just sorry in advance)

Hey moot! This one was a monster, and it took me fucking ages(sorry abt that), but I hope you like it all the same!!

Bachelor/ettes Achieving Their Dreams is here.

3296 words, mentions of scarring, burns, fire, some swearing, and Pierre's relationship with Abigail is pretty... not nice. GN!Farmer, Pilot!Harvey. Half edited, so excuse any awkward phrasing or typos. I tried my best. :') This one is pretty lengthy, so it gets a cut. Enjoy!

When the creatures of the valley are sleeping, and the streetlights lining the town square still glow faintly, Harvey wakes up and starts his day.

Like clockwork, he rolls out of bed to wash the sleep out of his eyes and shock his body awake with a shower. It’s a routine he picked up in the early years of his career, when he was lowest in seniority and always stuck with the longest and earliest flights. Sixteen years later and he still does it, even though there’s no reason to wake up early anymore.

Hopping out of the shower at half past five, he wrings the water out of his curls with a towel, and plucks his glasses from where he left them folded neatly on a washcloth. He wipes vapor off of the lenses with it, holds them up to the light to make sure they’re dry, and then settles them on his nose.

The world turns clear, and a flash of pearly white at the front of his bangs catches his attention. Harvey frowns.

He’s lucky his hairline isn’t receding just yet, but he scowls at how his age is starting to show in the streaks of white, in sharp contrast against the rest of his chocolate brown hair. He flicks a dangling curl away from his brow, and leans in close to the mirror, eyeing his jawline in disappointment. He runs a palm over the curve of his cheek, and sighs.

He needs to shave again.

Well, need is a strong word, because he doesn’t—not anymore, anyway. But old habits die hard.

That takes at least ten minutes, and he’s been shaving every other day for half of his life, but he’s still nursing a nick under his jaw as he walks into the kitchenette. The apartment is cool compared to the sauna he’s made of the bathroom, and his skin blooms with goosebumps when he opens the fridge.

He drags out the almost empty carton of eggs from the back of the top shelf, and pulls a pack of bread from the other side. There are two slices left, not counting the ends. He sighs, and knows he’ll have to pick up groceries from Pierre’s in a few hours when the shop opens. Harvey digs the last of his coffee grounds out of the cabinet above the stove. He’ll need to pick up another bag of those as well, and his head twinges at the thought. His grocery list is getting longer the more he thinks about it.

He shakes the thoughts away. Coffee and food first, before everything else.

He fries up the last of the eggs, toasts and lightly butters the bread, and sits at his tiny dining table with a full mug. The window beside him is closed and the curtains are pulled, but the cloth is sheer enough that he can look outside and see the world slowly start to wake up. There are chittering finches in the tree branches, a brown rabbit hopping through the underbrush of Jodi’s backyard, and if he straightens up enough, he can see pure white gulls gliding over the deep stretch of blue beyond Pelican Town’s beaches.

He eats slowly, gazing out the window as the sun finally rises above the mountains and bathes the valley in soft yellow light.

Harvey smiles and pulls the curtains back. It’s still too cold to slide the window open—the valley is just three weeks out of winter, and you’d have to be a madman to subject yourself to the early morning chill—but the warmth of the sun should reach him through the glass just fine. He picks up his mug and takes a swig, settling in for his breakfast overlooking Pelican Town.

The peace is short-lived, however. By half past 8, his dishes are empty and clean in the rack adjacent to the sink, and his computer is on the table, open to a 3-day-old email from Steph, his coworker. He scrolls up to the beginning of the message and skims over it again.

Hey Harv, just checking in again. How are you doing these days? How are your arms? Has your back healed? I’m sure you’re following doctor’s orders, but I wanted to check in to be sure. By the way, I talked to Ricky yesterday, and he says he’s doing good, but he hasn’t heard from you in months. I don’t mean to pry, and you know I don’t mind the radio silence, but he’s your best friend, Harv... Reach out to him, will you? He misses you. We all do. Even the trainees have been asking about you (I think they just miss getting drinks on your dime though). Take care of yourself, maybe go outside for a bit, you old fart. I’ve heard the weather in the south is lovely this time of year. Send me some pictures, okay? Talk soon.

Harvey sighs and runs an exasperated hand over his face.

How is he doing?

His back still aches occasionally, but Caroline’s aerobics class helps with the worst of the pain, and the burns on his arms healed a long time ago. The scars are a nasty reminder, sure, but his skin doesn’t feel tender to the touch anymore.

Point is, he could schedule a physical tomorrow, and his doctor would clear him for flight by the end of next week—but that’s kind of the problem.

Harvey looks at his coat closet. In the farthest corner, hidden under his uniforms, his model kits collect dust. He threw everything in there when he first arrived in the valley, and he’s pretty sure he’d have to lean all of his weight back just to get the door open. He goes tense when he hears an engine in the sky, but he doesn’t look up anymore.

Harvey pauses.

When did he stop?

He glances at the time, and closes his computer with a sigh. His chair makes an awful screech against the tile as he stands, and he beelines for his dresser, yanking the top drawer open to grab the first barely presentable thing he sees. An old university t-shirt; one of the few with no holes.

He tosses it on his bed, swipes the top pair of jeans out of his hamper, and unravels his robe.

Harvey gets dressed quickly and only spares himself a quick glance in the mirror to check that everything is sitting fine. It’s certainly not the picture of professionalism expected by his employers, but they’re not here, so as long as he doesn’t look like he’s just rolled out of bed, that’s good enough.

Harvey slips on his most comfortable pair of shoes, shoves his wallet and keys in his pocket, and steps outside.

The sun assaults his pupils as he makes his way down the stairs, and he squints against the glare until his eyes adjust. It’s nicer out now, and he breathes in the sweet smell of tulips—Evelyn’s flowers of choice this year for the planters lining the square. The dogwood trees are also blooming, leaving the cobblestone littered with white and pink petals. Harvey closes his eyes and inhales slowly, feeling peaceful.

“Shit!—”

Harvey jumps, his eyes flying open in surprise at the sound of wood thunking against glass, heavy like a gong. A few birds leap from their perches in the trees, and a squirrel dives under a bush. He turns to Pierre’s, searching for the source of the sound, and finds a stranger with a giant crate in their arms, fighting to balance it as they reach for the doors.

Harvey realizes that it is not one, but two crates.

Stacked on top of each other.

One of them is starting to tip over.

“Woah, woah!” They yelp, and Harvey moves without thinking.

The grit of the wood presses against his palms as he heaves the top crate out of their arms, and he looks at the stranger with a smile.

“Uh, hello,” Harvey says. They blink, perfectly silent, and he grimaces. “Sorry, you looked like you were going to lose it.”

It’s not as smooth as he’d like, but it does snap them out of whatever trance they were in.

“Oh, no! Thank you for saving it, it would’ve been bad if I lost that one. It’s, uh.” They smile, and there’s an anxious edge to their voice. “That one’s full of eggs.”

Harvey blinks down at the crate, and then the pavement. “I can’t imagine the mess that would’ve made.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Pierre would ever buy from me again.” They wince. “He probably wouldn’t let me near his shop at all, actually.”

“That man does know how to hold a grudge.” Harvey glances at the doors, the glass glinting and reflecting the bright morning sun directly in his eyes. He blinks hard, willing the after images away. “I’m just here to pick up some groceries, but would you like some help bringing these in?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to, but I’d be very grateful if you did, stranger.” They smile. Something warm settles in his gut at the invitation.

“My name is Harvey,” He says sheepishly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harvey. I’m the new farmer.” Harvey doesn’t bother mentioning he never met the old one. They nod at the dirt path leading to the bus stop, and he glances over his shoulder. “I moved into the farmhouse down the road a few weeks ago.”

His eyebrows wrinkle a bit. “You moved in a few weeks ago and I’ve only just met you?”

“I’ve been pretty busy. The farm wasn’t in the best shape, so I’ve been clearing the land, and trying to raise enough money to restore the farmhouse.” The Farmer lifts the crate in their arms a bit. “Hence the crates.”

Harvey looks down at the crate in his arms. “How many chickens do you even have? There’s like fifty eggs in here.”

“I started off with two, but I’ve got eight now. They make a lot.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Harvey readjusts the crate, a burn building in his arms. He’s surprised it took so long, though. Maybe the aerobics class is doing more for him than just fixing the back pain.

Harvey nearly topples backward as the front doors swing open, but rights himself at the last moment. The crate of eggs remains safe in his arms, even though the glare that Abigail fixes him with makes his knees weak, and the sword strapped to her hip doesn’t help, either.

“Harvey,” she grits out, and he thinks it might be a greeting?

He doesn’t have the opportunity to reply, though, because she levels the farmer with an even nastier scowl, and storms off toward Marnie’s. Pierre appears just then, keys in hand and a matching scowl on his face. Harvey doesn’t have to wonder where Abigail got it from.

“Fucking brat,” Pierre spits, jamming the keys into the front doors to unlock them as Harvey and the Farmer share an awkward look.

“Uh, rough morning, Pierre?” The Farmer asks.

“That would be the understatement of the fucking century, Farmer.” Pierre waves them in, and Harvey follows dutifully. The general store is always warmer than it is outside, and in the winter that’s a boon, but right now Harvey can already feel sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. He rolls his shoulders back, and that helps only marginally. “What have you got for me today?”

“One crate of eggs, one of produce.”

“Good. Set them both on the counter. I’ll get my scale and ring you up.”

“Yes sir,” The farmer heaves their crate onto the counter beside Pierre’s register, and Harvey sets the eggs beside it as gently as he can. When he looks up, the door to Pierre’s home is swinging shut.

“Wow. This spat must’ve been really bad if Pierre is cursing,” The Farmer muses, crossing their arms and leaning against the counter.

“I've never seen him this angry.” Harvey heaves a breath. “I wonder what happened this time.”

“I'm not close with either of them, so I couldn’t guess.” The Farmer shrugs.

“I didn’t think you were,” Harvey whistles. “Certainly not Abigail, with the way she looked at you. What did you even do?”

The Farmer sighs. “Lewis thinks it’s because she wanted to buy the deed to the old farm, and is pissed that I got it through birth.”

“And what do you think?” Harvey asks.

They shrug again. “I’m not about to hunt her down to find out.”

“She’d probably cut you down if you did,” Harvey says grimly, shuddering at the memory of the sword gleaming on her hip. The Farmer chuckles.

“She could certainly try.” The Farmer rolls their eyes, a smug smile playing on their lips, and Harvey suddenly gets the sense that he is very, very out of his depth. They look at him curiously after the silence stretches for a few moments longer than necessary, and Harvey swallows hard.

“Groceries.” He says intelligently, and the Farmer’s eyes slowly crinkle at the edges.

“That is what you originally came here for.”

“I should go do that.”

“You should.” The Farmer nods, their smile unmoving, and Harvey stiffly makes his way to the end of the first aisle.

He can feel the Farmer’s eyes on him the whole way, his eyes skimming the shelf as he tries very hard to ignore the prickling heat climbing up his neck. He slips out of sight, rubs the back of his neck as the feeling disappears, and starts looking for his coffee.

The door in the far corner of the shop swings open again, and Pierre waltzes back into the store with an easy smile on his face. Harvey really should be used to the mood swings by now, but when Pierre’s entire personality changes with the breeze, the whiplash is enough to leave everything spinning.

“Sorry for the wait, Farmer. My scale wasn’t where I left it.”

“Oh, no worries, Pierre. I’m in no rush.”

“No offense, but I don’t believe you,” Pierre jokes. “You’re always in a rush.”

“Not today, thankfully. I’m spending the rest of the day at the beach.”

Harvey hears Pierre clunk his scale on the counter. “The beach? It’s still a bit too cold to take a dip, isn’t it?”

“Oh no, I’m not going swimming, I’m fishing.”

Harvey’s never been the type to eavesdrop, but the store is small and they’re not even ten feet away, so he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, does he?

He frowns. It’s a poor excuse and he knows it.

He refocuses on the bags in front of him, and sighs. Pierre has a small selection of coffee, and it’s expensive, but it’s better than Joja. Harvey shudders. He would rather pour hot wax on his own tongue than buy coffee from Joja.

Harvey grabs two bags of beans, stands up, and plucks one loaf of plain white bread from the top shelf. He glances down at everything in his arms. He probably should’ve grabbed a basket.

“Alright, that's the last of it!”

“Thank you, Pierre, I appreciate it.” Harvey perks up.

“Oh no, it’s no trouble at all. Your farm is already doing a lot of good for the local economy, even with that cursed Joja Mart across the river.” Harvey nearly snorts. No one in town is as vocal about their hatred for the big blue building as Pierre.

“Give it time, Pierre. It’ll close down eventually.”

“In a perfect world, it never would’ve opened in the first place.”

“Have a good day, Pierre,” The Farmer calls over their shoulder, and Harvey tenses when he realizes the sound of their steps is getting closer. Harvey looks up, and the Farmer is smiling at him, half concealed by the rack as they peer around the corner. “Hey.”

“Uh, hi again.” Harvey manages a tiny wave past everything in his arms, and the Farmer’s smile widens.

“Just wanted to thank you again for the help,” The Farmer says warmly. Harvey opens his mouth to reply, wanting to say something about it being no trouble, but they’re already dipping out of sight. Regret sours in his throat.

But then they’re reappearing a moment later, still leaning past the corner of the aisle like they’re in some goofy movie poster, with a basket hanging from their hand. “Need a basket?”

Harvey wonders if the twitch of his lips is visible under the fluff of his mustache, and walks up to them. “I do, thank you.”

“I think this is the least I can do, considering.” The Farmer holds it out to him, keeping the handles out of his way as he dumps the bags of coffee and bread into the basket. “I would’ve lost a lot of income if you hadn’t lent me a hand when you did, so thank you.”

“It wasn’t any trouble.”

“Maybe not, but I appreciate you all the same. It’s nice being out here, surrounded by people who actually give a damn about each other.” Harvey stares at them in surprise. “Even the nicest people in Zuzu wouldn’t have given me a second glance.”

“You’re from the city?”

They nod. “Not by birth, but yeah. I was living in Zuzu for a few years until now.”

Harvey takes in their sunkissed skin, and the sturdiness of their arms. They look like they’ve been in the fields for years. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” They hold his basket out again, and Harvey takes it.

“Thank you, Farmer.”

They smile, and the flecks of dirt on their face catch his eyes like diamonds. “You’re welcome. Have a good day, Harvey. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Harvey mumbles as they finally leave, the bell above the doors cheerily punctuating their departure.

It takes him a long time to shake himself out of it, but he manages eventually. Harvey plucks a few extra things off the shelves, and when his basket is appropriately heavy, he makes his way to the counter where Pierre is busy separating eggs into cartons.

“Morning, Harvey,” Pierre greets him familiarly, and Harvey nods his head.

“Morning, Pierre.” Harvey clunks his basket on the counter. “Can I get two cartons of eggs too, please?”

Pierre checks him out quickly, and Harvey is out of there two minutes later with his arms full and his wallet a little lighter.

He climbs up the steps to his apartment, and pauses at his door. He looks up toward the bus stop; squints hard to see past it. The trees block most of his view, but he can still make out the hint of open farmland between the branches. Harvey blinks and turns to his door, his keys jingling obnoxiously between his fingertips as he unlocks it and steps inside. He’s being weird.

He sets his bags on the kitchen counter and starts unloading his groceries.

Later, just past noon, Harvey is sitting in front of his computer, once again failing to type up a worthwhile reply to Steph. He gets a sentence down, maybe two, and then he’s grumbling to himself and deleting everything again. And again. And again.

And again.

Harvey thunks his head against the tabletop in defeat, and groans loudly.

“This isn’t working,” Harvey mumbles, as if the world needed any confirmation.

He sits up, his forehead aching faintly, and looks out the window. Beyond the square, beyond the thick line of trees, he can see the ocean glittering under the sun, deep blue and endless.

All it takes is a tug in his chest, and Harvey gets up, puts his shoes on, and walks out the door.

#stardew valley #sdv #harvey #sdv harvey #pilot!Harvey #sdv farmer #gn farmer #asks #requests #moots <3

39 notes · View notes

multi-fan-dom-madness · 1 year

Note

Hey lovely! Dropping that quote in here for you!

“may my heart

be the softest place you fall,

may this love

be the wildest place you run”

What clone boy are you thinking of? Let your inspiration guide you! 💕

Of Heartbreaks and Love

Summary: You're the person Omega runs to when she needs comfort the most.

Warnings: teenage emotions, hurt/comfort, parent!reader & daughter!Omega, reader helping Omega through her first heartbreak

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: okay I know you said 'clone boy' but uhhh my brain wouldn't let this one go, so, here it is! thank you @anxiouspineapple99 for the prompt! <3

This is your favorite part of the day, when the setting sun splashes brilliant colors across the vast, cloud-studded sky, when the fishermen haul in their skiffs and drag ashore the bounty of food snared in their nets, when the gulls caw and cry and swoop overhead. Inhaling the warm, salty air, you lean against the doorframe to your small abode, a peaceful smile playing over your lips. Island life suits you.

Your home is perched at the edge of one of the cliffs on Pabu. Overlooking the rest of the island, it affords you some of the best views you’ve ever had in your life. One of them being the cluster of homes below yours, inhabited by a family of clones and their sister. Ever since they settled on the island, nearly a year ago, you’ve found yourself in their company most nights. By day, you work in your parents’ wood shop; at night, you live your life, unfettered by the Empire and unbothered by the memories of scraping a living out of the shithole planet you left behind.

Just as the wind nudges along the clouds above you, you allow it to whisk away your thoughts and troubles. Exhaling, you turn your face skyward and let your eyes slip shut, basking in the day’s final sunlight.

You’re just beginning to muse about how peaceful this moment is when the illusion is shattered. The sound of frantic footsteps slapping against the stone walkway has your eyes fluttering open, a frown tugging at your features. What in the blue blazes...?

Omega bursts past the hedge of bushes that screens your house and sprints up the stone steps before launching herself at you. With a surprised grunt, you stumble, arms snaking around the girl’s shoulders.

Shoulders that shake with heart-wrenching sobs. Her face buried in your chest, she squeezes you, hot tears soaking your shirt.

“Omega?” you ask, quiet, tentative.

She keens, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothing.

You press your lips to the crown of her head. “Shh, babygirl, I’ve got you.”

Worry and heartbreak settle like duranium in your bones as you smooth her wild blonde curls. For a long time, you stand in the doorway to your home, rocking in place as you hold the girl you’ve come to see as a younger sister—even as a daughter. A million thoughts flash through your mind, a ship hurtling through hyperspace, but you force them to quiet. You need to be present here, for Omega.

Eventually her sobs subside to sniffles. When she raises her head to meet your gaze, her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, snot drips from her nose, and her face is splotchy with emotion. It strikes you again that despite her maturity, she really is still a child.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, you ask, “What happened, Omega?”

Tears well again in those big brown eyes, the ones usually so full of sparkling joy and fiery life. Her lips quiver as she suppresses another sob. “I- I- I was supposed t-to meet a- a friend at th-the docks.”

“Kai, right?”

She nods, face twisting with anguish. “Y-Yeah. He- He said he l-liked me, and I like h-him, and it- it was supposed to be a- a- a—” A strangled cry rips from her small frame.

Hugging her closer, you rest your chin on her head. “A date?”

She nods again.

“What happened?” you ask again.

“He was kissing a-another girl when I- when I got there,” she stutters out. Then she dissolves into tears once more.

That heavy and cold duranium in your bones liquefies into something molten and searing, demanding in its anger. You want the boy who hurt your little girl like this to learn a lesson, to understand the consequences of his actions—but as Omega cries into your chest, you realize that she came to you, not her brothers.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, letting the scent of saltwater and fish and fresh fruit fill you, you gently extricate yourself from Omega’s grip. Her eyes are full of pain as she looks up at you again, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Do you want some tea?”

She blinks at you. You let her process the question on her own time, remembering all too well your own first heartbreak and how muddled your mind had been. After a moment, she shakes her head.

“Alright.” You try for a smile. “How about some starfruit?”

Another shake of her head, her curls bouncing.

“Want to take the ship and go get some junk food from a nearby system?”

That makes her laugh. “Hunter wouldn’t like that.”

You hum. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind too much.” Cupping her face in your hands, you dry her cheeks with your thumbs, holding her like you would a porcelain doll: gently, reverently. “He doesn’t know, does he.”

“No,” she says, grimacing. She lowers her gaze. “I...didn’t want him to get all overprotective.”

“That’s kind of his job, sweetheart.” You try your best not to say it unkindly. “He worries about you. We all do.”

Nodding, she frowns. “I know. I just...”

“I get it, ’Mega.” You lower your hands to her shoulders and squeeze. “I know that this sucks, and it hurts, and it’s going to hurt for a while. But you’ve got all of us here who care about you and want you to be happy.”

She begins to cry again.

“’Mega,” you say, lowering yourself to your knees to look up into her eyes. “Babygirl. You’re okay. It’s gonna be alright.”

Shaking her head, she screws her eyes shut. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Oh, honey, I know.” You slide your hands down her arms to cup her own in yours. “Feelings are never easy. Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay?”

“I- I’ll try.”

“Good.” Your press light kisses to the backs of her hands. “There’s an old saying from my homeworld. ‘May my heart be the softest place you fall, may this love be the wildest place you run’.”

Brow furrowing, she opens her eyes to look at you. “What’s that mean?”

“It means...” You take a deep breath, nerves jittering up your spine, tears dewing in your own eyes. “It’s something that parents say to their kids after their first heartbreak. It means I’ll always be here for you. It means I want the best for you. It means...it means I love you.”

She gulps. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” You let out a watery chuckle, blinking away the tears that blur your vision. “You’re so strong, Omega. You’re going to be just fine.”

“I believe you,” she says.

You push back to your feet with a soft groan, feeling the joints pop. Tugging her back into your embrace, the pair of you stand there in the gathering dark, the sun finally having set, the gulls finally having gone to nest, the fishermen back with their families. On the faint breeze, Wrecker’s booming laugh carries up to your ears, the chatter of Omega’s brothers too faint to discern actual words, but comforting in their proximity. In your arms, you feel the girl begin to relax, the deep, steadying breaths she takes.

“I was being serious about the junk food, by the way.”

Her eyes are hopeful when they meet yours again. “Yes, please.”

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @deejadabbles @blueink-bluesoul @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @moonlightwarriorqueen @idontgetanysleep @mandos-mind-trick @starrylothcat @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @eyeluvmusic21 @523rdrebel @isthereanechoinhere96 @starqueensthings @ladyzirkonia @sinfulsalutations if I missed anyone pls accept my apologies

#omega & reader #omega tbb #the bad batch & reader #the bad batch x reader #rhiwrites #of heartbreaks and love #rhiplies #requested content

83 notes · View notes

floydsglasses · 6 months

Text

𝙒𝙖𝙮 𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 - Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia (A Quiet Place AU)

Pairing: Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x AFAB Black!OC/Jasmine

SUMMARY: Monster's aren't the only thing that survivors of the quiet world have to worry about now, the people though they are hunted are the biggest threat of all. Two survivor's out of options agree to help each get out of the vacant city to safety.

Tags: Mention of blood/wounds, post apocalyptic setting, use of ASL, Alien creatures. Drug Use,mentions of death, Stranger's to lovers, Implied Smut, Angst, Swearing, Fluff,

A/N: I based this loosely off the Lord Huron Song, Way Out There, check it out when you can its so good.

WORD COUNT: HAVENT COUNTED

⏁⏁⏁

ALONE,That’s how he felt. Everything was gone and he is one out of many survivors, sometimes he thinks he is the last survivor. He will be walking through an abandoned neighborhood, seeing the ruined car’s and nature taking over it will make him miss everything he had taken for granted, and being able to make a sound.

He missed people, talking to them. He was a person who thrived off social interactions. Always finding a way to include people in the conversation even if it was a small conversation. The only thing he talked with now was the voice in his head, which sometime’s was loud enough that it made him think that it was someone there.

He had no real plan, he just wanted to make it to the next sunrise. Having been living in anywhere that seemed stable till he got bored or had to move. It was lonely spending each day wondering and not having any idea of what to do.

Today was a ‘moving day’. He left a motel six he had been walking since the sun had risen, he thought it would be nice to try and live in one of the high rise’s by the marina. He passed the turned over car’s, vine’s growing into the tire’s and out of the engine.

That was a nice car, he thinks. He bet if he went back to the naval base the F18’s will be overgrown with nature. He looked down sadly, he missed his job, and his RIO. His flat shoes crunched softly, the bottom’s worn out from the use.

CLINK!

He stopped, his hand resting over his knife holster. His brown eyes scanned around him, his heart racing in his ear’s searching for the cause of the sound.

CLINK! He panted as he ran to the other side of an overturned car, his back pressed firmly against the hood of the car, he unsheathed his blade from his leather holster. He inhaled deeply to slow his heart rate. The clinking noise came again.

He bit his lip, hoping that whatever made the noise stopped soon. He didn't know what exact noise the monster’s didn't like. He licked his lip’s gulping. A few minutes later, the noise had gone away at least he thought.

He stepped on the sidewalk, continuing his walk past abandoned shop’s and firm’s, not sure which part of San Diego he was in. He could see some factorie’s, he guessed that he was close to the sea from the gull’s crying.

A sharp pain shot throughout his entire body. He gasped as he fell back into the brick wall, clutching his shoulder, he pant’s stifling a scream that desperately wanted to leave his mouth. He snapped his head, a short black stick with a neon green end stuck out of his shoulder.

“Shit.” He mouthed.

CLINK, he snapped looking up. Two men wearing bandanas covering their faces carrying crossbows in their hand’s look at him. He grunted holding his shoulder as he started to run.

The tip of the arrow dug deep into him as he bolted, their footsteps not far behind him. His backpack weighed him down, slowing his escape from the masked figure. What did they want from him?

He turned a corner down an alleyway. He gasped as he forced against something, a clothed hand clamped down over his mouth, he grunted against the stranger’s hold on him. Stop it, they whispered.

His shoulder ached as he moved his arm’s. A cold metal touched his temple, his brown eyes widened at the circular pressure against his forehead, the stranger's grip on his mouth tightened as the two men ran past.

The warm body of the person behind him warmed his back, what were they gonna do with the gun? Shoot him, or shoot up leaving him as monster bait. The stranger grunted as they removed the cold metal from his forehead, their hand clamped tight over his mouth.

They leaned to their left moving him with them, their free hand gripped a glass bottle tossing it down the alleyway with a shatter. His eye’s widen as a inhuman roar filled the air. Sorry for this, the stranger whispered in his ear before his world turned dark.

⏁⏁⏁

A MUFFLED sound filled his ears. He groaned softly as his eye’s slowly opened, his arm still ached with a sharp pain. He could make out he was surrounded by brick’s, a factory-like place. He grunt’s softly grabbing at his shoulders.

“Shit thought you were out longer.” A voice grumbled in a whisper. He pant’s in fear as he move’s his arms, a hand stops him.

“Don't move.” They whisper to him, he grabs at their hand. Their face covered by a floral bandana, their hair tucked inside of a baseball cap. Their brown eyes being the only part visible to him.

“Ow.” A female voice muffled by the cover say’s.

He raised his brows. “How?” He signed, she pointed up at the ceiling.

“Three foot concrete they cant hear.” She signed her motion’s fast, he only knew basic asl.

“What?” He signed, she shook her head.

“They can't hear,we are too far underground.” She whispered to him, she moved his jacket sleeve off his arm. He furrowed his brow.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, she didn't answer. He shook his head irritated, his finger’s pulled down her bandana. Her eyes widened at him.

She glared at him as he stared at her for a moment. He hadn't seen another person in so long it was comforting to see someone, especially someone as pretty, what he did not expect was the look of anger.

“Am I gonna have to handcuff you?” She fumed, she pulled his hand away from her.

“Sorry.” He apologized, she pulled out a needle,thread, alcohol,.

“What are you doing?” He asked her again, and she looked up at him. “Sewing you up.” She says bluntly, she leaned over grabbing a white rag, his hand pat around his shoulder where the arrow used to be.

“You removed it?” He asked her. She shrugged, soaking the rubbing alcohol into the rag.

“Yeah now I'm gonna have to sew you back up.” She tells him. His brown eyes widen in fear.

“What.wha sew me up?” He stammered.

“Yes, Unless you would prefer to bleed out.” She joked with a dry laugh, he shook his head. She grumbled under breath, she at him.

“You don't happen to have vodka on you, do you?” The girl asks him.

“What?” He said, confused, she shook her hand. “What about bleach?” She ask’s. He shook his head.

“No, What are you talking about?” He wonder’s, she bit her lip, she poured the alcohol into a plastic butter container.

“I'm almost out of alcohol so look’s like I'm using the rest on you.” She says to him.

She set the thread in the liquid, leaning over to him. “Can you roll this out of the way?” She asks him, gesturing to his gray long sleeve shirt.

“You want me to do it for you?”She wondered. He shook his head. He groaned as he slowly pulled his sleeve down, lifting it up over his head, his black curl’s falling back down. She flicked on her bright pink lighter with a duck on the side.

She removed the sewing needle from her bag, moving the flame under her needle. “What are you doing?” He asked, his heart racing.

“Sterilizing it.” She state’s, he leaned back. He wasn't sure what he was even laying on, just that it was safe for him to talk. “If blood loss doesn't kill you, infection will.”

“No offense but.” He gulped as she threaded the needle. The sharp end made his heart drop to his stomach.

“Your bedside manner suck’s.” He chuckled weakly, she rolled her eye’s. “My exe’s might think differently.” She mumbled under her breath, she got on her knees to his side.

She inhaled deeply.”I'm gonna tell you now this is not gonna be pretty.” She warns him, he nodded his head.

“You can hold my hand if you want.” She suggests to him, he whipped his head looking at her. She picked up his shirt, wrapping it tightly and handing it back to him.

“Bite down on this.” The girl ordered him. He pants, taking it from her, putting the gray henley in his mouth, gritting his teeth against it. She grabbed the warm needle hovering over his wound.

“Take a deep breath.” She says, she closed her eyes as she prepared herself. She winced as she began to thread through his skin. He screamed in agony, his cries muffled from the cloth against his mouth.

Hot tears escaped his eyes flowing down his face,she winced at the man in pain. His finger’s gripped against her free arm as she continued to work to patch him up.

⏁⏁⏁

HE PANTED, staring at the concrete above him. The pain in his shoulder diminished thankfully, though he could still feel it. She walked between the wood table set against the wall, she pulls out a shirt from her milk crate. She walked back over to him.

“Should fit.” She tells him, lightly tossing him a dark green henley shirt. He grabbed at it, slowly sitting up against the carseat, he groaned pulling the shirt over his head, being mindful of his patched up wound.

“Who were those guy’s?” Mickey wonder’s, she pulls her plaid shirt close to herself.

“San Diego bandits.” She answers. He furrowed his brow’s. “Who?” he ask’s.

She sighed irritated. “You don't know do you?” She says, she crossed her arms turning around to look at him.

“Their a group of radical’s killing anyone in the city who makes a sound.” She explained to him, he raised a brow. “Why would they do that?” He wondered, she shook her head.

“Because they think that by silencing anyone, they are appeasing god and that he will take the monster’s back.” She explained.

“So that’s why they tried to kill me, to stop me from making noise?” He ask’s her, she shrugged.

“That or they were gonna auction you off.” She says, his heart dropped. “Auction me? Like fucking cattle?” He ask’s, she shrugs.

“In a way, yes.” She answered. She puts her hand on her hip’s. “Some people they keep alive, other’s they drag out, and leave them as a sacrifice.” She explains.

He shook his head. “How do you know so much about them?” He wonder’s

“Because I used to be one of them.” She tells him. She sighed leaning back. “That was two months ago.” She clarifies. His brows furrowed.

“I've been in the city for two years, and never met them.” He tells her, and she shrugged again.

“They did not form till a year ago, and they didn't become violent till six months ago.” She informs him. He shook his head in shock. He was lucky they hadn't found him yet. They could have killed him at any chance.

“And I have some bad news for you.” She speaks up. He looked at her, she inhaled through her nose. “This thing isn't over for you.” She tells him.

“What? What are you talking about?” He ask’s her.

“When they dont silence someone, they will do everything they can to make sure you don't come back.” The girl explained to him, he ran his fingers through his curly black hair, his heart began to race.

“Are you serious?” He ask’s her, she nodded. He swore under his breath as he began to pace back and forth. “But.” She started, he crossed his arms looking at her, not expecting something good.

“I won't let them get to you…if you help me.” She says to him. His mouth parted agape. “Is that why you saved me?!” He wondered, he took a step forward.

“Just because you need someone to help you?” Mickey ask’s, she shakes her head.

“I saved you because I'm not an asshole.” She state’s bluntly.

“Really?” He says with a brow raised. “So you holding a gun to my head makes you less of one.” He remark’s rolling his eyes. Her jaw dropped, shaking her head.

“You mean me holding a car lighter to your head.''The woman tells him. She shook her head again.

“Baby the closest I have ever gotten to being violent with another human was when I held my hand over your mouth.” She declared, he wiped his mouth, regretting his choice of words.

“Look if you wanna go back out into that city and risk the chance of actually losing your life.” She sneered, she gestured up. “Be my guest.”

She step’s forward, her eye’s darkened as she glared at him. “But if you wanna get out of this god forsaken city..then you will help me.” She stated.

He takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “Fine.” He conceded.

“Okay then.” She smirked, she turned around grabbing a small blue book in bold font, San Diego County Map, tabbed with different colors. She placed the book on top of metal table.

“A month ago, I went down to the old coast guard sector, I tried to get on one of their boat’s to work.” She explains opening the small book, opening a map part of the book, pointing at the word’s in sharpie.

“As you can see it clearly didn't work, and I sure as shit dont know the first thing about fixing boat’s.” She admit’s with a weak laugh. “And what makes you think I know how to fix a boat?” Mickey wonder’s.

She reached into her front pocket, a jingling of metal peaked his interest. From her finger’s dangled a chain with a small metal plate at the bottom. He held out his palm as she placed the cold misc on it.

He turned the plate over, reading. Mickey Garcia, Fanboy. US NAVY.He looked at her in shock. “You went through my bag?!” He exclaimed in anger, she shook her head.

“It fell off your bag.” She says, she shook her hand. “You were in the military? So you have some type of knowledge about mechanic’s right?” The girl wonder’s.

He stammered for a moment. “I mean yes, I flew onto boat’s I didn't.” He stuttered, she shook her head.

“Yes or no, can you help me?” She asks him. He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes I can help you.” He tells her, her lips formed a thin line.

She extends her hand out. “Shake on it.” She ordered.

“I always shook hands with client’s, it's a sign of trust.” She explains to him, he nods his hand. Gripping her hand in a hand shake. “You have a name?” She ask’s. His brow rose.

“Don't you already know it?” He wonder’s, she shrugged. “I do but you should tell me it yourself.” She admits.

“Mickey.” He tells her. She smirked, impressed. “Jasmine, my friend’s called me J.J.” She says to him, she takes her cap off her head, her curly pixie cut shaking it off.

“I'll take you to the depot in the morning, it's about a three mile walk.” She list’s off to him, she bent down to the plastic crate by her legs pulling out a can of beefaroni. “I'm gonna heat this up,and you.” she points at him.

She rummaged through her pink crate, pulling out a red book. She grunt’s tossing it over to him. He read the title. Sign Language for Everyone: Basic Course.

“There is a safety shower in that back corner, it has only one setting that is lukewarm, I have another hammock you can set up.” JJ tell’s him.

“Oh I don't wanna be a bother.” He told her, and she shook her head.

“Trust me you dont wanna sleep on that seat.” JJ say’s to him. “Okay then.” He says, she smirked turning around, grabbing a chisel popping the can open.

⏁⏁⏁

THE BOAT gently rocked back and forth. She sat at the back of the response boat, gripping her large knife. She covered her face with the bandana again, her short curly hair hidden away in her green baseball cap.

Her brown eyes scanned all over for any threats. Conversation between the two was limited, only because he didn't know ASL as well as she did, and that he was busy fixing up the mistake she had made with the boat.

When she first found it she had tried to find the owner’s manual, she guessed the military didn't leave that out in the open. She sighed bored, she claimed she was an introvert, she usually preferred the comfort of her underground fortress.

Even before the world ended she was happy to be left alone in her crowded apartment. There were point’s where she practically thrived off of how quiet things were now, before the world was to be overrun with noise.

Now actually talking with someone after so long, made her think. A soft grunt’s pull’s her out of her thought’s. She looked up at him, his curly black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“How is it?” She signed fast. His lips parted as he thought of what she might have said. She shook her head standing up carefully getting up walking inside the cabin. She grunted unhooking a whiteboard.

Day’s without an incident, 28 days. She quickly wiped away the black dry erase getting on her purple windbreaker.

“How is it?” She write’s down, he nodded his head taking it from her, wiping away her previous words.

“Should be fine. Some parts are missing though, do you know where I can get parts?” He asked her, and she bring;s out her book from her jeans pocket. Flipping through finding a directory.

She takes the whiteboard from him. “There’s a hardware store one mile up the road.” She tells. She pretends to write on her arm.

“Make a list.” She sign’s, he nodded his head understanding, he took the whiteboard from her, holding it back up.

“Did you break something in there?” He ask’s.

Her eyes widened, embarrassed. She leaned over taking it from him. “I got mad and kicked the panel.” She write’s.

He covered his mouth to stifle his laugh, She rolled her eyes at him. “I'm sorry.” He signed to her, she shrugged.

“What did you do before this?” He asks on the whiteboard. She smirked, taking from him, drawing a stick figure of a man with a gavel and robe.

“You were a judge?” He write’s.

She shook her head. “Lawyer.” She corrects him. He nodded his head, so that’s what she meant when she said client’s. He thinks’.

“What were you?” She asks him, he smirks, taking the whiteboard from her. “Fighter Pilot.” He tells her, she nodded impressed.

“Have you ever shot a plane down?” JJ asked him, he took the board from her quickly writing down. “I have.”

“How did you get the name ‘’Fanboy’?” She wonder’s, he rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the cabin of the boat.

He take’s the whiteboard from her. “I will tell you later, I can't explain this way.” He says, she shrugged.

“Cool, are you almost done for the day?” She asks him, he leaned back thinking. “A few more checks, should be good.” He write’s.

“Get to it.” She signed, he furrowed his brow at her signing.

She sat up pointing to the cabin again, he nodded his head standing up walking back inside. She sighed again. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of his henley slowly moving with his muscle’s. She cleared her thoughts quickly looking away.

⏁⏁⏁

THE BIT OF stray sunlight shines above the steel mill, the small amount of lights dim lit the basement. She marked off on her notebook, sitting on the bottom half of a bucket. She kept a mental note of which tool she would have to take with them tomorrow.

He laid down on the car seat, boredly reading through his ASL book. He had at least memorized ten word’s, the silence air between the both of them was gnawing at him. She wasn't the most talkative person, he could tell.

He sighed loudly. She shook her head, as she returned her attention to her writing. He dropped the book on his chest, dropping his head looking at her. She drops her pencil, turning around looking at him.

“Alright pretty brown eyes, what do you want?” JJ teases him. He resists a smirk at her nickname, he sits up closing his book.

“I'm bored.” He says bluntly.

She shrugged. “Find something to do.” She gesture’s around, he shakes his head.

“Do what? I don't know what this place is,or even who you are.” He point’s out, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Look I just..want something to do, and I will leave you alone till then.” He proposed.

Her brows furrowed as she thought. She sighed defeated. “Fine, you want something to do?” She repeated his answer, he nodded.

“Follow me.” She orders him, standing up quickly at a fast pace down the hall.

“Come on pretty boy.” She urged, he got to his feet following her down a hallway. She unclipped the flashlight from the wall as the light from above faded away. She pulled her arm’s closer to herself as they kept walking.

“So what is this place?” He asked her, she inhaled.

“Ryan & Edward’s steel mill, founded in 1939, at the tail end of the depression when World War || was starting.” Jasmine explained to him.

“Ran until 1988, Steel Crisis shut them down for good, and it didn't help that the place was a walking death trap at point’s.” She explains, he nodded listening to her smooth voice. She stops at a room with cabinet file’s and a desk.

“If it’s such a death trap why are you here?” Mickey wonder’s leaning against the door frame. She chuckled weakly.

“I don't think I really care if inhaled spores kill me, it would be better than..well you know.” Jasmine admit’s, she shivered as she walked in the office.

She walked over to the desk, pulling on the cabinet with a tug. She grunted, it didn't budge. She peaked over the desk.

“Can you help over here?” She asked him, he dropped his arm’s getting next to her, his grip on the desk handle tight.

“Ready?” He asked. The both of them grunt in effort, the draw came unloose. She stumbled back against him, she put her hand against his chest stopping herself, she cleared her throat turning around, getting on her knees digging through.

“What are we looking for?” Mickey ask’s, she holds the flashlight in her mouth, mumbling to him.

“What?” He ask’s, she rolled her eyes pulling it out.

She wiped the back off, handing the tool to him. “I came in here a month ago, it was late and found these old journal’s down here.” Jasmine tell’s him.

“I found a lot of thing’s down here too, kid’s used this place as a hangout so there is stuff littered here from each decade.” She explains to him, her arm’s covered in goosebumps as she rummages through the drawer.

“Look in one of those file cabinets, you can find some old stuff.” She tells him, he nodded his head, he easily opened it digginging through the past.

“You don't mind me asking.” He speaks up, he looked over his shoulder at her.

“How do you know so much about this place?” He wonder’s.

“Well on top of being a partner with a law firm, I had to study up on lawsuit’s.” She recall’s to him, he furrowed his brow.

“What happened here then?” He asked.

“Funny enough, it was a guy smoking, and reading a porno magazine on his break, he fell over the railing breaking his leg, and he sued his foreman.” She tells him, he shook his head with a smirk.

“That is so dumb, how did it end?” He ask’s, she shrugged again. “They settled out of court for 6, 000, which in the 1950's was a lot I guess.” She chuckled.

She pulled out a bundle of photos, and a journal. “Find anything?” She asked him.

“Old magazine’s, couple photos and…. no way.” He gasped in surprise, he pulled out a plastic baggy with green twigs and dirt, she raised a brow as he smiled in excitement.

“How old do you think that is?” Jasmine ask’s him. He flipped the bag examining it. “I don't know.” He is excited.

“You wanna find out?” He challenged, she shook her head, his shoulder’s slump.

“Oh come on, please.” He pleaded with her.

“It's probably not even good.” She tells him. He steps forward, a cockeyed smile at the edge of his lip’s. “Won't know till we try it.” He says.

“Oh so it’s we now?” She wonder’s. He shrugged, with a soft grin. She inhaled looking away from his stare.

“Okay, if I find paper, we can roll one.” She tells him, he smirks. She turned around, opening the sliding desk top. Basic supply’s of an office, a rectangular object catches her attention.

“Huh?” She says out loud. Mickey raised a brow.

“What is it?” He wonder’s leaning against the filing cabinet, she holds it up. On the paper line of the tape written in faded marker. Hollywood’s Classic Mix, and some more. she smirked.

“I found a radio.” She says to him.

Oh fuck yeah.” He agreed, she chuckled softly at his excitement. He walked out of the room with an extra step in his pace. She picked up the journal and photos following him out of the room.

⏁⏁⏁

THE TWO OF them laughed, after she had cooked up an old can of beef broth with carrots, the both of them rolled a joint sharing it. She scrunched her nose as she slowly inhaled the plant, she no doubt knew it was gonna stink up the space they occupied with their cots.

“Ugh this stuff suck’s.” Jasmine coughed, leaning over handing it back to him. He chuckled at her reaction.

“So where are you from?” Mickey asked her, she chuckled looking down at her feet in her Tom’s.

“West Virginia.” She answered. He nodded his head.

“Alright, how does a girl from West Virginia get in a place like this?” He teased, she smirked, she messed with the coils at the back of her neck.

“My parents.” She says.

“Were they lawyer’s too?” He wondered, she shook her head. “Mom was a doctor, Dad was an auto mechanic.” She tells him

“Yeah really broke the mold on that one.” She remark’s, he inhaled the joint. Coughing holding his chest as he handed it back to her.

“What about you, pretty boy? Where are you from?” JJ asked him, he smirked.

“Florida.” He answered. She scoffed. “Not surprising.” She tells him. He raised a brow.

“What does that mean?” He wonder’s, she shrugged. “You seem like the kind of person who lived in ‘Happier State’.” She states. He smirked, his cheek’s growing warm.

“Right there.” She point’s, his smirk turned into a grin at teasing.

“What?” He ask’s between his laughs.

“That..that..your million dollar smile, like how do you do that?” She wonder’s, her lips parted trying to stop her smile.

“The world has ended, and you still are smiling like everything is good.” She admits.

He shrugged. “I don't know..I just always smile.” Mickey guessed, she shook her head.

“They may have taken our sound..but they can't take away our smile’s.” He state’s, he chuckled lightly.

The soft glow from the barrel fire illuminated an orange hue on his face, his teeth practically shining in the light. Her lip’s formed a soft smile as she gazed on him, on his face she could see smile lines at the edge of his lip’s.

She looked down. “You're kind of right on that one.” She mumbled, she inhaled on the joint again letting out the same cough.

She leaned over the car seat to him, giving him the joint. She shivered, bringing her arm’s closer to herself. It was March outside, the cool would creep down on some night’s from the shaft above that gave access to the soundproof basement.

She gasps from surprise at the sudden feeling of someone hand on her skin, goosebumps flooding her arm’s as warm cloth wrapped around her. On both of her shoulders, a navy blue zipper jacket laid unzipped. She glanced at him, he smiled softly.

“Thank you.” She whispers while signing to him. He moved hand back and forward, and away from his chest. Jasmine smirked impressively at the man. Your Welcome

“Your signing is better.” She commented, he looked away as his face no doubt became redder at her complimenting. He looked down at the joint in his hand.

“Are you even feeling anything from this thing?” He wondered, looking at her brown eyes, she looked down at herself. She shook her head.

“80’s weed sucks.” He remarked, he tossed it into the fire.

The both of them leaned back in the car seat, the soft sound of the fire cracking blending with music that slowly played from a radio beside her feet. She closed her eye’s, she fought against the tiredness in her body desperately, she couldn't sleep, she needed to take watch.

“Fuck.” She mumbles, rubbing her eye’s. He glanced at her, the warm light bringing out her dark features. “What?” He whispered.

She shook her head. “I'm trying not to sleep.” JJ admits her voice is quiet.

“Why?” He whispered, she looked over at him. Her dark brown eyes soften.

“I’m supposed to be on watch, remember to protect you.” She tells him, he sits up.

“You can sleep, I’ll take the first watch.”Mickey reasure’s her, she shook her head.

“No, you're my responsibility.” JJ state’s, his heart skipped a beat at her determination.

He shook his head. “Well you can't protect me if you are tired.” Mickey chuckled, she shook her head no again.

“I'll be fine.” She reassured him, stubborn. She stands up to her feet, walking past him. “Jasmine.”

He says, his calloused hand reaching out grabbing her wrist. Her stomach went wild at the warm contact from his hand, his touch gentle as he looked up at her.

"Sorry.” He apologized, her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at him.

“You've done enough..just sleep.” He says to her in a whisper. Her heart began to race as he pleaded with her, his soft brown eyes practically beginning to concede. She pant’s nodding her head.

“Okay.” She says. She grabs at the jacket around her shoulder, handing it to him.

“No, you take it for tonight.” He assured her. She smiled softly.

“Um..good night then.”JJ say’s to him, tripping on her word’s. She walks away slipping her arm’s through the hole’s of the dark clothing item. She lays on her cot that is laid across from his, she brings her nose to the navy fabric of the jacket.

Deeply inhaling the scent, she could smell hints of the earthy and bit’s of what she thought was apple, she smirked against the cloth as she nuzzled herself into her sleeping bag. Her mind raced with many thoughts.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE STUCK her arm out bored as she walked along the dock. The last two days she had been playing guard to him as he fixed the coast guard boat. She was also doing the most she could to not share the same room with him for as much as she could.

She had been wrestling with herself over the obvious crush that was forming. She knew exactly why she was growing feelings so fast and she hated it. The world had ended and she had been starved of human contact for so long, and clearly anyone who was as lonely as she was would enjoy the company of someone happy like him.

She spun on her heels, walking back. She twisted her wrist with a knife. The boat rocked back and forth as he walked out of the cabin. He leaned over, lightly tapping the wood making her turn around to face him.

“What’s up?” She sign’s, he smirked, glancing back into the captain’s cabin. She raised a brow at his grin. He was always smiling. This time was different.

“Is it done?” She asks him.

He nodded his head. She put her knife back into her sheath, she excitedly walked back to him, being mindful of the noise her feet would make if she jumped onto the boat. She reached out her hand for him to help.

He guided her onto the docked boat. She gasped as her foot slip’s off the edge, almost touching the water. She sighed in relief, thankful he had a hold of her arm’s. She glanced up at him, quickly looking away as the heat rushed to her face.

He led her inside. “It should work.” He signed slowly, she nodded impressed.

He reached out to touch the ignition key, her eyes widened as she gripped his hand tight. He whipped his head around, confused at her action.

“Too Loud!” JJ signs, his lips parted nodding his head. “Sorry.” He says she released her grip on him.

“Tomorrow.” She promises him.

“We leave tomorrow.” She swears, he nods his head.

“Let’s get out of here.” JJ signs, he furrows his brow again. He watched her leave, picking up her backpack as she pulled herself back up onto the dock, he smirked to himself.

They quietly walked next to each other, looking around at the desolate San Diego. She looked down sadly passing by shop’s that were overgrown with vines and leaves. She had moved to the city when she was fourteen, she hated her parents for it.

She couldn't stand the crowdedness of the inner city, and she hated how close they were to the ocean. Did Not help people made fun of her for being from the south, and how she looked. She guessed the joke’s on them now since she is still alive.

He tap’s her shoulder. “You okay?” Mickey asked her, she nodded her head.

“Just thinking.” She signed slowly, gesturing to her head. “About?” He ask’s her, she shrugged.

She grabs the whiteboard from her bag, writing with the expo quickly. “How everything is gonna change soon.” She writes.

He took the whiteboard from her. “Where are we going?” Mickey wonder’s. She bit her lip at the use of we, sighed, taking it back from him.

“There is an island, rumored to be filled with survivors, about five mile’s south of the marina.” She wrote in bold, his brows furrowed at her explanation.

“Is it true?” He write’s, she shrugs, taking it back from him. “I don't know.” She admitted.

“We are gonna find out right?” JJ asks him, her question mark on the end big for him. He smiled warmly at the use of we. “Yes.” He signed to her.

⏁⏁⏁

SHE DUG THROUGH her bag, rolling her eye’s frustrated, they had finished off the final can of spaghettios she had. He looked up from his book over at her, his brow rose. He sit’s up placing his book on his knee. She grunted frustrated, as he kept digging.

“What are you doing?” He ask’s her, she looks over her shoulder at him. She sat on the dirty floor showing her backpack.

“I'm looking for something i was saving for a rainy day.” JJ tell’s him.

“You have better weed in there?” Mickey teased, she rolled her eyes playfully.

“No pretty boy, I have alcohol in it.” She says bluntly, his eyes widened at her snark.

“I was saving it for when I.” She stops mid-sentence, she pat’s her leg. “When I got out of here.” She stammered, he nodded his head.

She looked at her plastic container on the ground, she could see the orange lid covering the top of the brown liquid. She smirked.

“Found it.” She whispered. She ripped out a bottle of whiskey, the labeled ripped half way that he couldn't tell what brand it was.

“I thought you were kidding.” He laughed at her, she shook her head.

“No, I've been saving this bad boy for two month’s.” She says excitedly.

“Bad news is we have to share it, so don't expect guests.” JJ tell’s him. She grunt twisted the cap breaking the seal of the liquor. She leaned her head back as the ripe fruity taste went down her throat.

She scrunched her nose up. She pulled the dark green button down closer as she walked over to him, sitting on the opposite side of the car seat, handing the drink bottle over to him.

The radio softly played the mixtape she had found. Occasionally a voice would play from the tape, saying who requested what song and why it's there.

“Ill take my chances.” He tell’s her, he leaned his head back taking a swig of the fruity drink. His nose scrunched up closing his eyes. “Wow.” He say’s.

“How old is this?” He ask’s her, she shrugged taking it from him. “How far into the apoulpse are we?” JJ ask’s him.

“Two years.” He guessed, she smirked. “Two years old.” She remarks, she laughs as she takes another drink.

She gagged, holding her mouth. “You know what, don't know why I thought this was a good idea.” She grumbled, handing the drink back to him.

“So Fanboy.” She speaks up, drawing out his callsign. He perked up

“Enlighten me, how did you get a name like that?” She ask’s, he rubs the back of neck licking his lips.

“Thought you would have figured it out?” He says, she shakes her head, running her fingers through her curly hair.

“I'm not that smart.” She admits.

“Bullshit!” He exclaimed with a laugh. Her face grew red at his compliment. “Sorry.” He apologized to her.

“I kind of have a tendency to get loud.” He explains, she raised a brow.

“Like I'm the one who gets everyone hyped up.” He tells her, she smiled nodding her head.

“That makes sense, I mean you can't even talk up there, and you say so much.” She say’s to him, she furrowed her brow. “Hope that makes sense.” JJ mumbled.

“It did.” He says. He leaned his back again taking a swig of the alcohol. He groaned holding his mouth. Jasmine laughs at him.

“What about you?” He ask’s her, her heart skipped a beat. “What about me?” She wonder’s, he sits up handing it over to her.

“What were like before this all started?” Mickey wondered, she shook her head.

“I was quiet, I never really went out, I only hung out with some friends.” Jasmine recall’s.

“Actually, funny enough my favorite people to hang out with were my parent’s.” She chuckled warmly, biting her lip.

“My dad was always good with people and my mom, she was funny.” She recall’s.

“Aren't all mom’s?” He wonder’s. She shook her head.

“I guess but they weren't my mom.” She says to him, she looks down as her arm’s become cold. She sighs heavily.

“What about you? What were you like?” Jasmine wonder’s, she takes the drink from him, taking a swig from the alcohol.

“How was your family?” She asks him. He laughed and leaned back against the car seat. The Radio playing a soft rock song filling the air.

“Honestly..I wish I was able to stop, like there were point’s everyone told me to shut up.” Mickey admit’s. He sighed, his eyes looking down at the cold concrete.

“But I didn't used to be that way.” Mickey says to her, she listens intently at his confession.

“Believe it or not, I wasn't everyone’s favorite person in middle school.” He recall’s.

Her eyes widened at him. “No way.” She says, he nodded.

“Yeah I was either too loud or too quiet, it really messed me up.” He says to her. She looked down sadly.

“And girl’s didn't want to go to the dance with the boy who rode the bench all year.” He recalled.

“My a’ma though, you would have liked, she was always good with people, and making them happy.” He smiled softly. Her lips began to form a smirk at seeing him, a glint of a tear in the corner of his dark brown eyes.

“She had this crazy horse laugh, and she was so tough but she always meant well.” His voice broke at the end, his breath shook as he leaned over taking the alcohol from her. His face mute as he took a swig from it.

“You know what fucking suck’s about this world now?” His voice grim, she looked down at her finger’s as cold wash over her body. He shook his head as his lip’s formed a thin line.

“I have never felt so alone in my entire life.” He admitted, turning his head to face her.

“This world is so goddamn lonely… it’s suffocating.” His breath shook at his last word’s.

She hadn't thought about it. How it must have been for someone like him, to go from having everyone to having no one. Living in a world where you once thrived off social interaction and now all that’s left is living to die.

The radio scratched over as a voice began on the other end.

“This next song Slider suggested, who knew he was the romantic type?” A male voice teased, static on the radio play as grunt is heard on the other end.

“Shut up Hollywood.” Another voice scolded me.

“I'm just saying you have taste, don't be so harsh.” The man proclaimed. A soft piano began to play as the voice on the other end faded out. A soft old motown song she recognised from the moment she heard it. Bring It On Home To Me.

Jasmine look’s to the man on her left. His smile was gone as he stared down the bottle in his hand. She sighed, getting to her feet.

“Dance with me.” She says to him, her voice clear. He looked up at her, his brow’s furrowed.

“What?” he asked, confused. She took a deep breath. “I'm giving you what middle school you didn't get.” She says to him, extending her hand.

“Now get your ass up.” Jasmine teased him. He sighed in defeat, extending his hand, she pulled him up from his spot. He sat the bottle down.

She smirked, placing her hands behind his neck. His hand’s practically engulfed both sides of her waist, her heart raced in her ear’s as the blood rushed to her face at his actions. The both of them began to sway gently to the music.

it didn't seem like danger was near. It was just the both of them,that what only mattered was this moment with the two of them. The heat of the barrel fire illuminated their shadow’s onto the factory pillar’s. The figure’s on the wall are copying their slow movement’s.

“So this is what I missed out on huh?” He teased in her ear, vibrating against her skin. She scoffed softly.

“More or less.” She whisper’s.

He removed one of her hand’s from his neck, taking it his own. Leading their dance away from her control. She could swear her heart almost stopped.

“Alright Swayze, you got move’s.” Jasmine teases him softly. She chuckled, the feeling of his finger’s laced with her own sent shockwaves through her. Smile peaking through, radiating with a sense of peace.

“Oh I've got a lot move’s, baby.” He flirted, she bit her lip shaking her head. He took their tangled hand, spinning her around. A laugh left her as she twirled back to him.

“You are so lying about not going to a dance.” Jasmine say’s between her laugh’s. He shook his head.

“I didn't say I stopped dancing.” He point’s out, their chest touching as the song slowly began to end. Their brown eyes locked, Her breath hitched in her throat as goosebumps flooded her body.

His eyes glanced at her lip, his gaze so soft it made her stomach flutter. His hot breath peppered her face as the gap between them started to diminish. She panted as she slowly pulled away.

“Should be sleeping.” She whispered to him, clearing her throat. The heat rushed to her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. His black brow’s furrowed, puzzled.

“Long boat ride tomorrow.” She chuckled weakly.

“Yeah.uh, I should get to it.” Mickey say’s, copying the same false laughter as her. She picked up the bottle from the ground, putting it back in her crate.

You are such a coward, she scolded herself. She shook her head as she put away stray objects, and grabbed her knife from her holster. She changed her clothes in the corner she deemed her makeshift closet with her clothe;s hung to dry. She slipped her black shirt over her head, pulling her adida’s sweatpants that had been ripped at the knee.

Of course a guy who clearly wanted to kiss you, you didn't even kiss him. Her eye’s closed as she shook her head. She walked back to where both of their cot’s lay near one another, their sleeping bag’s unmade from the night before.

She sighed as it creaked with the weight of her body, she tucked herself into a sleeping bag, holding her arm’s close to herself. Still wearing the jacket he gave her, basking in its sweet earthy smell. She closed her eyes as she tried to shut her brain off.

The sound of light scratched across the floor fill’s the dead air, the familiar creaking of the cot made her heart race in chest. Heat began to rise against her spine, the warmth made her shiver. She turned her body over, her brown eye’s fluttering open.

They stared at each, neither daring to state the obvious between the both of them. His hand caressed her bare arm slowly trapsing to her face.

Her heart dropped as she finally leaned in, closing the gap between them. His hand gently held the side of her face as their lips moved with one another.

Jasmine inhales deeply as her fingers toy with small hair she could feel. His hands began to wonder at her body .

She ran her fingers to the hair tie that held back his curls. His hands gripped both sides of her hip's, pulling closer to him.

She finally pulled away, panting as she tried to catch her breath leaning her forehead against his. She could feel him smiling.

Jasmine looked him in his eyes, his hot breath peppering on her face. She unzips her sleeping bag, crawling over to him.

His hand holding her as her legs staddled his waist, he sits up the cot creaking with their weight shift. She inhaled deeply as she continuing to kiss him, their body's rocking with each other.

Jasmine's hand snagged the tie in his hair pulling it out with on hand. Running her fingers through his dark curls, gently pulling at them.

His hot breath grazed her as his lips began attacking her neck. She gasped closing her eyes as he held her with both his hands.

Her fingers ran down his back down to the hem of his grey t shirt, trying pull it over his head, he pulled back for a moment removing it for her. She contained her shock at his shirtless appearance.

She had seen him without it before, only she tried to be respectful as she was trying to patch up his wound. She caressed his face as she brought lips back to his.

Her heart raced in her chest. She bit her lip stifling a moan he worked down her neck, sucking on the loose skin of neck, for sure leaving a hickey.

His hand snuck under her shirt, his touch sending shockwaves through her. She pulled back, quickly as she could pulling her shirt over her head, leaving her in a purple brallete.

He looked her up and down. His brows furrowed as he looked at a dark pink fragment on her side. An almost perfect bullet. She panted glancing down seeing where is eyes were looking.

"How..did? He whispered, she shook her head. "it doesn't hurt." She reasures him.

His thumb grazed across the scar. "Are you sure..I don't wanna do if you-" She cuts him off by bringing her lips to his.

Quickly pulling back. "I'm okay." She says, him. His brown eyes are dark with a glint of danger.

"Just don't stop." She orders him with a mischievous smirk. With the go ahead he followed her commend. The fire still illuminated their shadows.

⏁⏁⏁

THE SUN gleaned down at the entwined couple. He held her from behind with his arm draped across her waist, his grip had been iron tight before he fell asleep. She had been awakened before he was, her mind racing with the night’s event and what was happening today. She sighed.

She moved her hand to remove his from her waist, trying to roll to her own cot. He mumbled into his pillow, she pulled his arm off her again as she tried to get away again. His grip tightened as he pulled her back to him.

“Five more minutes.” He mumbled. She shook her head, her finger’s grazing him. “The Sun is out.” Jasmine whisper’s to him.

“So?” He asked, his voice vibrating her shoulder. She bit her lip.

“We are gonna lose daylight, and that's not good.” Jasmine say’s, he grumbled some word’s into her shoulder.

“Why do we have to leave now? Can't we just stay here?” Mickey wonder’s, his voice deepened from sleep. She sighed sadly. “Not if you're being hunted, remember.” She says.

He sighed defeated. “It's a nice thought though, but this isn't a home.” She reminds him.

“Make it one then.” He suggests, she shook her head, she took his hand in her own, kissing his knuckles. “You are kind of cute like this.” She comment’s.

“Kind of? What is that supposed to mean?” He teased, his hand snagged the end of her hips, she flinched from the tickling of his fingers across her bare skin.

“Stop please.” She begged between her laughs.

“Mick, I'm serious.” She playfully elbowed his chest. He groaned. “Fine.” He whispered in her ear, she grinned as he kissed her shoulder.

The weight of the cot shifted as he got up, she could hear him shuffling around, the sound of his clothes being pulled over him. Jasmine brought her nose to his pillow, inhaling his scent as much as she could from the cloth. Her skin felt like it was buzzing from the nights event’s, she had gone a while without the comfort of another human it was like she was awakened.

She sits up, shuffling around for her bra and underwear. She pulled her henley over her t-shirt, her black sweatpants slid up over her legs. She looked over to her makeshift table, he stood over the wooden table, his shoulders tense as stood looking down.

She stood up, holding her arm close to herself as she strided over to him. “Are you making breakfast this time?” She ask’s him, he didnt respond.

Her brow’s furrowed. “Mick?” She speak’s up, chuckling. He didnt speak up, simply sighing deeply.

“Mickey?” She ask’s, he turns around leaning against the table. His face stone cold as he stared her down, his brown eye’s dark in anger.

“You lied to me.” He spoke, his voice flat. Her heart dropped at the venom in his words. He holds up a single piece of paper, in the middle was a hand drawn image of herself with the word’s underneath. Wanted Dead or Alive, Murder.

Her heart sank to her stomach. His breath shook as he lowered his hand, his jaw tensed.

“Mick, I can explain.” She stammered, he shook his head.

“Who did you kill?” He demanded, she lifted her hand’s up. “I.I didn't kill anyone.” She stuttered.

“Then why does it say that? Why is your face on a wanted poster?” He asked, his voice angry. She shook her head. “Have you been lying to me this whole time, who is looking for you?” He ask’s.

“My ex-fiance!” She exclaimed, his mouth parted agape at her answer. She crossed her arms as her body grew hot.

“The leader of the bandit’s.” She tells him.

“What?” He whispered confusedly, she nodded her head. “Yeah…and the person I ‘killed’ ..he was the one who did it.” She confessed.

“So yes, I am a liar.” Her voice was flat with anger.

“Sorry to disappoint you, pretty boy.” She smeared. She turned around to walk away.

“Wait!” He says, she stopped at the sound of his voice breaking.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered to her.

“Tell me everything.” He says, she turned around facing him. His face had softened as he gazed at her.

“Please.” He pleads with her, she sighed as her arm’s tightened. They both walk over to the car seat that serves as a couch. She sat opposite side of him, her breath shake as she runs her fingers through her hair.

“A few months ago my parents and I found this group of survior’s lead by a preacher.” Jasmine starts off, she leaned back against the seat.

“And it was fine, we all lived in this nice community of people, we were happy.” She recall’s.

His brows knitted as he listened to her. “Until the man leading it began to say that the alien’s were sent from God, and that we failed him.”

“My Fiance, before this world he was someone who was easy to anger, and he proposed the idea of appeasing them.” Jasmine admits, his brows furrowed.

“Appeasing.” He say’s.

“You mean sacrificing?” He corrected, and she nodded her head. His heart skipped a beat as his blood ran cold.

“I thought he was just saying it because he was terrified, saying what he thought would be right.” She tells him, her chest heaved as her heart dropped.

“The leader of the group refused, and the next day, Ronan found him hanging in the courtyard.” She tells him.

“Did he do it?” Mickey ask’s, she shakes her head.

“Honestly I don't know.” her voice shook.

“Ronan became the leader, and he started making good people do terrible things, corrupting them and twisting their mind’s.” She says, her brown eyes grim.

“They started to round up survivors, some they would take and auction off, people would become a part of the killer’s, some entertainer’s.” She tells him, she licked her lips, wiping her face.

“Other’s they would take out and leave for bait, drag them out to the river, and force them to scream so the monster’s would hear them.” She sighed, he blinked in disbelief.

He was counting himself lucky he never met them before she saved him. What they would have done to him if they found him.

“That's awful.” He says, shaking his head. She wiped away a tear. “I wanted to leave, and so did my parent’s.”

“And I didn't fully agree with the idea of leaving until he…auctioned off a child to become a sacrifice.” Her voice broke, his fingers laced with her as he held it in comfort. She gulped as she counted on.

“My parents rounded up a group of survivors, and we left in the middle of the night heading for the marina. My mom had heard talk of an island run by a naval man.” She recounted.

“Right when we got to the water, Ronan and his cronies found us, he forced my father and I on our knees.” She looked up at the dirty ceiling, the sunlight reflecting the tears that were starting to fall.

“He forced my mother to choose between us, if she chose my father then I would be forced to stay with Ronan and be compliant with everything he asked of me.” She bit her lip, making it bleed. The copper tasted filling her mouth.

“Or choose me, and my dad would be auctioned off, mostly likely as a sacrifice.” Her heart pounded as a lump formed in her throat.

“And my mom she was always so selfless.” She recall’s, the past tense of her word’s made chill’s run down his spine.

“She turned around and told everyone to run before she..” Her voice broke again as tear’s stained her brown cheek’s. She licked the blood away from her lips.

“Before she screamed.” Mickey’s jaw dropped agape. She covered her mouth as she held back the tears that flooded her.

“That’s not even the worst part.” She croaked.

“Me and another girl, we were running together away from him, and he shot her with an arrow right through the heart.” Jasmine’s pant’s as her mind flashed with image’s.

“He shot me too, but I got away after I made a noise.” She wiped her eye’s again, the tear’s didnt stop. “So they aren't hunting you Mickey.” His name rolled off her tongue.

She turned to face him. “They are hunting me.” She admits.

His arms wrapped around her bringing her into a tight embrace. His finger’s held the back of her curl’s as another arm held her shoulders. His body radiated with warmth as he whispered soothingly into her ear. The tears fell from her face dying his shirt.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice says softly in her ear. She sniffled, Ronan had not shown her that comfort in so long, she had forgotten what it was like for someone to care about her.

“That's why you need to leave.” She whispers to him. His brows knitted in confusion. “What?” He pulled away holding her shoulders.

“You should leave me, take the boat, leave me to deal with Ronan.” She state’s, he shook his head.

“Not happening.” He declares.

“You stay with me, you will die, and I can't let another person die because of me.” She stated, he shook his head.

“Jasmine I'm not leaving you.” He says to her, he is filled with determination.

“I made a promise to you, I will get you out of here.” He stated.

“I swear on my life.” Mickey start’s.

His hands running down to arms.” Nothing or nobody will fucking lay their hand’s on you.” He promised her, her lips parted as she embraced him once more. Both holding each other as the morning sun shone.

⏁⏁⏁

THE BOTH OF THEM WALKED next to each other, their backpacks filled with everything they could carry. She carried most of her own thing’s to make it easy on him. He writes on the whiteboard hold it up to her.

“How was it?” It read, she furrowed her brow’s in confusion. “What?” She asked.

He smirked, writing down more. “What we did last night.” he wrote, her face grew red.

“The sex?” Jasmine asked him, he nodded his head. She rolled her eyes at his question.

“That’s really what crossed your mind?” She jokingly asks him. His brows furrowed

He write’s again. “Good or bad?” He wondered, she shook her head. She takes it from him. “You're a dork.” She write’s. He smiled, taking it from her.

“It was that good then.” He Jokes, she rubbed her face. She fought the smirk on her lips. She was almost thankful he found her wanted poster, the weight on her body was gone and she didn't feel like she had to hide again.

She took it from him. “Dork.” She wrote in bold letters, his face grew red as he took it from her.

Before heading to the boat they needed supplies from a boat shop right by the marina, only a swim from their boat. She wasn't sure how much gas was in the boat. She knew it would take a good amount of gas to get to the island.

Her feet scraped to a stop, the water rocked softly against the concrete. Jasmine turned to look at him, taking the whiteboard again.

“Look for anything that we can use.” She orders him, he nods his head.

“What about you?” He signs, she smirks in approval at his signing.

“Find what I can.” She says to him, he nod’s walking inside. She walked on the other side of the garage letting her hand traipse across.

He grabbed a bottle of lighter fluid, tucking it away into his bag. Items left behind were still on the shelves. He guessed that people didn't really care about supply’s in the apocalypse, he hoped that he could find a type of radio to play music for her again. Seeing it was something made her happy, he liked seeing her smile at least.

A creaking sound pulled him out of his thought’s, he looked around him, his finger’s grazing over the leather of his knife holster. He slowly walked into the store, the hair’s on his neck raising as light footsteps patterned around him. Didn't sound heavy enough to be Jasmine.

He unsheathed his knife, looking down at the concrete, the shadow of someone casting through the isle’s. He pant’s as rounded the corner ready to face someone. His brown eyes drifted down to a smaller teen, their face hidden behind their long hair. Holding their knee’s close to their chest as they rock back and forth.

Mickey’s brow furrowed in confusion. They whispered to themselves continuing to rock. He couldn't ask if they were hurt, he sat his knife back in his holster. Bending down to their level.

“Hey, it's okay.” He whispers softly, they didn't look up. He put his hand on their shoulders to comfort them. “Are you hurt? He wonder’s.

Their blue eyes meet his, a smirk paint’s their face. He gasped for air as something around his throat restricts his breathing. He clawed at his neck as a tight scratch object tightened more and more forcing him up.

Jasmine’s ears perked up at quiet choking noise. She bend’s down hiding behind an aisle, seeing silhouettes casting above onto the metallic ceiling, the choking growing closer to her. She rolled onto her knees, sliding across the floor.

Hiding against a rack of scent tree’s, she peaked her head around the corner. Her heart stopped as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. His neck wrapped with a rope, being held back by three men, another circling him like a lion to its food.

He grunted against the rope. Jasmine turned around, holding her heart as it raced in fear. She looked around her fearfully. Mickey panted as his brown eyes widened fearfully, the three men’s mouth’s covered by bandana’s hiding their identities.

“Where is she?” Red Bandana asked him, he could only understand the last half. He shook his head pretending to be confused. He could see the fabric move from a smirk underneath.

“Ronan isn't gonna be happy, you and his wife.” Red tell’s him, he grunted in anger at the last word. She wasn't anyone's, not even his.

“What do you fella’s say we do?” He asks the three men, they look at their hostage and their mock leader.

“Kill? Or take it to the boss.” He asks them.

“He laid with his woman, he won't take that.” Blue banana sign’s. He towered over most of them, holding the rope tightly with one. Yellow bandana raised his hands.

“What use is he then?” He wonder’s. Red bandana shrugged in response. “Fucking nothing, we kill him, find the wife.” He order’s.

“How?” Blue wonder’s, red look’s to the water behind them, he gestured with his hands around the post. He nod’s as he pulls the black haired man to the ground, Mickey grunted as he fought against the tightrope that drug him to the water.

Blue wrapped the rope around a post. He picked up the former pilot by his shirt collar. He smeared at his helplessness. Mickey grunt’s as he leaned his head back colliding it with the head of the man who held him back. Blue stumbled back holding his nose as crimson flowed from it.

A bottle rolling on the ground catche’s their attention. Yellow furrowed his brow, walking over picking up the bottle examining it. A Hiland milk bottle, the white liquid beginning to fizz up in his hand, furrowed his brow.

It pop’s for a moment, it combusts in his hand with a boom sending him back, yelling in agony as his skin burns, his crie’s cutting with an inhumane cry that filled the once dead air. Blue bandana stumble’s back holding his eye in pain, in his blind stumbling he colluded with the tied up man, he yelped as he fell back into the cold water.

He grunted as he flayed his arm’s in the water, he choked as his lung’s ached for air. The sound’s above are muffled from the water. He panicked, kicking against the water, his chest aching as he fought desperately to kick to the surface. Pain shot through his entire body as the rope dug deeper into throat, he jolted as the strength began to leave him, slowly the sunlight that reflected on him disappeared as the world turned black.

⏁⏁⏁

MUFFLED GRUNTING fills the air, he could feel a pressure on his chest, plea’s from a person. His eye’s shot open as he coughed up water, gasping for air. He coughed water as the world around him began to form. Metal that rocked softly back and forth.

“Your okay, your okay breath.” A voice soothed him, she sat him up. Her curly hair soaked with water, her henley clung close to her body. She glanced back and forth between him and the cabin of the boat.

“Don’t move, I'm getting you out of here.” Jasmine order’s him, she grunt’s holding her side as she stumbles to stand up.

“Are you hurt?” he whisper’s weakly, she groans in response walking back into the cabin. JJ grunt’s as she fumbled with the gear’s of the boat, putting it reverse. Holding her side as she got herself out of the bay as fast as she could, she grunted as she turned hard.

The wind whipped against the boat as she got further away from the city. She looked at the mirror seeing him leaning back against the seat. He coughed as he looked up at the sky that raced away. He held his side trying to catch his breath.

“Come on, Come on.” She mutters under her breath. The city began to fade from her view, she sighed thankful. She removed her hand from her side looking down at her hand’s, her fingers covered in blood, she grunt’s placing her hand back.

The boat began to sputter. Her brown eyes widened in annoyance. “No, No no please no.” She begged for the machine. It groaned and sputtered coming to a stop, Jasmine exclaimed, hitting the wheel.

She limped out of the captain cabin, she slid next to him. She groans holding her side as she let out a sigh of relief.

“What happened?” He ask’s her, and she blinked slowly. She looked over at him, her chin cut up with blood leaking.

“They tied you up, I made a bomb.” She recall’s, his brow’s furrowed. “You made a bomb?” Mickey asked her, and she nodded her head.

“I took AP Chem for fun, it came in handy now.” She chuckled weakly. He shook his head, pounding from the impact of falling in the water. “Are you okay?” He ask’s her.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” She assure’s him, with her free hand she laced her fingers with his. Leaning on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” she whisper’s.

“I didn't know they were watching us, we should have filled up yesterday.” Jasmine says to him, he shook his head. “You didn't know, it's okay.” He tells her.

“No it's not because we are now stranded.” She points out, gesturing to the boat. “Better than dead.” He reminds her, she scoffed.

“Well you were technically dead.” Jasmine tell’s him, his heart dropped at her words. “What?! I was dead?!” He exclaimed.

“You were under the water for a whole minute.” She tells him. His mouth parted agape, he couldn't recall much after he passed out in the water.

“The alien’s took two of them out, and tried to get me when I was getting you.” She explains, he looks over to her side, her hand held tightly on her side. Bit’s of crimson shining off of her hand.

“Did they hurt you?” Mickey asked in concern, she shook her head. “Its a flesh wound.” She grit’s, he shakes his head.

“You're bleeding, you're not okay.” He says to her, she shakes her head again. “I've been through worse.” She assure’s him.

“We..we shouldn't be far from the island, I think.” She mutter’s, she shuts her eyes as she slowly sits up straighter. “We can fire a.” She sway’s,

“Jasmine.” He says in concern, she lets go of his hand, standing up slowly. Holding her side tightly. “I'm fine.” She lie’s.

He stands up watching her, she grunt’s limping into the captain’s cabin. Pulling out a white first aid box, removing an orange gun.

“Fire the flare gun.” She mumbled, her eye’s rolling in her head as she swayed around. He quickly got to her side, catching her as she fell over. Gently laying her on the chair, he takes the gun from her hand.

“Jasmine you got to stay awake, okay, eyes on me.” He soothed her, her eyes opened and closed, struggling to keep up. “It’s okay.” She whisper’s.

He grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and wraps. He lifted up the hem of shirt, ripping off the cover. A long straight gash the size of his middle finger, blood leaking down staining her jeans. He holds the cotton to her wound, holding it tightly.

He takes her hand putting on her own wound. “Hold that there.” He says to her.

“Okay, how did you know that bomb was gonna work?” Mickey asked her, she leaned her head back, her eye’s on the verge of closing. “Hey!” He speaks up, his voice clearer.

“How did you make that bomb?” He wonder’s, she grunt’s. “It was milk and chlorine.” She answers. He chuckled.

“You just carry that on you?” He ask’s, she shrugged.

“Doesn't every girl.” She laughs weakly. He grabs the medical tape, ripping it off with his teeth. Placing it around each square of the bandage. She groaned, gritting her teeth in pain, he looked her up and down. She panted, closing her eye’s.

“Hey, don't do that.” He soothed, lightly patting her face. She shook her head, he smiled softly at her. “You don't get to die on me not now.” He declared, she smirked faintly.

“Didn't plan on it fanboy.” She tells him, he nodded his head. She squinted her eye’s looking out at the water. He turned to see what she was looking at, a faint shadow in the distance, the silhouette of what seemed like two people.

He grabbed the flare gun from her side, taking three of the flares placing one in his pocket.

“I’ll be right back, keep pressure on that.” He ordered her, he brought his lip’s to her forehead. He stood up walking back outside. He aimed the orange weapon up at the sky.

As he pulled the trigger it popped as the flare launched high in the sky, illuminating the midday overcast. His brown eye’s fall to the shadow in the distance, two bright light’s flash in his direction. He smirks. He turned around, getting to her side holding her hand as the shadow slowly got closer to the two survivors.

NO PRESSURE Tagged: @cowboysandpilots @bobfloydssunnies @sugarcoated-lame @sorchathered @fairyheart @swiftsgirlfriend @nouis-bum @senawashere @cottagecori @sebsxphia

27 notes · View notes