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vixstarria · 1 year ago

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Something real

I thought I’d play around with an Astarion POV and this is what happened.

Connected with my other headcanon fics, would take place after this one, but before the end of this one. You don’t have to read them for this to make sense though. (But you totally should!)

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav, soft Astarion, Astarion POV

Comfort, fluff, budding love, banter, humour, Act 1 spoilers, non-explicit, light angst, probably too much swearing

Approximately 2,000 words.

AO3

You were lying alone by the fire, waiting for her to join you, trying once again to untangle the mess this woman made in your head.

What exactly were you, to each other?

Were you just temporary travelling companions having meaningless sex for stress relief?

Or were you lovers in the more literal sense of that word?

And is that what you wanted..? To be someone’s, whom you could call your own? To have something real..?

It should have been simple, except the lines kept shifting and blurring. And needless to say, this wasn’t at all what you had initially intended.

All you knew was, this deliciously ambiguous time at the end of your evenings, when you just talked – this was your favourite time of day.

You were restless with anticipation, now that everyone else had finally gone to sleep or was shuffling around in their tents.

Except she was nowhere to be seen.

You could always slip into her tent, she might even have been waiting for you there now – but then you'd most likely wind up putting on the ‘seductive lusty lover’ mask, and as fun as that was, it’s not what you wanted right now.

You were getting impatient.

You wondered just how undignified and out of character it would be to simply go to her tent and lure her out on some pretense, like the stars being particularly bright, or some similar horseshit. You glanced at the sky. The stars weren’t even visible.

Fuck. ...Well, she’d just laugh at that anyway.

But lo and behold, there she was at last, plundered bottle of wine in hand. You bit your tongue to avoid addressing her with any of your habitual epithets, for which she’d rebuked you on numerous occasions, but she went ahead and did it for you herself anyway:

“Here I am! The wind beneath your wings, the rose among your thorns! The fire in your furnace, the... uh... help me out here, will you?”

“The biting canines in my buttock.”

“There we go! A touch predictable, but no less eloquent for it.”

She sat down, right next to your head, stretching her legs out towards the fire, and gave you a searching and expectant look, not saying anything.

You raised a quizzical eyebrow back at her.

“Well come on, scooch up,” she said with a playful smile on her lips.

You lifted slightly on your elbows and laid your head in her lap.

This is new.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, waving a wrist, and then the wine in the other hand suggestively at you.

“Not tonight, dear,” you chuckled. “I had quite a successful boar hunt while the rest of you were playing hero in the foothills.”

“Suit yourself.” She took a drink straight from the bottle and stared off into the fire, her other hand absentmindedly running through your hair. You resisted the urge to lean further into her touch.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked after the silence went on a touch too long.

“I would like you to explain something to me.” she said quietly.

You instinctively tensed, your mind racing, wondering what you could have possibly done or let slip.

“...Why in the fuck do you lot listen to and take directions from me? Do none of you realize I’m just a shit-talking clown and have no idea what I’m doing?” the tone of her voice was flat.

...Ah. That.

“This ‘clown’ led us unscathed through a subversive operation in a goblin camp. Mostly via shit-talking. You even convinced one of them to lick your boot!” you shook your head incredulously. “Give yourself credit where it’s due. Do you think anyone else here could have pulled that off?”

I probably could have. Wouldn’t. But could have.

She took a swig from the bottle, considering your question. “Well you definitely could have done the same. You’d just choose not to. ...why are you laughing?”

“Never mind that. Would you like me to take over for you, darling?”

“Good heavens, no!” she grimaced in mock horror. “Just stay at my side, as my moral compass.”

“Your moral compass?”

“When in doubt, I ask myself ‘What would Astarion do?’, and do the opposite. Usually that’s good enough to keep everyone happy and keep bloodshed to a minimum.”

You’re not wrong.

“But gods it’s been exhausting...” she was sombre again. “They all want something, and they all think their problem is the most urgent. ‘We must go to the creche – no, we must go to Moonrise – no, but my heart will explode – no, but I and everything around me will explode’” she was getting riled up, gesticulating with the bottle in her hand. You were worried it would fly out of her grip. She paused to collect herself.

“At least your demands are too insane to entertain in the first place,” she continued with a weary grin. “‘Embrace the tadpole, take over a cult, fight squirrels, commit genocide’” - she did her best to mimic your manner of speaking, then rolled her eyes and took another swig from the bottle.

“Never know where a little thinking outside the box might lead you, dear.” I just want my freedom, whatever it takes. ...And that squirrel was looking at you funny. “And you? What do you want?”

“A hot bath, new lute strings, and a cat to cuddle,” she answered without hesitation.

You couldn’t think of anything better than to emit a very convincing meow.

It must have taken her by surprise - she glanced down at you, eyes wide, before bursting out laughing and scratching you behind the ear.

You hated to admit it, but you were very pleased with yourself, making her laugh like that.

“My pointy-eared feline predator,” she murmured, looking into your eyes and smiling, as she slowly and delicately ran her finger along the edge of your ear, right to the tip, which felt... divine, actually.

This... this was too intimate for someone you just had meaningless sex with, right?

You heard some rustling and footsteps nearby, too casual to be an intruder, probably just someone walking off to relieve themselves.

She jerked her hand away from you, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and actually made a motion as if to get up, before you stopped her with a gentle hand on her wrist, still lying with your head in her lap.

“Hey... Hold on... Now you explain something to me. Earlier today, you burst into camp covered in hyena entrails, yelled ‘My star!’, threw yourself on me, legs and arms and all, like some deranged monkey, and made me spin you around, kissing you. ...But this is what embarrasses you?”

“That was putting on a silly act,” she said sheepishly. “And this is...” she faltered, looking for the right words.

Real..?

“Not intended for anyone else’s eyes.”

Real.

"Well everyone can direct their eyes elsewhere, then,” you responded, unable to contain a smile.

It’s real.

...Ahah!

“Oh, and you’re absolutely adorable, by the way,” you added.

She flicked you lightly on the nose and looked away. Was she blushing?

“Anyway. It’s Gale that worries me the most.”

Fucking Gale.

“He said the last artifact he consumed hardly did anything. He doesn’t know how much longer he can contain it. He’s inconsolable.” she continued.

“Perhaps we should all stop worrying and embrace the orb explosion. At least that will mean we won’t have to deal with anything else, ever.” you suggested. This was helpful, right?

“I wish I could do something to help, or at least get his mind off it for a while.”

Of course you do, you bleeding heart.

“And how might you ‘get his mind off it’, exactly?”

“I think we should seduce him,” she looked you straight in the eyes and said in a deadpan manner.

Oh, sliding off a serious topic straight back into fuckery with a straight face, are we? I know that game very well.

“Darling, even without the orb, he would literally explode if you held eye contact with him a second too long. He’s been pining for you since you pulled him out of that rock.” You waved a dismissive hand in Gale’s general direction. “The kindest thing you can do for him is give all your undivided attention to me, so he never has a glimmer of hope.”

Bloody Gale with his manicured beard, puppydog eyes and cooking skills...

“Well, while we’re on the topic, I still think we should seduce someone, to spice camp life up a bit. How about Lae’zel?” she continued.

“Lae’zel would skewer both of us if we approached her.”

...and his warm hands...

“Shadowheart?”

“...You know, I’m pretty sure Lae’zel would skewer us for that, too. Perhaps all three of us, on the same blade.”

...and his ability to find kind and empathetic words in any situation. ...Shame about the orb though.

“What about...” she grinned, “daddy Halsin?”

You exchanged a meaningful look.

Ha! Well there’s a curious thought. I wonder if he could contain himself, or if he would turn into a bear. How... dangerous.

“Let’s revisit that thought later.” you said pensively.

“Karlach is impossible, of course...” she continued. “That leaves Wyll.”

“Oh please,” you chortled. “Even if he wasn’t depressed over the whole... demonic horns and abducted parent conundrum. He strikes me as the ‘wait until marriage’ type. And he’d want to do the seducing himself.”

“I’m not so sure about the marriage part. He would keep it proper and gentlemanly though.” she thoughtfully tapped her lower lip with a finger. “Multiple extravagant dates to impress his sweetheart before making any moves, the whole shabang. You wouldn’t want him to try to sweep you off your feet?”

“Just me? No no, we are in this together.” you remarked. “And he could certainly afford to woo us both at once, being the son of a duke.”

“Weeks of wining and dining us, waiting for the fires of ‘true love’ to fully ignite...” she said contemplatively, gazing into the fire.

“Smothering us with red roses, romantic moonlit carriage rides and ballroom dancing...” you copied her tone.

“Until finally railing you on a grand piano one day, while I whipped him with a switch,” she said with a devilish grin.

“You absolute uncouth filth!” it was your turn to be taken off-guard as you shook with laughter.

You incredible, ridiculous, mad thing... I would spend another year locked alone and hungry in a tomb, if it meant keeping you alive and safe.

Something in your chest twisted.

Did I really just think that?

Yes, yes I did.

You needed to stop and consider what just came into your head. And give yourself a good slap in the face. But for now, more than anything, you desperately needed to switch your brain off.

You sat up and kissed her, pulling her into an embrace.

“You crazy idiot, what am I going to do with you?” you whispered, briefly touching your forehead to hers.

“Something nasty, I hope,” she answered with a cheeky smile. But there was more warmth than lust in her eyes.

“My tent or yours?” you asked softly, trailing a finger down a bare arm.

“Do you have vials of boar blood everywhere?”

“Yes. Do you have everything you’ve collected, ever, everywhere?”

“...Yes.”

Hoarder. I would give you a whole palace to decorate, just to see what you would do with it.

Sigh... “I guess I could accommodate you for a short while.”

Please stay all night.

On a sudden whim, you swept her up in your arms as you got up, carrying her to your tent.

What in the hells was I thinking?

“Oh!” she gasped, surprised. “My... I don’t suppose you’ve got a grand piano in there?”

“We’ll have to make do with my trunk, I’m afraid.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

None of this was going according to plan.

Fuck the plan.

You felt like a cretin and a fraud as you carried her off. But you’d make it right. She deserved something better. Something real.

And so did you, godsdamnit.

I’ll tell her... Just not today.

~~~~~

Next in series - Are you mine?

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #fkn Gale

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fictionalslvr · 1 year ago

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SYNOPSIS: After so many years together, Leon is insecure about his dad body.

PAIRING: Vendetta¡Husband¡Leon x Wife¡F¡Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.316k

WARNINGS: NSFW/SMUT. Kinda sub¡Leon. In front of the mirror, exhibitionism. Mentions os male anatomy, description of male anatomy. Jerking off, ect.

NOTES: Just needed to comfort this man, I'm trying to keep active and write more, even if i have a lot of ideas, I can't write.

That's what i got after days thinking about it, hope you guys like 🫶🏻 credits to creator of this bot for the plot idea.

FRISSON: (n.) A shiver of pleasure

The unique scent of the fritter on the pan is the first that comes into your nostrils by the morning, your eyes still fighting to stay open under that comfortable dim orange light of the sun coming from your windows. You can hear heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, knowing exactly that it is your dear husband, Leon, he’s walking to the kitchen you’re in, making breakfast for your kids and him.

It’s been weeks since your sexual life with Leon has been…vain. For some unknown reason, he’s been way too distant, especially after he’d stopped going to the gym. He would do it under lights off, or not even doing nothing to satisfy both sexual needs. These facts may be related but you can’t really put them together and understand what your husband is feeling to not share any moment of intimacy with you, who has been his wife for many years now. The heavy footsteps are overheard by two fastened little feets on the floor, along with giggles and an unheard chatter, that quickly is responsible for bringing a bit more joy to your lazy face. You knew that it was your kids coming to the kitchen as well.

When the two tiny bodies sat on the chair, they were looking at you, their eyes squinting as they both carried Leon’s smile.

—”Mommy! Good morning.” They sang in a choir, seeming almost essayed. You giggled, nodding your head along with their happiness so early on the day.

—”Good morning, my love.” This was Leon’s voice now. The phrase was stretched on his tongue as he sat down in front of the little girl and the boy.

—”Breakfast is almost ready. The two of you are already dressed in your uniforms?”

Both of the kids hummed together, already anxious to eat the food and start a new day at school.

When the two twins dashed out through the door and waved at both of you and Leon, going inside the bus and leaving for the day. You sighed when the bus faded into the street, a faint smile on your face as you saw Leon turning to go to the bed and read his every day newspaper.

You followed him, and found his body splayed on your shared bed, his lips pursed together and his squared glasses on. You’ve always found him adorable that way. With a soft chuckle, you crawled to the bed, planting some moist kisses all over his face, making him grumble about it under his teeths.

—”What got you so distant these days?” You murmured, voice full of concern as Leon looked at you, very confused.

—”Distant? What are you talking about?”

The newspapers are slipped to rest on top of his chest, Leon pushes his glasses off to lay them on the headboard next to the bed.

—”Yeah, I've noticed, Leon. You’re not even changing in front of me anymore. There’s something wrong?” One hand comes above his, your thumb caressing his skin to soothe him down while abroading the topic.

—”There’s nothing wrong.” He looked away, and you knew him way too good to know he’s lying.

—”Leon.” You insisted.

—”I’m telling you the truth.”

—”We’ve been together for thirteen years total. I know you’re lying.” Leon cursed under his teeths, and you heard his upset from you knowing him so well like that.

—”Fine. There IS something wrong.”

—”And can I know what it is?” Nuzzling closer to his body, you could feel his same scent as always, which you’ve always recognized him for. Your hands never stopped from soothing him down. After a couple of seconds in silence, he answers.

—”I’m not quite…comfortable with my body.”

—”What’s wrong with your body?”

—”It’s not the same as when you’ve met me.” He sighed in disappointment, kissing his own teeths to make any sound to not look so pathetic.

—”What’s the problem with that?” Leon felt as if you’re not understanding the situation, he took your hands and pressed them together, looking directly in your eyes.

—”My love, I'm not the same Leon. Not the same toned man that you’ve knew…i’m just pathetic now with this fucking…dad body.”

Your head fell unconsciously to the side, completely confused with his words. That’s not a single bit of how you saw Leon, and the only thing you wanted is that he saw himself the way you saw him. Leon was visibly frustrated with his own body, and you never saw him like this before in all those years together.

—”I don’t see any problem with your body, my love. In fact, it’s normal that you can’t keep the same shape after so many years.”

—”That’s because you didn’t saw my body yet, you wouldn’t understand.” Leon whispered, turning his body slightly to the side so you wouldn’t see his belly through the shirt.

—”You know I wouldn't judge you for that, my dear. Your body isn’t going to change my love for you.”

Just like the words were exactly his fear, his eyes dazed off at the same instant, perplexed. It’s like he’s been thinking you would leave him after seeing his body so differently.

—”You saw me in the worst moments, carrying your childrens with my body all swollen and sore. Why would I judge you from not keeping in shape?”

His lips pursed, he let your hands slip from his and faced the wall, still hammering that thought on his mind.

—”And I trust you, very much. I’m just…afraid, I guess..."

What you didn't expect was that a few minutes later, Leon would be splayed in the bed, legs wide open and head against your shoulder. His lips parted and let a few grunts leave from them, which is now swollen from biting them so much as he does.

The best way to show him how much you appreciate him completely, was to show through your eyes. So you planted him in front of the mirror, body pressed against yours as your hands were moving alongside his tummy, unconsciously sliding even way more down to underneath his boxers. His eyes were fluttering, almost fighting to stay open as your free hand held his chin.

—"Look in the mirror, Leon. I want you to see how handsome you are." He squirmed on your hand, you felt the way his breath hitched in between his teeths.

Leon looked straight, trying his best not to close his eyes. But the waves of shock that your fingertips on his skin are sending to him, are hard to handle. He felt vulnerable nonetheless, but the pleasure was undeniable.

—"Slow…slow down." The blonde man hissed when your naughty hands found the way to his already erect penis, only enough to squeeze the swollen tip, knowing so damn well that would send him over the edge.

And just as you thought, it did. A single touch, and Leon was down bad for you. His head fell back into your shoulders, his throat letting a loud lewd moan slide out. He was really sensitive after weeks without not even seeing your body properly, and he dreamed about being touched this way by you again. Even if he wanted, the insecurities were munching on the back of his mind, even though he's very happy you noticed his abrupt change of mood and are now trying to put some senses into his mind.

—"I don't want you to ever doubt yourself anymore. You're handsome, and I love…Every. Single. Inch. Of. You." Syllabically speaking, each word was a kiss on his neck, only to keep him way more desperate than he already is. —"Did you understand?"

—"Y-Yes! Yes…,yes I did, ma'am." His voice lowered an octave, he was already so needy for you that he can't even think straight. You flooded his mind with thoughts of you, giving no space for the insecurities — At least for a long time.

#fanfic #fictionalslvr #smut #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x fem reader #leon x reader #leon x you #leon kennedy smut #leon smut #leon resident evil #resident evil vendetta #vendetta leon #re vendetta

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f0point5 · 8 months ago

Note

The new fic was wonderful, I cant get enough of Em and Max I hope you never stop writing about them! That being said, I'm curious, would you write about one (or all four!) Times Max had to run around a city looking for Emelia?

Okay I’m sorry about how this turned out 🫣 I know in the fic it referenced that Max didn’t know there was a problem and only found out once she left but I am taking some artistic license with this being one of the four times! Don’t hate me 🫠

I did actually start a different one featuring Emilia’s dad so I may finish that one and we will get a funnier/more on brand instance of Emilia running away but…I hope you enjoy this one in the meantime!

✨Set in September 2021✨

They nicknamed her “The Bolter”

Max watches the sunrise in total, deafening silence. He thinks at some point he gets up to feed the cats. He thinks, but he isn’t sure. He’s so tired. His eyes are watering. It’s not tears. He can’t sleep. He wants to. He doesn’t want to. It doesn’t matter if he wants to, he can’t. He can’t sleep knowing you’re not home. He can’t sleep not knowing you’re safe.

He looks at his phone again. He has it on loud and on vibrate but he still checks. Still hopes.

Daniel: Did you hear from her?

Lando: She’s not answering me sorry

Clara Albizzi: You fucked up

That last one makes me feel sick. He did fuck up. He knew the second he’d said it. The way your face just fell and you couldn’t look at him. The way your shoulders hunched over.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

You hadn’t even packed a bag. Hadn’t even taken keys for a car. You’d just picked up the shoes that were lying in the hallway and left.

And he’d let you.

It had taken everything in him to stand still and let you leave, even as the fear set in. Fear that smelled like freshly cut grass and petrol. Fear that felt like crisp night air. Fear that looked like headlights in the dark.

The restraint had only last a few minutes.

You had blocked him, of course. So he’d called your friends. He’d ended up calling half of Monaco including more drivers than he ever spoke to regularly. Everyone denied hearing from you. He’d actually driven to Daniel’s to confirm his story that he wasn’t home. Max wondered more than once if you’d earned more loyalty from his colleagues than he had. Even if one of them was lying to him, at least you were safe.

But he couldn’t take the chance that you really hadn’t ended up at someone’s place. You didn’t have you bag with you, or even comfortable shoes. You couldn’t pay for a cab. It was that thought that had sent him to the Hotel de Paris. It was your favourite hotel in town, you even checked in for staycations sometimes. They would have your information, so you wouldn’t even need a credit card. The receptionist had refused to tell him if you were staying there - illegal, apparently - but something about his appearance must have incurred her sympathy, because she’d said that they hadn’t had any unexpected guests.

That had sent him to Sass Café. A long shot, because you didn’t usually self medicate alone, but he’d tried anyway. Fifty times he thought he’d seen you across the room as he’d weaved his way through the hoards of people. Normally he could spot you anywhere but when all he wanted was to see you he’d seen you everywhere.

By the time he’d got home, some time in the wee hours, Max could feel himself starting to shut down. As he’d called your name to no response and checked your room to find it empty, he could feel himself starting to get cold. He’d sat down on the couch, intending to think about what he was going to do next, but the thoughts had started to get away from him. The memories of the last twelve hours began to fold in on themselves, becoming smaller and squarer and so too did the feelings. The anger, the frustration, the panic, the disappointment, it all got more manageable, packing itself away in the corner in his mind that Max had so often found himself hiding in.

Even the fear had gone. The fear had gone somewhere around 5.30 am, when the darkness started to wane. As he sat on the couch and watched the sky go from black to blue to the colour of the dress you wore to Luka’s christening, his leg stopped shaking, his fists unclenched, and the tightness in his chest disappeared.

Finally, emotions had given way to a familiar and encompassing emptiness. Max just felt numb.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

What had he even been so angry about? He could almost laugh at himself. He hadn’t been angry. He’d been embarrassed. You’d told him you’d found underwear that wasn’t yours in the washing machine and he’d been so fucking embarrassed. And then he’d thought, what did he have to embarrassed about, and he decided in a split second it must be because you were judging him, and who were you to judge him when you were the reason he was fucking random girls in the first place. His relationship had ended because of you.

You’re the reason she’s not here!

Except you weren’t the reason. Not really. It had been Max’s choice and he knew that. Max needed you more than he’d wanted her and he had never once regretted that choice, although wherever you were, you probably thought he did.

He almost wishes he could feel all of it. Whatever it is that’s been forced under the surface because he can’t deal with it. He can’t feel anything. His eyes are sore and unfocused and they sting.

He drags a hand over his face. He should do something. Get flowers, or call the police, or…anything. But he doesn’t. His limbs don’t move. He just sits there…like he’s waiting for someone to pick him up.

You’ve got to come back.

Don’t worry, Max. They always come back. You’ll apologise. You’ll do better next time.

His eyes water again. This time it might be tears.

Somewhere behind him, one of the cats meows. Maybe he didn’t feed them after all.

“Max?”

At the sound of your voice, Max’s head turns so fast his neck hurts. He blinks furiously at the sight of you. For a second he thinks he’s imagining you.

“I brought strudel,” you say, holding up a small folded pastry box.

Max gets up before his he tells himself to. He wants to pull you into his arms, the urge to do it is the only thing he’s felt in hours, but stays still. You’re back, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgiven.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse.

“Not everywhere, clearly,” you say with a shrug.

“I went to Sass, Daniel’s, I called Lando, Alex, Clara, Zita,” he says, as if trying to prove that he’d tried. “I went to the hotel to see if you were there. I’ve been around the whole city all night, I didn’t sleep,”

“Oh.”

You look a little sheepish, almost guilty, as you make your way to the kitchen. Max follows, too far behind for his liking but he’s still too scared to get closer.

He sits on one side of the island and you stand on the other. He really takes in your appearance now. Hair up, no make up. Wearing a pyjama shirt. Where the fuck did you get pyjamas? He doesn’t care. His eyes run over you one more time. He might never let you out of his sight again.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Max admonishes, though there is no strength behind his words.

“Don’t piss me off like that,” you retort, and there’s strength behind yours.

The look you give him cuts like second place, and he looks away. He looks out to the balcony. The sky is cobalt now. What time is it?

“Did you mean it?” You whisper into the silence.

Max looks at you now. “No.”

“But-“

“No.” This time it’s an oath.

You shake your head as you open the pastry box. “Max, you obviously kind of meant it,” you say, turning to pick up two plates from the counter. “And I don’t blame you. I know I’m the reason you and-“

“You’re not the reason,” Max insists. “She’s the reason. She thought…she made that choice. And yeah, a part of me is still angry about it, and I cannot talk to her so I took it out on you. That wasn’t right and I’m sorry. I don’t know why I even- I’m sorry. It was my fault,”

Take responsibility. It’s your fault. You caused this to happen. If you don’t like the outcome then stop making people angry.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. Even to his own ear it sounds a little more desperate.

You stare at him, eyes narrow, like you’re trying to read him, and Max almost flinches under the scrutiny. Finally, your face softens, and you sigh. Something in your posture eases.

“Max, it’s okay,” you say gently. “People fight. I just felt like shit and you know how I get. You’re fight, I’m flight, remember? I was…anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Max says. “Of course.”

You don’t look like you believe him, but he’s telling the truth. If you’re okay, then he’s okay. If you’re there, then he’s okay. If you’re home then that’s where he wants to be.

You shuffle around the island with two plates of strudel, padding on bare feet towards the living room with Max in hot pursuit.

“Where did you go?” He asks, now noticing that not even your shorts are the ones you left in last night.

“The Maybourne,” you explain, settling on the corner of the couch, legs outstretched. “The concierge gave me some spa pjs,”

Max takes a seat next to you, further than normal but closer than he’s been to you in what feels like forever.

“I’ll pay you back for the room,” he says with a rueful smile.

“Yeah, I think you will,” you say haughtily, and Max forced himself to laugh. There must be something in his expression that tips you off, though, because your face falls. “I’m sorry I left,”

Please don’t ever do that again.

The words are on the tip of his tongue but he swallows them. He doesn’t ask. He can’t. He has no right to ask you that, because no one can ever promise not to leave and he can’t promise to be worth staying for.

“It’s not the first time,” Max says with a chuckle, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m used to it by now,”

You roll your eyes and turn on the tv, flipping through to find the Moto GP race as Max yawns. The buzz he felt at your return is wearing off and the exhaustion is creeping up on him. He doesn’t want to sleep yet, though. Not when you’re still in his periphery. It’s stupid, but some part of him needs to be consciously in your presence for a while.

“Max, you can go to bed, if you want. I know you didn’t sleep,”

“No,” he says, a bit too quickly. He imagines that he blushes when you notice. His cheeks certainly burn. “I’m just….I’m fine here.”

You reach over to pick up a pillow and lay it on your lap. “At least lie down,” you say, patting the pillow like you do to get one of the cats to sit on you. Max hesitates, but only for a moment, because he’d do just about anything you told him right now.

He settles his head on the pillow, eyes fixed on the tv. He used to do this with his mum, he remembers. The first night joke after being with his dad for months, she’d put on a movie and Max would lay his head in her lap while they watched. He doesn’t think he’s ever told you that.

Your hand running through his hair is like a little jolt of energy, somewhere above him he hears you giggle at the shiver that goes through him. You don’t stop, though, finger massaging his scalp. It quiets all of his nerve endings.

“You need a haircut,” you tell him. He knows what you’re doing, but he can’t bring himself to care. As long as it’s you doing it.

“Yeah,” Max agrees. It’s the last thing he says before he finally falls asleep.

#max Verstappen x reader

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pininghermit · 10 months ago

Text

Mockery of Errors

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Alucard's got a personal idiot to save him decade's worth of therapy.

AN: some nsfw vocab so minors dni

"Omg oh no I am so sorry."

Three pairs of eyes stare at you.

"I can get myself out," you mumbled, shuffling awkwardly. Turning to leave through the broken window you entered by, you paused. "Oh crap," you muttered, glancing at the shattered glass and then back at the golden-haired vampire, who you assumed was the owner.

"I can pay for the damages," you offered, patting your pockets frantically. You desperately hoped you hadn't been an idiot and left your purse at home. You studiously avoided looking at the vampire's bare, luminous legs.

Was that… rope? Your eyes widened at the crimson bundle peeking out from under the bed. Great. You'd just stumbled into some bizarre threesome. Just your luck.

The commotion seems to snap the supposed lord out of his shock. Though you desperately tried to avoid their gaze, you heard the rustle of clothes and felt the air shift as the vampire lord moved in front of you. And much to your dismay a sword.

Your spine felt like jelly, but you forced a wobbly smile as you looked up at the ridiculously good-looking vampire lord. It all clicked into place. Dammit! He deserved a good threesome. Insanely handsome vampire lords with deary castles deserve a good bang.

"Now, now, my lord," you began, your voice betraying a slight hitch. "There's no need for that. I assure you, I'm no robber." You mentally shoved aside the very inappropriate picture that had just popped into your head, desperate to stay alive.

"This is all just a…jest, you see? A silly little bet with friends. Terrible timing, I admit, and terribly sorry for the interruption. I can, of course, make myself scarce." You finished with a weak attempt at a conspiratorial wink, hoping it landed somewhere between charming and utterly insane.

You flashed a friendly smile at the, ahem, occupants of the bed, who (to their credit) did a fantastic job of conveying annoyance through sheer silence. You waved awkwardly, but they weren't having it.

"Ahem," the vampire lord cleared his throat to catch your fleeting attention. "Do you know where you stand?" He asked, his voice surprisingly weak. He sounded young...a young adult vampire? They came in all ages and formats you mused internally.

Focusing on his question, you tried to hide the relief of finding a young master instead of a slithering nasty vampire."Ah, my lord," you stammered, "we, uh, my friends and I…had no idea a vampire resided here...the cutesy garden in the back yard had us guessing this castle was looked after a kind granny."

That was not the right thing to say. Apparently, even unageing vampires were vain enough to detest being called a granny...to your credit, his white nightgown was not doing him any favors.

Alucard felt a furious blush creep up his neck. Thankfully, you seemed too terrified to meet his gaze.

The shattered window was a godsend. A distracting agent that prevented acknowledging the scene you walked in on.

He towered over you as you sat perched precariously on the windowsill, inspecting the broken glass with an unsettling focus. "Sturdy stuff," you muttered in approval, completely oblivious to the elephant in the room - or rather, the castle.

Not the damn ropes! Adrian groaned silently. He wasn't easily flustered, but this… this was pushing his limits.

Steeling yourself with the air of someone who'd made a grand decision, you rose to your feet. "My lord," you declared, "I can totally replace this glass tomorrow! No worries. Besides, who carries a purse on a ridiculous late-night dare, anyway?"

Adrian let out a sigh so deep it could rival a tectonic plate shift. Clutching his face in his hands, he squeezed his eyes shut. This, he thought hysterically, was worse than a thousand post-nut clarity moments combined. There was no way he could ever face Sumi or Taka again.

He nods. At this point, he would be better off flying away as a bat and never show up to his accursed castle ever again.

Peering out the window, you mumbled, oblivious to the tension, "Yikes, that's a drop. So, about those ropes…" A collective cringe echoed through the room, the occupants unified in their secondhand embarrassment.

"Just use the damn door!" Adrian roared, his voice cracking spectacularly mid-scream.

And thus, with a shattered window, a flustered vampire lord, and a shockingly oblivious mortal, the future of Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula, took a most unexpected turn.

#alucard x reader #alucard #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #fluff #taka and sumi #fix it fic

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tsumuus · 7 days ago

Note

For your valentines special: Denki +💐

Preferably as a written fic. I can just imagine poor denki loosing his mind when he realised he forgot the card.

Valentine’s Day had never been a particularly exciting day for you. It was nice, sure—full of chocolates, roses, and extravagant gestures- but it had never been anything special. That’s why you found yourself spending it the way you always did: lounging in your room, hanging out with your best friend, Denki Kaminari.

Denki was sprawled out on your bed, scrolling through his phone while absentmindedly tossing a heart-shaped pillow in the air. You sat on the floor beside your bed, flipping through a book, comfortable in the silence between you two. That was the beauty of your friendship- you didn’t always need to talk.

A sudden knock at the door pulled you out of your book-induced trance. You exchanged a curious glance with Denki before getting up to answer it. As you opened the door, your gaze fell to the ground, where a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers lay at your doorstep. Vibrant petals, soft and full, decorated with sprigs of baby’s breath, all carefully wrapped in brown paper. They were stunning.

Denki bolted upright, eyes widening slightly as you bent down to pick up the bouquet. This was it. The moment he had planned.

Except-

“There’s no note?” you muttered, turning the bouquet over in your hands.

Denki’s heart stopped.

No note? No. No, no, no. There had been a note. A carefully handwritten, slightly crumpled, anxiety-ridden note that he had spent hours perfecting. The note that was supposed to explain everything. How could there be no note?

Your head tilted in confusion as you turned back to Denki, bouquet in hand, while he stared at you in sheer horror. “Uh… you okay?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh- y-yeah! Totally! Just… wow, flowers! Crazy!” he said, forcing out a laugh.

You gave him a suspicious look. “You wouldn’t happen to know who they’re from, would you?”

Denki scrambled for an answer. The panic rising in his chest made it nearly impossible to think straight. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Nope! No clue! But I can help you figure it out!” he blurted, forcing his lips into an overenthusiastic grin.

You blinked, glancing between him and the bouquet. Something felt weird about his reaction, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Still, the idea of a little Valentine’s Day mystery was intriguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, setting the flowers down on your desk. “Let’s do it.”

Denki let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, but the relief was short-lived. Because now, instead of just confessing, he had to spend the whole day helping you investigate… himself. Great.

The first suspect was Kirishima. He was kind, thoughtful, and totally the type to give someone flowers on Valentine’s Day. But when you questioned him, he laughed and shook his head. “I wish I could take credit, but nah, not me.”

Mina was next, but she immediately denied it. “Those are way too classy for me. I would’ve picked something bright or even sparkly.”

Todoroki? No way. Midoriya? He turned red at the mere idea. Bakugo? He swore aggressively that if he ever sent someone flowers, it would not be in such a ‘damn cutesy’ way.

One by one, you crossed off names. With each rejection, Denki could feel his resolve crumbling. He had dug himself into a hole so deep, he wasn’t sure how to get out.

As the sun began to set, the two of you sat side by side on your bed, the list of suspects reduced to nothing. You sighed, tossing the notepad onto your desk. “Well, whoever sent them clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

Denki stared at his hands, his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn’t keep this up anymore. The words were on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out.

“I sent them,” he finally confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your head so fast, he thought you might get whiplash. “What?”

“I sent the flowers,” he repeated, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. “There was supposed to be a note, but I guess it got lost, and I just… freaked out.”

Your eyes widened, processing his words. “You… you sent them?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was gonna confess, after you read the note, y’know? But when the note wasn’t there, I panicked and- well, here we are.”

Silence settled between you two, thick with unspoken emotions. Denki felt his stomach twist, dreading your response. But then, you smiled.

“Dumbass,” you muttered, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You really spent all day helping me figure out something you already knew?”

He laughed, the tension finally breaking. “I panicked, okay?! It felt like the only option!”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the bouquet resting on your lap. “So… you like me?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his golden eyes locking onto yours. “A lot.”

Warmth spread through your chest, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside you. “Good,” you murmured, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Because I like you too.”

Denki blinked, his brain short-circuiting for a second. Then, a grin stretched across his face, bright and full of joy. “Wait, really?!”

“Really,” you confirmed, laughing at his stunned expression.

And just like that, Valentine’s Day had suddenly become a whole lot more special.

valentines event | masterlists

a/n guys i love him.

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sweetwolfcupcake · 10 months ago

Text

Wildflower: 04

The Secret Garden

John Wick x Reader

Category: Short Series

Warnings: None really but creepy, questionable behaviour (what else do you expect in a yandere fic?)

Note: John is relatively younger in this fic( late thirties to early forties)

(The GIF is not mine, credit to the owner. Sorry, my pea-sized brain cannot keep up from where I downloaded it.)

Unedited

Wildflower 03

“You have given her the card?”

Another hit, another night at the Continental, another dinner with Winston.

The older man nodded, continuing to eat, eyes on his plate before they rose to meet John’s intrigued ones.

“You know that the card means…”

“She is under my protection and the hotel’s doors are always open for her— services included.” Winston completed.

“She’s a civilian, Winston.”

John could not get it. Winston seldom gave his personal ‘Access Card’ (As he liked to call it) to anyone– even in their world. John had it, Charon had it and he did not know of anyone else who had it until…Until two nights ago.

When he saw it among (Y/N)’s possessions, he had to look twice. It was, Winston's card, after all, and she fucking carried it around in her bag like an idiot.

“And how did you come to know about the card? I had it shipped to her discreetly.”

Well, that was the question he was dreading. But he would not let it show.

“I bumped into her during…a job.” He did not elaborate and hoped he would not need to.

“Wrong time, wrong place?”

John nodded. Fortunately, she had just caught the panicked rush. And she had dropped her bag somewhere along the way. John could only imagine what could have happened if the bag fell into the wrong hands– if the card fell into the wrong hands.

He had only gone through the contents to decide where to drop the bag safely. He totally did not go through her home address and ID.

Winston only hummed and continued to eat. His question, though, was still unanswered.

“She has nothing to do with our world, Winston. She does not need that.”

“Well she walked into our world, had a meeting with me, sat with us at the underground bar— everyone there saw it. I respected Artemis, and I wanted to keep my word.”

Yes, she walked into their world. Like a fucking lamb stumbling into a slaughterhouse. John sighed and continued to eat his dinner. He would rather eat by himself, in the confinement of his room, but he did not mind Winston. Besides, a dinner invitation from the manager of Continental held great significance.

He liked the silence and slowed thoughts when he was in his company, doing mundane things. Like a normal human being. That was the closest to an ordinary life he could ever get. The rest was unattainable luxury.

But in recent days. Even in the comfort of silence and solitude, his mind was filled with a certain name, a certain smile. A certain face. A certain voice.

It felt so uncharacteristic of him— it was puzzling. His hold tightened on the knife and fork, the image of her confused face as she looked around people rushing flashed in his mind.

Not again. Not again!

Gulping some wine, he tried to clear his head. He was thinking like that again. He should not be thinking like that.

She is a civilian. An innocent civilian.

He chided himself.

“Something troubling you Jonathan?”

Of course, Winston would notice.

He looked up and sighed in silence. Thankfully, Winston did not poke further.

—------

(Y/N) admitted that there were a lot of things she had not prepared herself for before moving to New York— the basics were, thankfully, sorted out in her head. And yet, the pace of life, the mouse problem, more cockroaches, and the general indifference came to her as bumps and jerks. But all was good.

Everything was good until two days ago.

Nothing prepared her for a literal shootout at a subway station and losing her bag in the process. Thankfully, she was not caught in the middle of the crossfire— it was just the panicked rush just outside the crime scene.

But what she was more thankful about, was the fact that a kind officer brought her bag to her doorstep by the same evening. Her wallet was in that bag with her address. She did not wish to think what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. Crime in the city ran rampant.

She had heard of it, not much on the news, but more as whispers floating around in her relatively quieter town. But she never paid much heed to them. She had treated them as rumours— the news did not show much, after all. The news did not show even half of it. But above all, the general public’s indifference to such crimes baffled her.

Did they not want their city safe? Were they not afraid? What era was it?

She reflected on Alex’s words. They discussed the same.

“You eventually grow immune to it.”

He had told her. Not very helpful, but that was an explanation of some sort. People in the city must have grown immune to it— they learned to live with it. But could she grow indifferent as well? She did not think so.

But there was too much at stake. She did not wish to return to her hometown, was still not talking to her father other than one-worded texts, had a job in New York that paid well–enough, had already signed the recent contract and paid two months of rent and the overall living cost of the city kissed the skies and any spontaneous decision would end up burning her pocket— not just a hole in her pocket.

So, the only option left was to get up, dust herself and keep moving. Yet, among all the chaos, she was glad to have found a friend like Alex. His humour and insight always helped. Her thoughts moved to her encounter with John Wick a few days ago. Clearly, Alex and John knew each other. But Alex never elaborated other than calling John an ‘acquaintance’ and John…well, she might as well admit that she would be reluctant to approach him under most circumstances.

There was— she could not put a pin on it. But there was something almost ominous about that man. The way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he stood, carried himself— every aspect about him seemed to stand out. Not enough to gain immediate attention, but enough to steer clear of his way.

Now, that did not make sense. She realised. Neither did her observation that there was still something inexplicably melancholic about that man. His eyes were unreadable but sharp and so eerily calm that his gaze made her gulp– true. But there was a deep sense of sadness. It was subtle, but it was so ever-present that it seemed to have become a part of him. Nothing temporary but an inseparable part of him.

Now, that’s a bit of a stretch!

She chided herself. What was she doing? Wondering about a man she had met only a couple of times, weaving assumptions and stories?

She shook her head and took the last bite of her dinner. She missed how dinners were timely back in her home. She missed her home a lot, she was not afraid to admit it. But she was too proud to go back. So, whatever it was, she needed to get along with it.

—---

What was he doing?

John was at a fix. He had the night to himself— a chance to relax but why was he not under the covers, relaxing on his bed?

Why was he standing in the darkest corner of the room, watching her sleeping form? Her apartment was decent, he noticed and she was careless enough to not even feel a presence in her room.

What if it were someone else?

Someone dangerous?

You are dangerous.

His subconscious mocked.

John blinked, trying to convince himself that it was all for Winston’s sake— he had taken her under his wing and John, being close to Winston, must play his part in protecting her. Especially when wolves were lurking around, one had followed her from the Continental, sniffing behind, wrapping a sheep’s skin over to lure her near.

Alex Norton…

He was skilled with poison and guns, and while John had never crossed paths with him at work, they had shared a few respectful nods now and then at the Continental. But now…

Now he was keeping an eye out for Norton.

John gulped, keeping his eyes fixed on her form. If he could keep his reservations aside, he understood Norton’s fascination with the girl.

They were both starved creatures from hell, crawling out now and then, and she was an angel, offering the solace he knew he did not deserve.

She offered what people like him were deprived of. It was tempting to just pull her into the depths of the dark with him, let her light it up— but how unfair, how cruel would that be?

Did he not see and endure enough cruelty? Why would he want an innocent civilian to lose their privileges just because one starving, deformed, empty soul had suddenly realised how impossibly bleak and bitter his world was?

No, John had made peace with this life. He would not call himself ‘the best’, but he knew he was good—- good enough to win special privileges at the New York Continental– to win the confidence of Winston Scott.

He never truly understood Winston, or his ways.

As far as he knew, Artemis was like any other patron at the Continental and had been a part of the underground before he officially left his…tribe, in search of freedom— some semblance of it at least. He had it now, and it was the best he could get.

He must make peace with it.

He stared at the asleep woman for a good minute before looking away. He needed to leave. He wanted to leave. He really wanted…

John sighed and leaned against the wall instead.

He would just watch, and observe. He would keep a distance. Like he should.

****

So, we are getting at creepy John, I don't want it to be too slow, but I also want it to be realistically paced. I don't know hat I'm doing, but I am doing it anyway.

#yandere john wick #john wick x reader #dark john wick #dark!john wick #soft! dark john wick #yandere john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick x you

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ms--lobotomy · 9 months ago

Text

So happy you all are liking my Mertarion fics! Here's your food for the day. [Previous] [Next]

Summary: You learn to care for the big funny mermaid in your pool.

Word Count: 1016

Content Warning: Mention of the United States, mentions of eating live fish, infodumping about a topic that i find very interesting,

Image Credit: @squishyowl

The supermarket was crowded this Sunday with a selection of well-dressed denizens of your city. It must be the after-church rush. You felt most underdressed for this trip to the store. The line for the checkout was long, and the man behind you sighed as he checked his phone. The music was blaring loud, and you could hear it through your headphones. The cashier raised an eyebrow at you as she slid the last tray of salmon across the scanner.

"Cookout," you said, taking one of your headphones off of your ear.

The cashier stuck out her lower lip and nodded, sticking the tray in the last of your reusable bags. "Have fun at your cookout," she said. You winced at the total in front of you as you put your card in the card reader. Groceries were expensive already without a giant merman in your pool. It chimed, and you took the card out.

"Have a nice day," said the cashier, and you exited the store and hurried to your car.

...

"You told me you like salmon?" you asked, your lower legs dangling in the cool water. "How do you even get salmon? There's no wild salmon in the state," you said, throwing a cut into the pool.

He took it, putting it in a death roll not unlike an alligator would its prey. His teeth were sharp, his pupils (from what you saw, at least) a straight line on his eye. He splashed saltwater everywhere. You squealed, throwing your forearms in front of your face through the worst of it.

"Mortarion, careful, your stitches..." you muttered before he soon stopped his activity.

"Force of habit..." he said after swallowing his first bite of salmon. He had the fillet in one hand and was grabbing at the deep blue tiles that lined your pool with the other. You noticed him running his fingers along them, and smiled slightly. He took another bite and swallowed. "I would much prefer live fish, but this will do."

You shuddered at the prospect of feeding a live fish to the merman in your pool. Where would you even get one? Typhus spent a lot of time at the beach and you would see him there when you went on your off days, but you weren't going to ask him anytime soon.

Meanwhile, Mortarion pulled himself out of the pool a little bit to look at you. "You do not eat live fish?" he asked, his eyebrows raised and his green eyes widened.

"Oh, absolutely not," you muttered, running a hand along your other forearm.

"Oh," he said, genuinely taken aback. "You are a strange one, for sure."

"It's my entire species, actually..." you trailed off. "Unless, you're kind of weird, I guess? I mean, there's weirdos online who eat raw meat but I doubt they'd eat--"

"None of you eat live fish?" he asks after swallowing another bite of fish.

"No... sorry."

He looked at you incredulously. He moved his hand along the side of the pool, towards your dangling leg. He brushed his finger against its side, and you felt your heart beating in your chest much more palpable than normal. As you inhaled sharply, he retracted his hand, looking away briefly. Blood rushed to your face and you looked towards your plants.

The two of you sat in awkward silence for a moment as he finished his salmon before you caught sight of two orange butterflies in your yard. They flew around each other, tumbling through the air before one of them stopped at the passion vine that adorned the trellis and the other flitted around it.

"Oh!" you shouted, eager to fill the void with light conversation. You pointed at the two little beings by the plant. "Look! Butterflies!"

Mortarion's eyes shot towards your little friends. "That's what they look like," he remarked. "I did not expect their wings to be so... extravagant."

"Oh, I think I forgot to mention that," you said, your face going warm again. "Well, that's a Gulf Fritillary. Some people call it the Passion Butterfly, but my mom always called it the first one. Oh, oh! Can you see the iridescent spots on them? They're a little far..."

He nodded. "They have little black borders around them."

"Oh, you can see those?" you asked, your eyes going wide. "I can only see them when they're really close." You let out a slight chuckle before looking down at him. He was awestruck, to say the least. His eyes were trained on the small bugs. His tail swished in the pool, and the rest of him was as still as a statue.

"I have never seen creatures such as these," he remarked after a little while.

"Well, there's plenty of them to see here, especially this time of year," I said. "You see that plant over there? That's a passion vine, it's a host plant for more than one species of butterfly. The Zebra Longwing actually competes with the Gulf Fritillary for this plant!" The butterflies had been moving along the plant, trailing lower and lower.

Mortarion's eyes were still trained on them. "What's the Zebra Longwing like?" he asked.

"Slightly smaller," you said, shifting slightly at the poolside. Your leg brushed against his hand again. Your eyes widened and you tensed up. He turned around to look at you, and you relaxed. He wasn't here to hurt you.

"Is... is that okay?" he asked, his voice low yet raspy.

You nodded, slowly at first before your movement became more vigorous. "It is," you said, lowering your hand to touch his. His eyes widened before he looked up at you.

"Care to join me in the pool?" he asked. He shut his eyes before opening them, looking around almost in terror.

You looked down at your outfit. Shorts that were neither too long nor too short, and a white tank top with a red design stenciled into it. You got up, and he retracted his hand, still staring at you.

"I would love to," you said. "Just let me get changed real quick."

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

#with tags like these i feel like ao3 would recieve me well #i do like tumblr though #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #mermay #mermay 2024 #mortarion #mortarion x reader #reader insert

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cas-readsandwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Traipse

Prologue and Masterlist - this landing page will be updated with final installments soon! My prompts got away from me and it's all turning out much longer than I anticipated, and I wanted to have something to share in time for the challenge and be able to bookmark this space for the finished story.

For @justagalwhowrites Birthday Challenge for our favorite TLOU main character. Prompts: Nightmares and Feral Joel. Setting: TLOU HBO series, set within the period of 5-20 years after the outbreak. Characters: Joel x OC Female, Tommy, Tess.

Author’s note: This is literally the worst birthday present I could give anyone. Content warnings for canon-typical violence, character deaths, suicidal ideation, substance use. It is not a happy ending. It’s gonna be kind of long. Someone toss me down a well after this. Credit to the lyrics of Traipse by Tremonti for story title and chapter titles 🖤 AO3 link

~ ~ ~

Prologue: Cold Is The Light of the Sun

2008, Outbreak Year + 5

Through the darkness, Joel felt more than saw or heard as Tommy found him in the patch of trees and shrubs, branches shifting and breeze disturbing the air as his brother climbed back into the partially-covered hole they had selected for the night. Tommy slid next to him, thumping him on the back.

“It’s good, Joel, they say everything should be exactly where we heard. If we can scout it out tomorrow before dark, we can grab it and run.” Joel just nodded, his gaze still alert and swiveling around them.

Tommy thumped him on the back again. “Go to sleep, bro. I’m awake from running around. Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up.” Joel nodded mutely again, these periods of sullen silence occurring more frequently recently. Tommy glanced down at his brother as Joel shifted around in the dirt, trying to find a place slightly more comfortable in the pine branches and with his pack.

For the past five years, Joel had lived in a cycle of fog and clarity, some function of his brain able to root onto the basic needs for survival, and Tommy making up for the rest of it. Tommy kept saying maybe the next loot they would find, the next raid - that they were reluctantly joining more and more frequently - would find them a place were they could settle, some protected land somewhere without infected, without enough other people to make it worth it for competing raiders or the spreading fingers of FEDRA. Joel wasn’t sure he believed it, but it sounded better than however they had been living, even if he knew it would never, ever, come close to what their family had before. Regardless, he followed his brother, he kept his head on a swivel, he became proficient with firearms, became comfortable with the knowledge of his own strength and the knowledge of how he could use it.

Now, though, he stilled in a spot in the hole, his arms wrapped around his rifle and a strap of his pack. Tommy covered the top a bit more and sat up a bit where he could see out. As Joel fell asleep, he quietly extended one hand, coming in contact just enough with his brother to find where he was and know that he was warm and ok. That basic function in his brain finally quieted enough for him to sleep. If he didn't, the nightmares raged stronger, as if coming from cold light in the dark and knowing how to find him unmoored.

~ ~ ~

Part 1 ->

5 total parts coming VERY soon! 9k 11k 15k and counting

WIP Sneak Peak

Epilogue

#cas writes #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x oc #tommy miller #pedro pascal characters #writing #writing challenge

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koririmao · 2 days ago

Text

potluck

potluck cast| won nari (oc), cho hyunju, seong gihun, kim mina (bee girl) wc| 2.7K words cw| blood, gore, death, misgendering, mentions of condoms, self-performed surgery synopsis| nari got thrown into the dungeon with other 455 dorks credits| @koririmao / @/duckreiii on W app ib| antoni (he gave me the title yaaay)

~~~~

nari woke to a blinding light and the sound of trumpets blaring in his ears. instinctively, his hand reached out, eyes still closed, searching for the alarm on his bedside table.

but his fingers met nothing but air.

frowning, he cracked one eye open—then the other.

this… wasn’t his room.

around him, dozens of people sat up in identical green tracksuits, their faces twisted in confusion, mirroring his own.

where the hell am I?

throwing off the blanket, he looked down—only to realize he was wearing the same green tracksuit as everyone else.

i don’t remember owning one of these… what’s going on?

then, like a switch flipping in his brain, the memories of last night came rushing back—the man in the suit, the ddakji game, the shitty excuse of a business card, the warehouse, the van, and—

oh, shit. is this a kidnapping?

his heart pounded as he glanced down at his chest, spotting the number stitched onto his uniform.

444

well, fuck me.

if there was one thing he knew, four was an unlucky number in china—it sounded too much like the word for "death." and here he was, quite literally marked as *death-death-death.*

probably sealed my fate already.

at least i won’t die alone.

the trumpets abruptly cut off.

the heavy doors at the far end of the room swung open, and a line of masked men in pink jumpsuits marched inside.

the one in the center had a square on his mask. the ones flanking him wore circles.

silence fell over the room.

something told nari that whatever came next… wasn’t going to be good.

a tense silence hung over the room as the masked men took their positions. the square-masked figure stepped forward, his presence alone demanding attention.

“welcome, players,” he announced, his voice distorted by a voice modulator. “you have all voluntarily agreed to participate in the games. from this moment forward, you will follow our instructions. failure to comply will result in elimination.”

nari swallowed hard. elimination? the word sent a chill down his spine.

he glanced around. some players exchanged nervous glances, others sat frozen in fear. one woman clutched the hem of her tracksuit, knuckles turning white. a man near the back scoffed, arms crossed over his chest.

“bullshit,” the man muttered under his breath. “they drugged us and dumped us here like animals.”

“silence” the square-masked man ordered, unbothered by the outburst.

a low hum filled the room as screens along the walls flickered to life. the players' numbers appeared in neat rows, glowing ominously.

456 Players

nari exhaled sharply. that many?

“as of now, you are competing for the grand prize,” the masked man continued. “the rules are simple. survive each round, follow the instructions, and you will advance.”

another masked figure, this one with a circle on his mask, stepped forward and lifted a remote. a loud mechanical click echoed through the room as the ceiling unlatched, revealing a massive glass piggy bank suspended above them.

a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. even empty, the sheer size of it sent a clear message—there was real money at stake.

“for every player eliminated, an additional sum will be added to the prize pool,” the masked man announced in an eerily monotone voice. “the final total will be revealed after the first game.”

first game?

nari’s stomach twisted.

as if on cue, the massive screen on the wall flickered. a countdown appeared.

game begins in 10 minutes.

the masked men turned in perfect unison and exited, the heavy metal doors slamming shut behind them. the sound reverberated through the silent room like a final warning.

for a moment, no one moved.

then, chaos erupted.

“what the hell is this?!”

“they’re joking, right? this is some kind of sick prank!”

“first game? what do they mean by eliminated?”

nari took a shaky breath, his mind racing.

how the hell did I end up in this?

but the way those masked men carried themselves, the cold finality in their voices—this wasn’t a joke.

there was no going back.

and if he wanted to make it out of here with money, there was only one option.

play the game.

~~~~

the first game is red light, green light. you may only move when the doll is turned away and counting down from ten. when it turns to face the players, you must remain completely still. any detected movement will result in elimination.

oh. red light, green light. a children's game.

i wasn’t particularly good at it as a kid. the tagger always found a way to call me out.

"you're out!"

"your legs are shaking!"

"why are you standing on one leg? haha, you lost your balance!"

their laughter echoed in my mind until a sharp voice cut through my thoughts.

“this isn’t just some simple game!” a player near the front yelled, drawing everyone’s attention. “when they say elimination, they really mean death!”

death? that’s bullshit.

sure, they kidnapped over four hundred people, dressed us in matching tracksuits, and forced us to play games. but killing people over this? a child’s game? ain’t no fucking way.

then, the doll turned toward the tree and raised its arm, mimicking how taggers used to block their vision before turning around.

a mechanical voice counted down.

the game had begun.

"무궁화 꽃이 피었습니다."

the doll’s sweet, melodic voice filled the air, a twisted contrast to the tension gripping the players.

“FREEZE!” the same guy from before shouted, panic thick in his voice.

jesus christ, can this guy calm down?

if he kept this up, he’d get himself eliminated just from sheer paranoia.

i kept my distance at the back, but moved swiftly when i could. the key was pacing. not too fast, not too slow.

after a few more rounds, a girl at the front suddenly shrieked.

“A BEE?! AHH! AHH!”

the room fell deathly silent. we all turned, watching her in our peripheral vision.

she laughed. “aww, i guess i moved.” her voice was teasing, light.

then—

a single gunshot rang out.

the room fell into a silence so thick it was suffocating.

then, the doll turned back around.

and we saw it.

the girl’s lifeless body lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath her.

for a few agonizing seconds, no one moved.

then—chaos.

screams erupted as players bolted toward the entrance, desperation fueling their every step. they slammed fists against the doors, clawing at any possible exit. but it was useless, they only got shot. there was no way out.

“I TOLD YOU ALL NOT TO MOVE!” a familiar voice bellowed over the hysteria. “PLEASE! DON’T MOVE! I BEG YOU!”

it was the old man from earlier.

people exchanged glances.

guess that guy’s not high on crack after all.

slowly, panic gave way to obedience. those who listened followed his lead, stepping forward only when the doll's head turned away.

and strangely enough… it worked.

the old man knew exactly what he was doing—too well, even. was he really just another player? or was there something else at play here?

i didn’t have time to dwell on it.

halfway through the game, a shot rang out.

the bullet barely missed the player in front of me— and hit my leg instead.

pain flared through my thigh. i clenched my teeth, pressing a hand over the wound.

shit, shit, shit. it’s a fucking bullet.

i couldn’t stop now. i had to keep moving.

seconds remained on the clock. i forced myself forward, attempting to sprint—

and tripped on a corpse.

my body hit the ground hard.

and just like that, it was over.

well. that’s it. thanks for the not-so-amazing twenty-seven years, life. wish i was never born, but at least i get to die now.

i closed my eyes, ready to accept my fate.

but then—

two sets of hands grabbed me.

one on either side.

i snapped my eyes open. the old man. and a girl with a bob.

they lifted me effortlessly, dragging me forward just as the timer hit zero.

we made it.

i lay there, gasping for breath, the weight of my near-death experience settling in.

then, the gunfire started.

the players who hadn’t made it in time were executed mercilessly. their bodies crumpled to the ground, blood painting the floor in streaks of red.

we could only watch as their pleading eyes silently beg for help.

i swallowed hard.

good god…

i could have been one of them.

~~~~

“c’mon, c’mon…” i muttered under my breath, reaching inside myself for the condom I had hidden earlier.

the pink guards had just confirmed what i already suspected—this wasn’t just some weird competition. this was a death game.

good thing i came prepared. i had my nunchucks, discreetly disguised as a kanzashi in my hair, and a few first-aid supplies—strategically stored where no one would think to check.

i exhaled sharply as my fingers finally hooked onto the tail of the condom. with one last tug, i pulled it out, careful not to make a mess.

unwrapping it, i revealed a small, cylindrical container inside. popping it open, i took a quick look at the inventory: bandages, gauze pads, iodopovidone, forceps, and cotton balls.

basic supplies—but enough to keep me alive.

i had considered doing it right here on the toilet, but i reminded myself of the first rule drilled into us in medical school:

“the duty to provide care extends beyond the clinic or hospital”

and this hellhole was no different.

first, i had to take care of myself. then, i’d help the others.

slipping out off the stall, i found the restroom empty.

they were all probably too scared to even piss after that horror show.

at the sink, i took a steadying breath before pulling my pants down just enough to expose my wound. blood had already clotted around the entry point, but i knew better than to leave it alone.

gritting my teeth, i positioned the forceps and dug in.

a sharp sting shot through my leg as i pried the bullet loose. i clenched my jaw, my grip steady despite the pain. when it finally clinked against the porcelain of the sink, i let out a slow, measured exhale.

i turned on the tap, letting the cold water rinse over the wound. it burned like hell.

once the worst of the debris was gone, i dabbed it dry, poured iodopovidone over the wound, and pressed a gauze pad firmly against it before securing it with a bandage.

done.

i pulled my pants back up, glancing at my reflection.

still alive.

and now, it was time to find others who needed help.

escorted by one of the guards, o made my way back to the main room. as i stepped inside, my eyes landed on a large “O” and “X” marked on the floor.

had that always been there?

maybe we had been too absorbed in our own fear to notice it before. shaking off the thought, i refocused and moved toward a familiar group of players.

the old man and the bob-haired girl.

they had saved me back there, and the least i could do was return the favor. my first instinct was to check if they were hurt, but before i could reach them, i felt a light tap on my back.

i turned around—and instantly recognized the person standing in front of me.

"oh, it’s you." a small smile tugged at my lips. "i was actually looking for you."

her eyes widened slightly. "l-looking for me? w-why?" she stammered.

"well… i wanted to thank you, of course." i fidgeted with the container in my hands. "you saved my ass earlier. the least i can do is return the favor."

i opened the small case, showing her the medical supplies inside. "i’m a med student, and if you have any injuries, i can take care of them."

she blinked, then let out a quiet "ahh," nodding in realization. "oh! n-no, i’m not hurt—thankfully," she assured me with a smile, bowing slightly.

i nodded back, returning a small smile of my own.

"but wait," i tilted my head, "you came up to me. was there something you wanted to ask before i started yapping?"

she hesitated.

i could see it in the way she bit her lip, the way she rubbed her arm like she was second-guessing herself.

"w-well, um… i-i was wondering…" she shifted her weight, her voice uncertain. "i overheard a conversation earlier… one of the players mistook you for a girl and…"

i sighed, already knowing where this was going.

"no, no, they were right," i said with an awkward smile. "i am a girl."

her brows furrowed slightly, as if she hadn’t expected me to confirm it so easily.

"i just…" i exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "i grew up seeing how society perceives women—weak, fragile, incapable. and i didn’t want to be a part of that. that’s why i ask people to refer to me as ‘he’ or ‘sir.’ but I’m not actually planning on transitioning. it’s not about that."

i glanced up at her, watching for her reaction.

"you’re beautiful, 120, but i don’t think you should bother," i murmured, looking down at the floor. "being a girl… you don’t really live life. you just… survive it."

silence hung between us for a moment. then, she took a deep breath, gently pushing her bangs out of her face before speaking.

"for me, being a woman isn’t just about the struggles," she said softly. "it’s about living as my true self. it’s about embracing who i am and finding happiness in my identity."

i looked up at her, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice.

"i hope you understand that being transgender isn’t about choosing hardship," she continued. "it’s about being true to myself—really living. and that’s what matters most."

her words sank deep.

i froze, processing them. then, slowly, i nodded.

"you’re right," i admitted. "i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to invalidate your experience."

she shook her head. "no offense taken."

for the first time in a long time, i didn’t feel alone.

~~~~

after the vote, we both chose to stay.

despite everything—the blood, the bodies, the fear—we couldn’t just walk away.

we had debts to pay, after all.

well… maybe the others here had actual debts, while we were just chasing the dream of a better future. but in the end, it didn’t matter. we needed the money just as much.

at least they still gave us real food.

guess the people running this hellhole weren’t completely heartless.

hyunju—her name, as i’d come to learn—lounged on the top bunk with me, stuffing our faces with food while we shared stories about our equally shitty lives outside.

"wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me the military shipped you off just because you were a girl despite being their best shooter?" i scoffed, shaking my head. "men and their logic."

she burst out laughing, then rolled her eyes. "yeah, apparently. their loss, anyway."

we ate in comfortable silence for a bit before she spoke again.

"hey."

i turned my head to see her twirling her spork in her hand, looking up at the giant piggy bank suspended from the ceiling.

"when you finally get out of here with that money…" she gestured toward it with her utensil. "where are you gonna go?"

i paused, chewing slowly.

had i ever really thought about that? i just knew i needed to get out—but where to?

i shrugged. "not sure yet." then i smirked. "any suggestions?"

her eyes widened slightly, and her grin stretched from ear to ear.

"well," she started, a little too eagerly, "i was thinking we could live together in thailand!"

then, as if realizing how bold she sounded, she quickly backtracked.

"y-you know, now that we’re friends a-and—if you want to, of course," she mumbled, blushing as she stabbed at her food.

i giggled. cute.

"of course i do," i said, holding out my hand, pinky extended.

she blinked, then looked up at me.

"pinky promise we’ll make it out of these games alive?"

her smile returned, warm and real. she hooked her pinky around mine and nodded.

"promise," she whispered with a laugh.

"i heard thai potluck is the best in asia," i said, taking another bite of my food.

"well," she replied mischievously, "we’ll see when we get there."

for a moment, nothing else mattered.

just me, hyunju, and the quiet understanding between two people who had been failed by the world—but had somehow found a little piece of hope in each other.

-end-

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prettygirl-gabi · 14 days ago

Text

Title: Imagination

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Fandom: Sturniolo Triplets

Paring: Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: Matt's gots the biggest crush and his imagination isn't helping or is it....

Baser of the song Imagination by Shawn Mendes

For as long as I could remember, Y/N had been my best friend. We’d grown up together, gone through every awkward stage side by side, and shared more laughs than I could count. But somewhere along the way, my feelings shifted. She wasn’t just my best friend anymore—she was the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one I kept dreaming about, and the one I couldn’t find the courage to tell how I felt.

Every morning, I’d watch her walk by my house on her way to her part-time job at the bookstore. She always wore a smile, her hair catching the sunlight just right, and I’d swear my heart skipped a beat every time. I wanted to call out to her, to tell her how beautiful she looked, but I could never find the words.

Instead, I stayed behind my bedroom window, letting my imagination run wild.

That afternoon, we were sprawled out on the beach, a spot we always went to when we wanted to escape. The ocean waves crashed softly in the distance, and the breeze was just cool enough to keep the heat from the sun at bay.

Y/N was lying on her back, her eyes closed and her arms stretched above her head. She looked so peaceful, so effortlessly perfect, and I couldn’t help but stare.

“You’re quiet today,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I’m not.”

She opened one eye, raising a brow at me. “You totally are. What’s on your mind?”

You, I wanted to say. Every second of every day, it’s you.

Instead, I shrugged. “Nothing much. Just thinking about life.”

“Life, huh?” She turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. “You’re being weird, Matt. Spill.”

I laughed nervously, picking up a handful of sand and letting it slip through my fingers. “I’m not being weird. You’re imagining things.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Sturniolo.”

She didn’t push me any further, thankfully. But I could feel her gaze on me, and it only made my heart race faster.

Later that night, we decided to grab milkshakes from the diner. We walked along the boardwalk, laughing at stupid jokes and quoting random movies like we always did.

Our hands brushed a couple of times as we walked, and I thought about reaching out, about holding her hand just to see what it would feel like. But I chickened out every time.

“You know,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think this is my favorite place to be.”

I looked over at her, the lights from the boardwalk rides casting a soft glow on her face. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “It’s just… peaceful, you know? Like everything else fades away, and it’s just us.”

My heart swelled at her words. I wanted to tell her that I felt the same way, that every moment with her felt like magic. But the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I managed a soft, “Yeah. I get that.”

That night, after I dropped her off at her house, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone buzzed with a text from her.

Y/N: Thanks for tonight, Matty. I had fun, as always.

Me: Me too. Glad you’re always down for my dumb ideas.

Y/N: Always. You know that.

I smiled at the screen, my heart aching in the best way. She didn’t know it, but she was my everything.

In my dreams, we were together. We’d hold hands without hesitation, laugh until our cheeks hurt, and kiss like we’d been waiting for it our whole lives.

I kept craving the day I’d finally find the courage to tell her how I felt. But until then, I had my imagination.

The next day, we met up at her house to watch movies. She sat next to me on the couch, her head resting on my shoulder as the opening credits rolled.

“You’re really quiet these days,” she said softly.

I looked down at her, my chest tightening. “I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

Like how much I want to tell you I’m in love with you.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. “Like… us.”

She tilted her head to look at me, her brows furrowing. “Us?”

I hesitated, my palms sweating. “Yeah. I mean… I’ve been thinking about how much you mean to me. And how I don’t want to screw up what we have, but at the same time, I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel something more.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I’d messed everything up. But then, she smiled—a soft, beautiful smile that made my heart soar.

“Matt…” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

“You have?”

She nodded, her cheeks turning pink. “I didn’t want to ruin things either, but… I feel the same way.”

Relief washed over me, and I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. “You do?”

She laughed, reaching up to touch my cheek. “Yeah, I do.”

And just like that, all the nights I’d spent dreaming about this moment became a reality. I leaned in, closing the distance between us, and kissed her for the first time.

It wasn’t just my imagination anymore. It was us, and it was everything I’d ever wanted.

#gabi writes #support the writers!#gabi answers #oneshot #°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #Spotify

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micahscowpoke · 18 days ago

Text

“Predicaments” 🧟‍♂️

Colm o’driscoll x f!reader

—————————————

CREDITS to c.ai creator:@mel_anch0lic

———————————————————

This is specially made for my kitten @ira-sigma heh.. 😇

I love dirty old men

The air was heavy with tension, the kind that clung to Horseshoe Overlook ever since the apocalypse had turned their world upside down. The dead now roamed freely, forcing alliances that once seemed impossible. Among them, Colm O’Driscoll, former enemy of Dutch van der Linde, found himself in the most unlikely of positions—seeking help within his rival’s camp.

Despite Dutch’s begrudging forgiveness, the gang wasn’t so forgiving. Colm’s first days here had been filled with sneering, cruel remarks and deliberate isolation. The gang’s collective disdain meant they hadnt allowed him food for two days.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Under the cover of night, she slipped out of her tent, gathering whatever scraps she could find—crackers, some fruit—anything to stave off hunger. Quietly, she made her way to the borrowed tent at the edge of camp. She paused outside the flaps, hesitating.

What does one even say in a situation like this? “Hey, Colm, I noticed everyone’s treating you like dirt and starving you, so here’s some food. By the way, I’m curious about you and totally not being nosy.”

She sighed and shook her head, brushing aside her nerves. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“Uh—are you awake, Colm?”

Inside, Colm lay awake, too wound up to sleep. The voice outside his tent caught his attention. He sat up, his gruff tone carrying through the fabric.

“Come in.”

She hesitated but pushed through, crouching awkwardly as she entered. The tension in the small space was stifling, Colm’s sharp eyes tracking her every move. Her gaze darted around the tent before she blurted out, “Well… I brought you some food since, y’know, you haven’t eaten. Since you got here.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

Colm’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. He took his time, studying her as she reached into her satchel and held out the meager offering. There was no hostility in his expression, just a guarded curiosity. Slowly, he took the food from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly as he simply stared up at her with a sort of suspicion.

She shuffled on her feet, arms crossing over her chest as she tried to fill the silence. “Sorry about how everyone’s been treating you. They’re just… suspicious. It should blow over soon. I think.”

Colm gave her a sidelong glance, chewing quietly. He didn’t bother replying to her half-hearted reassurances. Instead, he studied her again, amusement flickering in his eyes at her obvious discomfort.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Why are you so damn awkward, girl?”

Her face flushed, and she scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “I’m not awkward. I just don’t know what to say. But…” She faltered, her voice dropping. “Maybe I wanted to talk to you. Just a little.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from Colm’s chest. The sound caught her off guard, warmer and more genuine than she’d expected. “So you brought me food as an excuse to talk?” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

She sneered, indignant. “It’s not an excuse. You haven’t eaten in two days. Would you rather I let you starve? I just happened to want to talk while I was doing something decent. Not that it matters.”

Her brows knit together as she glared at him, clearly annoyed. But the corners of her mouth twitched, betraying her amusement. With a sigh, she sat beside him, keeping a small distance between them.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, the tension gradually fading into something almost comfortable. She watched as he ate, her curiosity about him growing.

“Guess you’re not as scary as they say,” she muttered, half to herself as she spun a ring around her pointer finger, staring down at it.

The dim light of the lantern in Colm O’Driscoll’s borrowed tent cast flickering shadows, her movements stiff with a mix of nervous energy and frustration. She stared straight ahead for a moment, elbows braced on her knees, before finally breaking the silence.

“Everything’s been happening so fast,” she began, her voice carrying the edge of someone still trying to make sense of chaos. “Not that long ago, life was… normal, I guess. Well, as normal as it gets around here. And then suddenly—bam!—we’re spitting fire at the undead like this is some twisted horror novel. It’s hard to believe this is real. It doesn’t feel real.”

She glanced at him, gauging his reaction before continuing. “And then there’s you. You showed up here, asking Dutch of all people for help. After everything I’ve heard about you from him, after all that history… Now you’re here, in our camp. Sure, no one’s rolling out the welcome mat, but you’re still here. It’s all just… strange.”

Her words tumbled out in a fast-paced ramble, her tone a mix of confusion and disbelief. Colm remained quiet, chewing methodically on the food she’d brought, his sharp eyes fixed on her as she spoke. He rolled his eyes and scoffed quietly, waiting until she finally paused for breath before cutting in.

“Sweetheart, relax. You talk a lot. Anyone ever tell you that?”

His voice was laced with mockery, and a cocky smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She turned her head sharply to glare at him, fixing her slouched posture to sit up straight, her brows knitting together in irritation. “At least I’m actually talking to you,” she shot back, her voice defensive. “And I’m the one who brought you food, in case you’ve forgotten, after everyone has just collectively refused to feed you.”

Her tone was a mix of defiance and self-righteousness, and she sighed and shook her head, as she slouched once more, hunched forward and her elbows rested on her thighs.

Colm chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, as he watched her with faint amusement. Her fiery defensiveness was endearing in a way he hadn’t expected.

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?” he asked, shaking his head, his smirk growing. “What, you want a medal for bringing me some food? A round of applause for being a decent human being?”

His sarcasm was sharp but not cruel, and he tilted his head, watching her closely as her scowl deepened. Her attempt to mask it with indifference only amused him further.

“I’m just jokin’, no need to get your panties in a twist,” he drawled, as he was sat lazily beside her with his legs spread wide in a typical display of dominance, his fingerless gloved hands resting on his thighs. With a casual flick of his thumb, he cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound filling the silence between the two.

She shot him a pointed look, unimpressed by his teasing, but said nothing. The silence that followed was heavy, yet not uncomfortable. Colm continued eating, his movements slower now, his eyes flicking back to her every so often.

This was the first proper conversation he’d had with anyone besides Dutch since arriving at the camp. And, despite his natural inclination to keep his guard up, he couldn’t help but feel… intrigued. There was something captivating about her, even in her irritation.

He watched her intently, studying the way her hands fidgeted slightly as she sat there, the subtle twitch of her lips as she tried to maintain her composure. She was fascinating—and, dare he think it, pretty.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Colm let his gaze linger a moment longer before finally breaking the silence again.

“You’ve got a lotta fight in you,” he said, his tone softer now, almost contemplative. “I like that.”

Her eyes snapped to his, a mixture of surprise and suspicion in her expression. She wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or just trying to get under her skin again.

“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, but her tone lacked the sharpness from before.

Colm grinned, clasping his slender hands together, with an almost satisfied expression. “Too late.” before continuing.

The low light in the tent illuminated the worn fabric of Colm O’Driscoll’s borrowed cot as she rested her chin on her palm, her eyes focused on some unseen point. Her voice was quiet but firm when she finally murmured, “oh shut up.”

She hadn’t noticed the way Colm had been watching her, his gaze sharp and thoughtful as it lingered on her. He studied her face as though trying to decipher some puzzle she didn’t even know existed. Not that she would’ve known what to make of it if she had noticed; Colm was notoriously hard to read, his stoicism both intimidating and maddening.

“Anyways…” she said abruptly, cutting through the silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence—they’d shared enough of those to know the difference—but a kind of quiet that neither of them seemed to mind. Still, she felt compelled to fill the void, her fingers drumming idly against the frayed denim of her jeans.

“So,” she began, her tone casual but probing, “your whole gang is gone, and now you’ve come to Dutch as, what I’m guessing, is a last resort for help. He killed your brother… and you killed his girlfriend annabelle. But I guess I can’t blame you for retaliating like that.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and then she perked up, a soft smile brightening her face as she turned to look at him. “Hey, maybe it was a good thing that your gang fell apart during this whole apocalypse mess, and you ended up here asking for help from none other than dutch. I mean, you two can’t really hold a grudge forever, right? Even if its quite obvious the two of you want to.. but now youve both.. made up.. i hope.”

She shot him a stern look when uttering those last few words.

“Considering you two were partners once, back when Dutch first started getting into the life. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Colm raised an eyebrow at her, the faintest flicker of surprise passing across his face. He didn’t often hear people speak so openly about him, least of all with him. Leaning back on one arm behind him, he regarded her with a raised brow and a nod.

“I can guarantee you it ain’t ‘fate’ the fact i had to come crawlin’ to dutch for help,” he said, his tone low and dry. “Desperate times, desperate measures.”

He paused, his smirk fading slightly as he glanced at the ground. “Dutch and I drifted apart when he started his little gang with that Hosea Matthews… and then, well, yknow what happened i assume. He killed my brother.”

There was a beat of silence before he added, with a sharp inhale of a breath, a rough chuckle escaped his lips, “Not that I liked the bastard much anyway.”

He shook his head, exhaling the air he had inhaled, the humor not quite reaching his eyes as the weight of old memories lingered in his voice. “But it don’t really matter now, does it?” He sneered with a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

His green eyes found hers, sharp and penetrating, as though trying to gauge her reaction. She met his gaze slowly, her own expression softening as she nodded, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t used to these sorts of conversations—the honesty, the history, the quiet vulnerability that seemed to linger in the air.

“Well,” she said after a pause, her tone a little lighter, “even if it doesn’t matter, at least you two have made amends. And hey, at least you’re not being hung by the pinkertons or getting eaten by zombies right now.”

That earned a chuckle from Colm, a genuine one this time. “Well, I guess you ain’t wrong there,” he admitted, his smirk returning. “I’d much rather be workin’ with a man Ive had a rivalry with long as i can remember, than gettin’ torn apart by those damn things out there.”

He motioned toward the tent’s entrance, his gaze drifting briefly before returning to her. There was something different about her now, he realized. Her demeanor had softened; the guarded, defensive edge he’d first seen in her was gone, replaced by something calm and… maybe even kind.

Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped lower, almost teasing. “You know, it’s kinda strange how you’ve warmed up to me so quickly. Thought I was supposed to be the big, bad O’Driscoll everyone around here hates.”

She leaned back slightly, resting her weight on her arms behind her, her shoulders relaxing as she shrugged. “You havent given me a reason for me to ‘dislike’ you in particular…yet, if dutch.. somewhat forgives you I guess i can give you the benefit of the doubt and trust you.”

“Well youre somewhat different than the stories make you out to be,” she said, almost cautiously. Her gaze flickered to him. “You ain’t as bad as everyone says you are, atleast from what I’m seeing now, I mean youre not good but i guess its somewhat of an improvement of the tales ive been told.”

Colm’s smirk widened as her words registered, his piercing green eyes never leaving her face. He studied her with the kind of sharp intensity that made her feel like a rabbit caught in a trap, yet there was no malice in his gaze—just a calculated curiosity.

“Ain’t as bad, huh?” he scoffed lightly, his voice carrying a faint rasp. “Let me guess what those stories said: brutal, ruthless, heartless… something along those lines?”

“Yeah… along those lines,” she admitted with a sheepish chuckle, leaning back and stretching her arms behind her head with a small grunt of satisfaction. “I guess time will tell, whether or not I will be sticking to my word.” She glanced sideways at him and couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on her, intense and unwavering, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Her smile faded slightly as she felt the weight of his stare settle over her. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?” she asked, her tone sharp with accusation, though there was a trace of nervousness beneath it.

Colm met her eyes and simply smiled, he chuckled weakly but low and amused, he pulled a cigar from a pack.. oh wow he really was similar to dutch.. he bit the tip off with his teeth, placing the other end in his mouth, and striking a match across his boot, before he brought said match to the tip of the cigar, cradled between his lips and fingers. His smirk was as cocky as ever. “Why does it matter?” he drawled. “What if I’m just studying you?”

His voice took on a rougher edge as his eyes continued their slow appraisal of her, tracing the line of her jaw, the stray strands of hair that framed her face, the delicate curve of her nose, the colour of her eyes looked ethereal in the dim yellow light of the lantern illuminating the tent, and the way her lips curved into a faint pout when she frowned. He took a drag of the cigar, not inhaling as the smoke curled around his face. He hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by his own thoughts. Why was he noticing these things? She was just a random woman in his former rival’s gang—why the hell was she making him feel like this?

“You got a real pretty face, ya know that?” he said, his voice dropping lower.

Her eyes widened slightly, her composure faltering as she shifted awkwardly in her seat. A warmth spread across her chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve before brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

“Right, slow down,” she said, her tone a mixture of mock scolding and genuine unease.

Colm laughed, the sound rough but genuine. He noticed the way her posture had stiffened, how she was suddenly hyper-aware of him, fidgeting nervously under his gaze. Her reaction amused him, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he teased, leaning in just a little closer. “Can’t handle a compliment?”

Her brows furrowed at his cocky tone, though she didn’t pull away. If anything, she squared her shoulders, trying to recover the confidence that seemed to have slipped away under his watchful gaze.

“I can handle plenty,” she shot back, a scowl plastered across her features.

Colm nodded slowly and sarcastically, with a doubtful expression as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “That so? Then maybe I’ll have to test that theory sometime.”

The tension between them hung heavy in the small space, an unspoken energy that neither seemed willing to address outright. She broke eye contact first, clearing her throat and glancing toward the tent’s entrance.

“Anyway,” she muttered, brushing her hair back again. “You should be thankful I’m even talking to you. Dutch might’ve let you stay, but that doesn’t mean everyone else wants you here.”

Colm chuckled, and simply stared down at the cigar cradled between his thumb and forefinger, the faint scars and veins on his slender hands covered by the fingerless rifleman gloves he wore, “Oh, I’m grateful, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Real grateful.”

She cocked a brow and gave him an amused glance, unable to suppress a quiet laugh. “Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, I guess,” she said, leaning back slightly.

There was a faint glimmer of humor in her tone, and for a moment, she found herself marveling at how absurd the situation was. The infamous Colm O’Driscoll, Dutch van der Linde’s sworn enemy, now sulking around their camp like a whipped dog. Despite his bravado, it was almost funny to imagine the mighty ruthless outlaw enduring the disdain of her comrades. But beneath the humor, she felt a pang of sympathy. He definitely deserved their hostility, but it still couldn’t be easy to endure.

Her leg crossed over the other, and she rested one hand on her lap, the other bracing against the cot’s rough fabric. “Guess you’re lucky Dutch gave you a cot,” she mused, a teasing edge to her voice. “I’d have thought he’d stick you with a bedroll on the dirt.”

Colm chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Guess not, eh?” His tone was light, but his sharp green eyes remained locked on her, following every subtle movement she made—the way her fingers idly fidgeted, the light brush of her knee against his leg when she’d shift, as his body made the mattress dip a bit. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why she intrigued him so much, but he didn’t fight it either.

“And what about you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, taking on a more serious tone. “Do you want me here?”

The question caught her off guard. She could feel the weight of it hanging in the air between them, the unspoken tension simmering just below the surface. His gaze was piercing, testing the waters with a subtle intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She hesitated for a moment, the seconds dragging as she processed his question. She wasn’t about to admit anything outright—not to him. She wasn’t some wide-eyed, swooning damsel. If he thought he could break her composure that easily, he had another thing coming.

“Well…” she began, shrugging with deliberate nonchalance. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Her tone was calm, but the faint curve of a smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t turn to look at him, though she watched him carefully from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction.

Colm raised a brow, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it melted back into his usual cocky and doubting smirk. There was something… refreshing about her response. No simpering, no starry-eyed admiration. Just quiet confidence and a playful edge that kept him guessing.

“Not decided yet, huh?” he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. His gaze lingered on her face, studying the way her expression didn’t waver under his scrutiny. “Can’t make your mind up about me?”

“I guess not,” she replied, finally turning her head to meet his gaze. Her hair fell gracefully over her shoulder as she leaned back on her arms, her eyes glinting with a spark of mischief.

Colm chuckled again, low and rough, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Mhm. Well, that’s quite the shame,” he teased, his tone mocking but not unkind.

She tilted her head slightly, watching him with a faint smile. There was something almost… entertaining about his persistence.

“And how long do you think it’s gonna take you to make up your mind?” he asked, as he leaned a fraction closer, his eyes fixed on hers.

She held his gaze, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said lightly, feigning thoughtfulness. “Could be days, weeks… maybe months.”

Colm let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Well i don’t think im gonna be stayin’ here all that long, so you’d better hurry and make your mind up L/N.”

“And once you do… well, maybe I’ll have a change of heart.” His smile was faint, laced with sarcasm and a touch of bittersweetness, his tone layered with an unspoken meaning that struck her instantly. “I mean, it just depends on what your opinion is of me, that you definitelyyy haven’t made yet.”

“Isnt that right?”

his gruff voice came out in almost a purr as he awaited her response eagerly

She shifted her weight, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as Colm’s words hung in the air. She understood his meaning immediately—his offer was clear, even if it was cloaked in sarcasm and his usual smug demeanor. If she gave him a reason to stay, he would, despite the arrangement being temporary. He had seen right through her feigned indifference.

“You’re a dick,” she muttered, rolling her eyes with an annoyed huff, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips that she so desperately tried to stop.

Colm simply watched her with an amused expression, clearly not taking her seriously, and clearly entertained by her reaction. He leaned back against the cot’s wooden frame, the smirk on his face growing as he watched her glare at him. There was something satisfying about poking at her defenses. His knee brushed against hers as he shifted lazily, his relaxed posture similar to her’s.

“Ah, you wound me with those sweet words, darlin’,” he drawled, his tone soaked in sarcasm, his green eyes glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you poor wounded soul,” she shot back, her voice just as mocking as she pressed a hand to her chest with exaggerated sympathy. The sarcasm practically dripped from her words, matching his energy effortlessly.

Colm raised his brows, and tutted, his shoulders shaking slightly with amusement. It had been a long time since he’d had this kind of playful banter with anyone—hell, since he’d enjoyed anyone’s company like this at all, laughing and joking. He tilted his head, a smug grin plastered on his weathered face. “Yeah, I am truly hurt here,” he said, leaning into the act. “You’ve really done me in. Gonna take ages to recover from the damage you’ve done, darlin’.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his words, the sound light and genuine, surprising even herself. It felt… good to laugh, after these past few weeks of hell on earth, would be the best way to describe it although it still would be an understatement, but even with someone like him. “I guess I’ll have to leave you to recover then,” she said smoothly, her tone softening just slightly. She turned on her heel, looking over her shoulder with a teasing glint in her eye. “Can’t jeopardize your recovery now, can we?”

Colm watched her leave the tent, his smirk fading into something softer as she disappeared into the night. For a moment, he was left in silence, still replaying the sound of her laugh in his head. It was strange—this feeling of lightness creeping into his chest. He wasn’t sure if it unsettled him, sure he’s had women in the past, but they were all cheap fucks to get his mind off things, but her? He felt different about her, he truly wanted her.. and was gonna have her.

He sighed, lying back on the cot with his hands behind his head. The tent was quiet now, save for the occasional wolf howl, or someone screaming in the distance.. 9/10 chance they are getting mauled by the undead. But he couldn’t care less about that, his thoughts wandering back to her—her laugh, her sharp tongue, the way her hair caught the faint light of the lantern. It was a dangerous thing to let someone occupy his thoughts, but he found himself unable to shake her from his mind.

Meanwhile, she made her way back to her bedroll. Exhaustion from the past few weeks’ chaos settled over her like a heavy blanket, and she drifted off quickly, the faint memory of Colm following her into sleep.

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Give me suggestions on what happens next heh.. i havent slept all night, planning, writing and proofreading this, and i hate it so much, but im too far deep now 😠😠😠😤😤😤😤😤😤

Gyash i love colm so much, petituon to make so much colm fanfics, headcanons, bots, merch, fans, everything!

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Chapter 2

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The sun climbed steadily over the peaks surrounding Horseshoe Overlook, spilling golden light across the camp. It filtered through the fabric of her tent, casting soft patterns over her face as she stirred from sleep. She rolled over, pulling the blanket closer, her body reluctant to leave the warmth. Slowly, the haze of slumber faded, and with it came the sharp clarity of memory.

Last night.

Her cheeks flushed as the recollection of her conversation with Colm O’Driscoll surfaced. She had approached him wary, unsure of what to expect. Yet, within minutes, her guard had crumbled. His sly grin, that rough voice, the way he held himself—it all worked to disarm her. And, damn it, she found herself thinking about how attractive he was, how the sparks that passed between them felt so real.

Dragging herself out of bed, she dressed quickly, the excitement bubbling in her chest pushing her to action. As she stepped out into the bustling camp, her eyes scanned the familiar scene. The men gathered at a table in the middle of camp, murmuring over coffee. A few women busied themselves with chores, chatting softly. But Colm wasn’t there.

Her heart sank slightly, disappointment creeping in. Where else would he be? she thought, before logic took over. His tent, of course.

The thought reignited her nerves, a flutter of anticipation blooming in her stomach. She made her way toward his tent, the small distance feeling longer than it was. When she arrived, she paused briefly, glancing at the shut flaps. Then, summoning her courage, she called out.

“Are you awake yet, Colm?”

Inside, Colm stirred at the sound of her voice, groaning softly as he roused himself from the best sleep he’d had in weeks. He ran a hand through his disheveled chin length greasy gray hair, his other hand covering a yawn.

He recognized her voice immediately, and his eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected to hear from her so soon after last night. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back against the cot.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m awake,” he called, his voice rough with sleep.

Outside, she shifted, shoving her hands into her pockets as if to keep them still. Her pulse quickened, and her nerves felt alive. How am I falling so hard, so fast, for Colm O’Driscoll of all people? she thought, the absurdity of it making her cheeks burn.

“Can I come… in?” she asked, her voice laced with impatience and the faintest tremor of excitement.

Colm chuckled at the eagerness in her tone, finding it oddly endearing. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. He was still shirtless, his trousers slung low on his hips. His messy hair framed his face, strands falling across his forehead as he ran a hand through it.

“Yeah, come on in,” he replied, his tone light and curious.

She pushed the flaps open, stepping inside—and froze. Her eyes widened as she took him in. He was a vision of rugged masculinity, his small waist and the sight of his faded toned abs catching the light. His shoulders were lean but strong, the lines of his ribs slightly visible through his pale skin, the scars scattered across his torso a testament to the life he’d lived, his tall slender frame quite captivating. Her gaze lingered a little too long, drifting to the sharp lines of his waist, the before she tore her eyes away, heat rising to her cheeks.

Colm leaned back, smirking as he caught her reaction. He wasn’t blind—he saw the way her gaze traveled over him, the way she fidgeted and blushed.

“Oh, uh… sorry to wake you,” she stammered, her voice soft and uncertain. “Did you sleep alright?”

Colm chuckled softly, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her. Her awkwardness was surprisingly charming, and he found himself enjoying how flustered she looked.

“Mhm, yeah. Slept fine,” he replied casually, his tone teasing.

She nodded, glancing down at her hands, which twisted nervously. “If you’re still tired, I can come back later. I really don’t want to bother you…” she tried to avert her gaze anywhere that wasn’t colms slutty fucking waist, all she wanted was to reach out and grab his waist.

Colm stared up at her, simply admiring her, he cocked an eyebrow at her, finding her a bit cute, his presence commanding as he folded his arms again. “Sweetheart, I already told you, you ain’t botherin’ me,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Trust me, I’ve been woken up by a lot worse.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, the reassurance sending a shiver down her spine. “If you’re sure…” she murmured, her voice small.

“I’m sure,” he said. The air between them was thick, charged. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me, darlin’. If I thought you were annoyin’, I wouldn’t be lettin’ you stand here, now would I?”

Colm smirked, his gaze lingering on her flushed face. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice dropping lower, “you ain’t ever gonna be a bother to me. Not now, not ever.”

Her shoulders relaxed, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “You don’t have to be so nice, y’know,” she said, glancing up at him with a sheepish smile. “If I’m a bother, you can just tell me.”

She laughed softly, the tension melting away. Goddamn, how does he manage to have me wrapped around his finger so easily? she thought, but for once, she didn’t mind.

He patted the spot next to him on the cot, his gaze steady and inviting.

She watched as Colm retrieved his wrinkled shirt from the floor, giving it a brisk shake before slipping it on without bothering to button it. The open fabric revealed his faintly toned abs and slim waist, a sight that held her gaze as she sat beside him on his cot.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she suggested, standing up and tugging at his shirt. “And get dressed properly.”

Colm chuckled at her insistence but complied, running a hand through his messy, greasy hair. He buttoned up his off-white, light grey-lined shirt, then picked up a discarded green neckerchief from the ground, tying it loosely around his collar. Next, he pulled on a black vintage waistcoat, grabbed his gun belt and holsters, strapping them loosely around his hips, and finally, donned his roughed-up black cowboy hat with a snakeskin band.

“Fine, fine, I’m up. I’m up,” he mumbled, still a little tired from his disrupted sleep, but her presence was quickly waking him.

She watched as he dressed, noting the way he cracked his back and groaned slightly before making his way to the entrance of his borrowed tent. He had to crouch slightly to get out, and she followed behind, grinning slyly.

“You getting to that age now?” she teased, poking his rib. To her surprise, he folded over slightly and gasped. Colm was ticklish?

This revelation sparked an idea, and she began poking his sides playfully. He tried to move away, folding his arms tightly and tensing up, but laughter and panic mixed in his expression as she made fun of him.

“St-Stop it…” he hissed, attempting to act mad but failing as a weak laugh escaped him. His folded arms did little to deter her playful assault.

She laughed at his reaction. “Oh my god, why are you so ticklish? I barely touched you. Grown man, and you’re this ticklish?”

Colm scowled slightly, trying to compose himself as he ran a hand through his messy hair. He couldn’t believe she’d seen him like that, laughing and folding over from a few pokes.

“I ain’t used to people touchin’ me, is all…” he mumbled quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Oh really?” she replied in an exaggeratedly suggesting tone. “Come on, we should go on a walk around the outskirts.” She began walking, looking over her shoulder at him and waving her hand in a beckoning manner.

He chuckled softly at her theatrics, shaking his head in mock disbelief. Watching her over-the-shoulder glance and beckoning gesture, he smirked slightly, finding her mannerisms quite endearing. He started following closely behind her, his gaze fixed on her form as she walked.

They reached the horses, and she grabbed two shotguns from the side of her mount, tossing one to Colm. Both weapons bore engravings on the barrel and handle.

“Just in case,” she said, then walked ahead into the forested outskirts, slinging the shotgun onto her back.

Colm caught the shotgun with ease, examining the engravings before slinging it over his shoulder. He followed closely behind her as she led the way through the forested outskirts, occasionally ducking to avoid low-hanging branches.

“So, do you have any hobbies, apart from robbing, shooting and getting as many men into your gang as possible?” she asked, slowing her pace to walk in sync with him. “I love taking care of animals. I tend to everyone’s horses and that dog, Cain, and then those random chickens that just showed up at our camp. I feed them and get eggs from them to give to Pearson.”

Colm listened intently, nodding slightly as she spoke. He found it interesting to learn about her interests and the fact that she cared for the camp’s animals. Glancing down at her, he responded, “Mhm? Yeah, I ain’t got much in terms of hobbies. I like shootin’, that’s for sure. But you, you like takin’ care of animals?”

“Typical,” she chuckled at his predictable outlaw hobby. “And yeah, I love animals in general.” She shrugged as they continued walking through the forested outskirts, the sun shining through the branches above them, as some deer and foxes skittered by.

Suddenly, they heard a twig snap behind them, accompanied by labored breathing. It wasn’t an animal.

She whipped her head around, taking the shotgun off her shoulder and holding it up. “Who’s there? We know you’re there; ain’t no point in tryin’ to hide now.”

That’s when one of the undead emerged from behind Colm and grabbed him, while another appeared in front of them. She quickly shot the one in front, then grabbed the scruff of the neck of the zombie attacking Colm, throwing it off as she pulled colm towards her which made him fall face first to the ground. She blew the attacker’s brains out before dropping the shotgun and turning to Colm, whose shoulder was bleeding.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she exclaimed, her voice filled with concern.

She placed her hands on his shoulder, extremely concerned. “Oh my god, Colm…” she said frantically, grabbing a cloth from her jacket and pressing it against the cut on his shoulder. Noticing how he went a bit pale, she added, “Here, let me get you back to camp.” She whistled for her horse, which wasn’t too far, and helped Colm up very carefully as he winced.

She helped him onto her horse and mounted in front of him, feeling his limp form against her back as she guided the horse slowly

She noticed how Colm stifled his grunts of pain whilst they made their way to camp, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Colm, it’s alright,” she reassured him as they reached the camp. Helping him dismount, she guided him to his tent. The other gang members paid him no mind; their disdain for him was evident.

Inside the tent, she assisted him onto the cot and gathered gauze and disinfectant. Gently, she unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the wound on his shoulder. As he lay there, staring at the tent’s ceiling with a clenched jaw, she carefully dabbed the cut with a disinfectant-soaked cotton pad. The injury had occurred when, in her panic, she had shoved him to the ground to protect him from a zombie, causing him to land on a glass shard that sliced his shoulder.

“God, I’m so sorry… I panicked. Christ, I only just met you yesterday, and I’ve already gotten you injured,” she chuckled sheepishly, finishing the cleaning and wrapping gauze around his shoulder. The cut wasn’t as severe as it appeared, despite the blood.

Colm lay on the cot, his back pressed against the rough fabric as she carefully helped him remove his shirt to assess the wound on his shoulder. He winced but said nothing, determined to push past the pain. As he stared up at the worn canvas roof of the tent, his jaw tightened, his body tense from both the discomfort of the injury and the unfamiliar sensation of her hands brushing against his skin.

Each light touch sent an unexpected ripple of awareness through him, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. He flinched slightly, his instincts screaming at him to pull away—not because it hurt, but because he wasn’t used to anyone handling him with such care.

“It’s fine, really… I’ve had worse,” Colm said, his voice low and gruff as he tried to reassure her, though he didn’t quite meet her gaze.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” he mumbled, though he didn’t pull away. His voice was softer now, almost apologetic.

“Its only a small cut.. you’re acting like I’m on my deathbed here.”

He chuckled softly, coughing slightly as he did so.

She smirked slightly, tilting her head as she met his eyes. “Well, someone has to take care of you. Clearly, you’re not doing a good job of it yourself.”

Colm scoffed, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “I’ve been takin’ care of myself just fine all these years.”

She paused, her hand still against his face, the cloth hovering just below his jawline. “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re so used to doing everything alone, you don’t know how to let anyone help you.” Her tone was soft, not accusatory, but it struck a nerve all the same.

He looked at her then, properly, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. “You always this nosy? Or is this just a special occasion?”

She chuckled, setting the cloth aside and leaning back slightly. “Only when I’m cleaning up after a man who is supposed to be a feared and strong outlaw after he let his guard down and nearly got bit.”

“Anyways, I’m gonna go get you some food, stay there.” She said sternly, standing up to leave.

As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her. “You’re not like the others, are you?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Colm hesitated, his eyes flicking to the entrance of the tent before settling back on her. “The rest of them… they’d sooner shoot me than look at me. But you…” He trailed off, his expression unreadable.

She smiled faintly, shrugging. “Maybe I just know a thing or two about second chances.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he lay back against the cot. “Second chances… Never thought I’d see the day someone’d give one to me.”

She didn’t respond, just shook her head as she stepped out of the tent, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Colm stared at the roof of the tent, his mind racing. He didn’t know why you were so different, why you cared enough to treat him like a person instead of the monster everyone else seemed to see. But he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for it… or terrified.

It had been a few minutes by now, and the sound of her familiar footsteps coming from outside of his tent made him snap out of his train of thought, as he turned to the entrance of the tent and watched expectantly, and then she came in with a bowl of pearsons.. stew.. if that’s what one would even call it, but it was food, even though it definitely didnt look edible and tasted like boiled stale vegetable water and the faint taste of meat.

She set the bowl in his lap as he sat up.

She studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly before she continued. “Well, as long as you’re alright… and, y’know, since everyone here isn’t too… fond of you, no one’s gonna come bother us. You won’t have everyone swarming you.”

Her attempt at lightening the mood came with a slight, sheepish smile. She didn’t miss the way the other gang members kept their distance from him, their coldness lingering like a shadow. No one had truly forgiven him for his past with Dutch, even though Dutch had begrudgingly given him a place to stay. The rivalry between their groups had run deep, and now, even with a zombie apocalypse forcing them into uneasy coexistence, the animosity remained.

Colm let out a low huff at her words, his lips twisting into a faint, humorless smirk. He didn’t need reminding of the hatred the gang harbored for him; he felt it in every glance, every dismissive word, every deliberate snub. Still, he couldn’t exactly blame them. He’d been their enemy for years. Yet somehow, she was different.

Colm stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. The coolness of the cloth against his skin, paired with the softness of her touch, disarmed him in a way he hadn’t expected. He didn’t flinch or pull back, though; instead, he stayed still, his pale green eyes flicking to her face as she worked.

She seemed entirely focused on him, her touch careful, almost tender. For a man like Colm—so used to violence, mistrust, and distance—it was a strange feeling to have someone care for him in such an intimate, unassuming way.

He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting back to the tent ceiling as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t know why, but he found it oddly… endearing.

Colm stared down at the steaming bowl of stew in his hands, his lips pressed into a thin line as he debated whether he should even bother eating it. He hadn’t had a proper meal in days—weeks, maybe—but the sight and smell of the murky, thrown-together stew made his stomach churn. Still, he knew he didn’t have much choice. The night before, she’d brought him a small plate of food, barely enough to take the edge off his hunger. Now, he was starving. He barely ate in general, but the gnawing in his stomach was undeniable.

With a low grunt of resignation, he dipped his spoon into the bowl, watching as the thick liquid swirled around the edge before he brought it to his lips. The heat of the stew hit his tongue, and he grimaced slightly, though he forced himself to swallow. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was nothing if not a beggar in this camp.

As he ate, his eyes flicked toward her. She was perched on the edge of his cot, her shotgun balanced across her lap as she carefully polished the metal barrel. She seemed entirely focused on the task at hand, her fingers moving in rhythmic circles as she worked to restore the dull metal to a gleaming shine. The sunlight filtering through the tent caught her face just enough to highlight her determined expression.

Colm’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended. He was glad she wasn’t watching him, sparing him the embarrassment of being caught eating so reluctantly. Instead, her quiet presence was oddly comforting, a steady contrast to the chaos of his thoughts. With a faint sigh, he took another spoonful, chewing slowly as he glanced back down at the bowl.

#colm o'driscoll #colm rdr2 #colm x reader #colm o’driscoll x reader #red dead redemption 2 #o’driscoll gang #fem reader #x reader #fluff?#idk how to tag this #cute #zombie apocalypse

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