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wheneclipsefalls · 1 year ago

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Little Gift- Feast

Dark Adult Neteyam x Fem Human Reader

Adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2 <3

Last Part Masterlist AO3

Summary: Your stubborn attitude isn't getting you much. Or perhaps...too much

Warnings: dubcon/noncon read at your own risk, MDNI, kidnapping, oral, jealousy, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, swearing, aged up characters, etc.

Your one woman hunger strike is not going as planned.

Twenty six hours in and you are hungry.

So fucking hungry you are ready to bite off the hand of the next Na’vi to come into your space. Not that you would need to with the delicately cut berry spread before you. The same one that Neteyam had meticulously prepared that morning. Others may think of it as a sweet gesture but you see it for what it really is- a temptation.

In the same way last night’s mysterious, but mouth watering, meat had been. The beast that Neteyam had hunted, cleaned, and prepared with his own hands. The aroma had been so intoxicating that you broke skin from biting your bottom lip as you stared down at your share.

The first time you refused a meal you expected the Olo’eyktan to throw a fit, flip you over his knee, or even jam the food down your throat but he has done nothing of the sort. Instead, he revels in this little competition the two of you have. Because that’s what it is to him.

A game.

Sitting beneath a low hanging tree as you watch him train warrior diligently, there is nothing to entertain yourself with but the food in front of you.

This strange purple fruit in front of you has been cut down into smaller pieces. The inside looks similar to the videos you have seen of peaches and the juice runs down onto the leaf below as if it’s trying to seduce you into finally taking a bite.

Your stomach grumbles as if it’s tearing itself apart.

Fuck, why did you choose to resist food of all things?

The meals at Bridgehead were the furthest thing from a proper meal but you had always enjoyed scavenging out into the forest for various fruits and vegetables to spice it up. It’s one of the best parts of your day. And now that you’ve had a taste of the wonders the Na’vi can create with them, it feels like locking yourself out of heaven.

Neteyam’s gaze is heavy upon you.

Sending him a fierce glare you make a show of nudging the fruit away from you, even as your body screams at you to shove it down your throat.

Neteyam tilts his head, glossy braids swingings over his shoulder as a crooked smirk twitches at his lips. He isn’t frustrated, and isn't deterred. If anything those lips curve as if they hide a secret you are not privy to. So confident he knows who will be winning this tug of war.

You exhale a breath when he finally turns around to correct one warrior’s footwork.

A thump sounds from your side and you almost let out a scream before you realize it is Lo’ak who has dropped down from a tree. With a sigh he comes to sit beside you.

“Looks like fun, doesn’t it?” He gestures to the group ahead of you, eyes rolling as he looks at them in pity.

“Go away, Lo’ak.”

“Jeez what’s crawled down your loincloth?”

You look at him in disbelief. You will never understand where Lo’ak find the audacity to poke fun at your imprisonment.

“Besides Neteyam that is.” He chuckles and your cheeks heat instantly.

“You pervert! Never in a million years-”

“It’s not like I have to take his word for it either. You’re quite loud.” Lo’ak ignore your heated ears and agape mouth as he notices the cut up fruit before you. He reaches forward and plucks a piece with a delighted ‘ooh”.

Shiny juice escapes the seam of his lips as he chews and it makes your own mouth water.

Suddenly a hand is yanking Lo’ak to stand with a fistful of braids.

“What the hell?!”

“You skxawng! Those are not for you.” Neteyam hisses, releasing his brother with a huff.

“Alright alright. Damn, I was just keeping her company.” Lo’ak mutters, arms crossing over his chest with a frown. “Besides, I hate to see food go to waste.”

Their eyes lock as a silent line of communication strums between them. Eventually Lo’ak lets out an irritated sigh before nodding and jogging off into the treeline. Neteyam’s shoulder’s visibly relax, hands casually placed on those sinful hips as he looks down at you.

“You should’ve let him eat it. I’m not hungry.” You lie confidently, jutting your chin up in pride.

“Is that so, tiyawn?”

His deep voice ripples through your body.

“Yes.”

You go to give him a sneer, maybe even the middle finger, but looking up at him from this angle proves to be problematic. His loincloth has a bulge and it lights your curiosity. Despite all the vulnerable and exposed positions Neteyam has put you in you have yet to see what lies beneath that scrap of clothing. Averting your eyes doesn’t save you from witnessing the smirk that dances over her lips.

Stupid observant bastard.

His shadow looms over you as you fiddle with the strings of your loincloth. And then his braids are tickling your neck.

“Perhaps it’s not fruit you are hungry for.” That simmering whisper blossoms a blush once more but nothing in comparison to the one that emerges when he grasps your small hand and places it along his inner thigh.

He doesn’t let you pull away, not before you can feel the corded muscle and smooth skin. Not before your eyes cave into temptation and sneak a glance at the increasing size of that bulge.

“I know your little body has been enjoying our time together but if you’re good, I’ll let you play with me too.”

And then your fingers are traveling over the exposed skin until the silk fabric is beneath your tips. You can’t even look at him. You pray that this aversion will read as nothing more than pure revulsion, because you don’t know what will happen if he senses your underlying lust.

You can feel him twitch under your palm.

Eyes forced closed and heart racketing at your rib cage, it takes all your power to control the rise and fall of your chest.

And then the heat is gone. Neteyam releases your wrists, stands up, and sends a dark smile over his shoulder before rejoining the group. You want nothing more than to hide your face in your hands and scream but that would only show him your hand.

You need to be strong. Keep your mouth shut, fry his patience, and get the hell out of here.

Lo’ak is right about the training. It’s undeniably brutal and strict. While you stare in awe at the rate the young warriors can scale trees and shoot a target, Neteyam shakes his head and sighs before correcting them. You’ve studied a bit of Na’vi throughout your life but there’s no desire to translate his strict reprimanding.

You do, however, find it hard to keep your interest away from the various rippling muscles and shifting loincloths. You’re ovulating. You must be and if you were only in your bedroom back at Bridgehead you would actually be able to take some medication to tamper down this insufferable flood of hormones.

Still, you are stuck here and a group of nine foot tall walls of muscle are fighting, wrestling, shooting, and inadvertently showing off their physical prowess with ease. You swallow a lump in your throat when one Na’vi male tackles another and you get a perfect view of his ass.

Pandora is so hot.

So so incredibly hot and that has to be why you feel the temperatures rising along your cheeks.

Neteyam’s back blocks the view, a stream of instruction flowing from his lips as the two struggle to get the upper hand. Your hungry eyes start to travel up his body instead but you tug them away.

You’ll be on your deathbed before ever admitting to ogling these men but you’ll drink acid before letting Neteyam catch you ogling him.

Another shorter male’s abdomen tightens as he pulls back an ax carefully. Sweat glimmers along his blue form as focused eyes narrow at the target. Within one powerful swing the ax is chucked from his grip and pins a leaf the size of your thumbnail to a tree.

He sighs before reaching back to tie his hair. The stretch accentuates the contrast between his narrow waist and broad shoulders. And yet you catch yourself sneaking a look at Neteyam’s form.

For comparison purposes only of course.

It’s too risky though to notice the slope of his back or the way one strap of his loincloth has shifted dangerously low along one hip. Or note the way his dark stripes smoothly curve over and accentuate his v line. Because that is something you would never do. You would never look. Would never think about him outside of plans to escape. Never dream of his deep voice with that heavy accent or even think about how it sounds in his native tongue. And you most certainly would never anticipate the view of Neteyam between your thighs nightly.

Suddenly the ax-throwing Na’vi has become boring so you veer the focus as far away from Neteyam as possible.

You shift your body to your left, letting your hair create a curtain to block the view of Neteyam pulling back a bow. It takes a bit longer this time to immerse yourself in these next two who spar with long sticks.

All at once your body is ripped from your spot, legs dangling and kicking as you are roughly set to stand. Neteyam’s arm snaps around your waist as he kneels behind you.

“Do I need to put you in time out?” It’s not a joke. Not when his teeth are skimming dangerously closer over your ear. “I would be able to smell you halfway across the forest.” He growls.

Your thighs press together subconsciously as embarrassment floods in.

So maybe you had forgotten about the Na’vi advanced sense of smell.

“Which I wouldn’t mind were it not for your eyes being trained on other men” The ground slips beneath you and suddenly Neteyam is throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait! Let me go!” You’re not even sure why you try at this point. It’s not like he has ever listened before. The hope of being heard dims even lower when you see his thrashing tail and feel his heavy footsteps as you're carried further into the forest.

But dammit you are hungry and hot and your loincloth is stained with your arousal so you let your emotions bubble over.

“You fucking brute! Put me down right now!” You scream, nails scratching harshly over his back. It doesn’t draw blood but wow those fading marks look so pretty over his blue skin. Not to mention the beauty of his ass swaying with every step. “I’m so sick of this shit!”

Neteyam is quiet.

So very quiet and it doesn’t sit right with you.

“Open.” He commands but you remain still.

Body frozen as you stand before him, his massive member at eye level. It’s almost as if your brain simply can not process the sight before you. The way his cock is so different from the ones you have encountered with its purplish blue hue, speckled glowing dots, and even the precum that shimmers in the fading light. Curiosity sparks once more and for a moment you consider reaching out to touch it.

However, the real shock is the massive size difference. You are no virgin. Bridgehead does not have a plethora of great men but you’ve found partners in the past to satiate your needs. So standing here staring and blushing feels out of the norm but with the way Neteyam is hung, how can you not?

Even at peak arousal, or what you hope is peak, it’s unable to sprout fully, the sheer weight dragging it to hang lower by his thighs. You’ve always assumed the Na’vi would be…bigger but this….you’d never imagined something like this.

The idea of ever fitting it in your mouth let alone inside of you makes your stomach coil.

Are all Na’vi males this way or is this something specific to Neteyam?

Something tells you that thanks to the Olo’eyktan you will never find out.

“Open your mouth, tawtute.” His voice is sharp like a drawn dagger, slicing through the wind to threaten obedience.

“B-but it….it won’t fit.” You try not to think about your choice of complaint.

Not that you don’t want to.

Not that he shouldn’t make you.

No, you simply complain about the logistics.

“You’ll learn, pet. Now open.” The nickname is anything but endearing coming from his lips now, honey eyes darkening as he stares down at you. This is retribution.

Shaking like a leaf, your lips ever so slightly part. It appears Neteyam is tired of giving verbal commands when one large hand grips either side of your face, pressing to force your mouth open wider.

“You won’t let me get any food past those pretty lips, fine. You will take my cock instead.” That growl reverberates through your body until it swirls into a low seated passion and desperation. Neteyam’s nostrils flare, soaking in the scent of your betraying body.

To your surprise Neteyam doesn’t immediately choke you on it but instead guides your open mouth to his base. Prying your jaw open wider, your lips are smeared along the heated skin. Hesitantly your tongue flickers out.

“That’s it, pet. Don’t be shy.”

When your tongue smoothes out to drag along the length of him you remind yourself that this is something you are forced to do. For survival. For escape.

And you prepare yourself to later bury the memory of your desire and curiosity in this moment. To forget how salty sweet his precum tastes as it dances along your tongue. To forget the way his pupils dilate as he purposefully paints your pillow lips with that glowing substance like it’s your own personal lip gloss. To forget the way his abs flex when the head of his cock is finally enveloped by your hot wet mouth.

But most of all, you promise yourself that you will forget how gorgeous Neteyam looks from this angle with his silky braids hanging loosely and glowing eyes devouring you whole.

The back of your throat is reached within record time. Your gag reflex immediately kicks in and Neteyam pulls out while cooing at you.

“Poor little pet. Not used to taking such a big cock, are you?” You take the condescending words without fight, trying to clear your throat and prepare for more. “But then again I’m sure Jeremy has never made you cum until you cry.” Neteyam smirks and your breathing halts.

You look up at him with wide eyes.

Oh God, when did he find out about Jeremy? A dark twinkle shadows the Olo’eyktan’s demeanor, his upturned lips promising an evil fate to your old flame.

“What di-”

“Down you go again, pet.” Neteyam interrupts, prying your mouth open once more and shoving himself inside harder this time. He doesn’t let up this time when you sputter and choke around him. “Relax that throat for me, tiyawn. I know this isn’t your first time doing this.” He chuckles.

Reluctantly you force yourself to follow his instruction, urging your heart rate so slow as you breathe in through your nose. Inch by inch, he slides down your throat until all you can taste and feel is him. A tinge of soreness already sparks along your jaw but stern eyes whisper the consequences of letting your blunt teeth even close to him.

A part of you yearns to get lost in the moment, let your arousal that has shamefully not disappeared since Neteyam’s confession take the wheel and give your mind a break. However, that is not the Olo’eyktan’s design. He means to drive a lesson home.

“I was under the impression that you simply didn’t enjoy giving oral, not with the way your scent soured every time that pathetic man had you on your knees.”

Your whimper of distress only turns into a hum that vibrates along him. Neteyam’s grins, toes digging into the earth below.

“But now I see that is not the case.” His hips roll forward, hand crawling to cradle the back of your head. “Staining that little loincloth for me. You just needed the right man to fill that pretty mouth didn’t you?”

Your protests are nothing more than high pitched whines as he picks up rhythm, only half of his cock fitting inside yet still more than enough to fill your throat.

“No need to deny it, oeyӓ tiyawn. Your body has been loyal to me from the very beginning.” That hand fists into your hair, holding you down on his cock as tears gather over your eyes. “Even when your mind has a hard time catching up.” All sweetness dissipates from his voice, left only with a hard steel.

“Like today for instance.”

You suck in air as soon as your mouth is empty, coughing and crying as he keeps that grip in your hair. A firm yank has your neck straining to look up at him.

“I thought you would know better, little gift.”

You subconsciously grip his thighs in order to keep yourself standing upright.

“But it looks like I need to spell it out for you.”

Suddenly your mouth is filled again but instead of waiting to let you suckle and explore, Neteyam immediately sets pace spearing down your throat. Nails digging into his toned thighs, you focus on keeping your breathing steady and relaxed.

“Good pets do not stare at other men. They do not let them smell their arousal.” Neteyam grinds out, a groan lacing his words as you feel him twitch. Your throat convulses around him, the urge to breathe through your mouth ever increasing. “Because good pets know who they belong to.”

The trembling in your legs skyrockets as your knees threaten to buckle. Suddenly Neteyam’s grip in your hair is not just there to keep you swallowing him down but also as an extra support.

“Do you know who you belong to, little gift?” A shudder ripples over his toned body, balls drawing up tight. And yet he pauses, keeping you frozen but still stretched around him.

He wants a response.

Nodding doesn’t appear to cut it, not when he tacks on a “and who is that?”.

You go to scoff at his persistence but it’s only another choked cough around him, tears spilling down your cheeks. He hips slant forward pressing himself even further down your throat until you are gagging.

“Say it.” The Olo’eyktan demands. “Say my name.”

He pulls out and airs hiccups through your lungs so fast you almost swoon backwards. But his name is still the first gasp to escape your lips.

“Nete-..Neteyaaaam.” It’s come out as almost a complaint but the Olo’eyktan’s joy is not diminished. His tails coils and flickers at the sound of your wrecked voice.

“Good girl.” That praise wraps around you, head lulling to rest against his palm. “Now come here and let me fuck your throat.”

It shouldn’t turn you on. The crude words are the furthest thing from what you should want but Neteyam’s accented voice purrs them like a lullaby. So dark, smooth and alluring that you find your mouth opening on its own accord.

Neteyam’s grins wider than the night that he first saw you tied up with that pretty bow. You push the implications of what you have just done to the back of your head.

Despite his satisfaction, Neteyam doesn’t take it easy on you. The length of him can never fully make it down your throat but that doesn’t stop him from trying. An obscene wet sound is made every time he thrusts back in and you can feel him shiver.

“Aww so pretty like this tiyawn. Wish you could see yourself right now.” His head throws back for a second when your airpipe contracts around him again. “Crying so sweetly for me.”

His gentle tone is a great contrast to the way his cock bullies itself into the tight space. So sweet in comparison to the way he fucks your throat like you’re his own personal fleshlight.

“Maybe we will have to steal a mirror from Bridgehead soon. Let you see what a wrecked masterpiece you are.”

Even as you struggle to breath and your throat aches, his dirty words burn the flames inside of you higher and higher. You will feel ashamed later, you know it, but for now you let him fill every crevice in your brain. It keeps the fear of Jeremy’s safety at bay. It keeps the reality of your situation from catching up with you. It keeps you as his pretty little pet that is doing oh such a good job.

“Fuck! You feel so good around me, tiyawn. Good fucking girl!” Neteyam’s groan is gravely, muscles along his abdomen erratically flexing and you know what is coming before his warning ever reaches your ears.

With a deep groan of your name, thick seed spurts down your throat. It’s too much to fully swallow but luckily Neteyam lets you off halfway through, the remnants painting your cheeks and lips. Your own thighs clench together as you watch him recover, his impressive physique inflating and deflating heavily with every breath.

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you collapse against him, head nuzzled against his hip as you cling to his right thigh. Neteyam’s fingers fondly stroke through your tangled hair as he congratulates you on learning your lesson.

You almost bite his finger when the next piece of meat passes your lips but this time it is by accident. Your habit of grinding your teeth together when nearing climax is becoming a problem. Three massive fingers tease and massage at that spongy spot inside of you as you drool around Neteyam’s fingers.

The Olo’eyktan chuckles and plucks another piece of meat to feed you.

“Remember to chew.” He says with a smirk when his thumb flicks over your clit and you almost choke.

Perched in his lap, smothering his fingers with your juices as he hand feeds you, there is surely not a better picture of obedience one could paint.

A picture that Neteyam cherishes.

But a memory you vow to forget.

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for your support and messages for this series especially! Hearing back from you all always makes me excited to write and update<3 Don't be afraid to let me know what you think

Taglist: @pandoraslxna @neteyamssyulang @tallulah477 @criticallybella @sullybrothersmate @lilghostiequinni @chershire23 @lala-1516 @teyamshuman @yawnetu @puddle-nerd @ratchetprime211 @avatargirly @chocolatechocobo91 @kariz-stark @bunnscoffe @avatarwifey @universal-s1ut @witchsprit @heart-an0n @riri-is-a-girlie @rivatar @minnory @ikeyniofthetayrangi @ilovehobi101 @spicymayyo @v4mp1rr3 @nilsavatar @bambithewriter @quicktosimp @itchaboi-itchyboy @thehoneymushroomhealer @ilytulipse @witchsprit @imwutim @crazy4books1 @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @danniackerman @dayyzlol @justabite7 @krispyjellyfishkitty

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fawnwilde · 3 months ago

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Taboo prologue .𖥔 ݁ ˖

various x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

You're a wild woman. Used to living outdoors, fighting to survive, with only your horse to keep you company.

A chance encounter with O'driscolls and their prisoners changes your life forever...

content warning: f reader, sfw (for now), violence, O'driscolls, blood and injury, no description of reader but she's badass

word count: 3.1k

You had been alone for a long time.

Your mother was dead, your father up and left, and whatever other family you had wanted nothing to do with you.

For a while, you lived in your mother’s home, a small cabin nestled in the mountains in North Carolina. You hunted for food with a bow like your mother taught you, you sewed hides together into coats like your mother taught you…

You tried to survive like your mother taught you.

But then those men came knockin.

Beady eyed and snarling like wolves. Hollering at you and brandishing guns, threatening your life, your livelihood and your dignity. They wore green scarves around their necks, one of which became stained with blood when you stabbed one in the throat.

The first life you took.

Your home was left in your dust as you ran away, holding the dead man’s gun to your chest like a child would hold a stuffed toy. Your muscles ached and your bare feet bled by the time you stopped running, far away from the home you once knew.

And so, your life in the wilderness began.

Your life was harsh. Nights spent sleeping on harsh ground, hunting whatever you could, scavenging abandoned homes, and occasionally and reluctantly stealing from unfortunate travellers.

A few years had passed since your mother’s death and your home was invaded, and memories of her and your life before grew fainter and fainter, like ink on paper diluted by rain.

By looking at a calendar hung upon the wall of a newly abandoned house, you knew that your teenage years had passed you, but your age was a mystery.

Hell, your own name was a mystery now, after all these years of no one calling you anything.

A few months ago, you had broke a wild horse you had had your eyes on for a while. Your giant mahogany draft horse, who you named Bo, was now your only force against your solitude.

You, an unnamed and untamed girl, and Bo, a wild and viscous stallion, against the world.

You had been following the small group of O’driscolls for a few days, keeping far enough to avoid being spotted but close enough to collect their scraps when they were forgetful.

The men had a shootout early that day, and had taken the five men they fought hostage. Unusual, you thought, as the O’driscolls were often very consistent with their methods of operation.

Their methods being; killing most anything that breathes.

Watching from the branch of a large tree, your eyes wandered over the small makeshift camp the O’driscolls set up. A dozen of them were wandering around, either eating, drinking, standing watch, or harassing their captured. You were too far to hear, but could see their foul mouths spit out words at the men.

As the sun began to set, you readied yourself, your plan perfected after all these years of payback against the O’driscolls by causing chaos and stealing their supplies.

Not the revenge you wished for, but it was all you could do.

Leaving Bo not too far, you ventured towards their camp.

Arthur Morgan sneered at the O’driscoll who stood before him, taunting him in amongst questions about their groups whereabouts. The rope holding his wrists chafed against his flesh, a grimace making his face ache.

He was surprised they hadn’t killed them yet.

From their questions, he assumed they would be used against Dutch, who was at camp a few miles back. They’d been captured close to Clemens Point, but gathering from the conversations between the O'driscolls, they didn't know that.

Beside Arthur, Hosea was coolly talking to their captors, expertly attempting to manipulate the situation in their favour. It seemed to be working, to a degree.

The other men captured, Charles, Sean and Micah were silent beside the two, their minds at work (well, Charles mind was at work). Arthur was just pleased Sean hadn’t said anything to aggravate the O’driscolls more. Yet.

The rodent-like man in front of him yawned and left them at last. Not before spitting at their bound feet, of course. Hosea sighed, and Arthur scoffed.

A sharp noise erupted close to camp, the sound of something metal colliding with something wooden.

It sent the horses into a panic, two of which were untethered, and caused them to start to flee. The O’driscolls flew into action, some trying to gather the horses, others seeking out the source of the noise.

“Wonder what that’s all about then?” Sean grumbles, struggling against his binds.

Arthur huffs, shifting around to get in a more comfortable position on the floor.

Movement catches his eye, and he watches as a shadowed figure sprints through the camp, grabbing guns, ammunition, food and anything else they find out in the open.

At first, Arthur thinks it's a panicked member of the enemy gang, grabbing supplies in case the group needed to leave the area.

But as the individual steps out into the light of the camp fire, Arthur’s eyes widen when he realises it's a woman.

She's young, pretty but unkempt, wild looking from her tangled hair to mismatched clothes. She grabs a canteen of water before her eyes snap to the group, freezing when she notices she's been spotted.

“Who the hell is that?!” Micah whispers none too quietly, before being shushed by the Hosea.

“Yer not one of them are ya?” Sean calls out to her.

“Great observation, Sean.” Sighs Arthur, as he shuffles around to look at the girl directly.

“Can you release us? Please?” Hosea requests.

She looks between them, biting her lip as she weighs out her options.

Clearly, they weren't innocent victims of the O'driscolls. From their empty holsters to their grizzled looks, the girl seemed wary to release them in case, by some insane happenstance, these men turned out to be worse than the ones holding them.

Her time to think was cut short, as distant voices began to grow louder. Arthur looks over to see the O’driscolls coming back to their section of the camp.

“They’re coming back. You need to go, now!” Arthur warns, his voice quiet but his urgency clear.

“Go?!” Micah snapped, “Nah, help us, now!”

“Shuddup, Micah.” Arthur grumbled, nodding at the girl to run.

She looked between the men, looking nervous and apologetic before rushing back into the thick trees.

“Who the fuck were you talking to?!” One of the O’driscolls yelled as he ran past, holding his rifle up and aimed at the bound men.

“What, a man can’t pray when he’s sentenced to death now?” Sean gripes.

“Save your praying for when the real hurt begins.” The O’driscoll sneers, “Though, I don’t think God listens much to the likes of you-”

As the man starts ranting about the near future of the Van Der Linde boys, Arthur’s gaze slides to the distant, faint glow of a lantern growing brighter.

His eyes widen as he realises that it is not, in fact, a lantern, but one of the O’driscolls tents, fire covering its back and spreading fast.

The O’driscoll doesn't notice as his silhouette begins to be illuminated by a rising fire in their camp.

“Ya might want’a deal with that.” He says, nodding to the tent, which is near engulfed in flames as the harsh evening winds begin stoking the fire.

The O’driscoll narrows his eyes, before peering over his shoulder, his body going taunt with fear as he watches the flames catch on surrounding tents and dried leaves.

“Fire! Fire!” He yells out, scampering away like a terrified rat.

Other shouts surround them as more of the O’driscolls notice their tents ablaze. The camp is a symphony of chaos as the men rush to grab water and put out the growing flames, unsuccessfully.

The horses whinny in fear. Some of the men mount and desert the camp, much to the annoyance at the others trying to fight the flames.

Amongst the panic, Arthur feels the binds on his wrists being jostled. He feels the sharp coolness of a blade, and the ropes are loose. He looks over his shoulder, surprised to see the girl nod to him before she moves to Hosea’s ties.

“Thank you.” Arthur says, untying his ankles while he looks back at the flames, “You do that?”

“What, you think it was a coincidence?” She asks, releasing Hosea and moving to Charles.

The fire grows higher, as a wagon erupts in a haze of bright orange.

“That’s dangerous, the dry leaves will keep the fire spreading throughout the woods.” Charles says, concerned.

“A storm is coming. The rain will stop it from spreading too far.” The girl says calmly, as she focuses on cutting through the rope holding Sean’s wrists.

“How do you know that-” Begins Arthur, before a rumble of thunder silences him.

She shrugs, “The clouds.”

With Sean now freed, with a too-loud holler from the Irishman, she begins on Micah’s binds, though more hastily as the voices of the O’driscolls seem to get louder.

“Oi! What the fuck?!” An Irish voice shouts as a trio of O’driscolls turn the corner and spot the scene playing out. Their guns are quickly raised, and the girl’s eyes grow panicked.

Charles charges on the men, punching one in the jaw as he takes his rifle from him, throwing it to Hosea as he fights the much smaller man. Sean and Arthur ready to fight, relief flooding them as Micah is finally freed and blood thirsty.

“Thank you for your help.” Hosea yells to the woman.

“Don’t speak so soon, mister.” She calls back, a small smile flashing on her face as she slings the rifle off her back and aims.

She gets one of the offending men in the neck, halting him from shooting Sean point blank. The second O’driscoll lies motionless on the floor as Charles wipes his bloodied knuckles, and Arthur quickly dispatches the final one, snapping his neck with a final ‘snap’.

“Where did you come from, lass?” Sean chuckles, looking her up and down, “I’ve half a mind to propose t'ya.”

“Jesus, Sean.” Arthur sighs, grabbing a fallen gun and reloading it.

More shouts surround them, and Arthur has no time to turn before a shot rings out, closely followed by another.

He spins, finding their saviour gripping her arm, her gun discarded. Blood seeps through her fingers, as she looks down at the O’driscoll who shot her, and lost his life for it.

From the position of the man’s body, to the closeness of the girl to himself, Arthur realises that she took a bullet meant for him.

But before he can thank her, she’s whistling out, and a behemoth of a horse comes sailing through the trees, whinnying at the chaos. It ducks down, eagerly accepting the girl who leaps on, her face pale as she holds her bleeding shoulder.

“Wait-!” Arthur tries, but the horse interrupts him, speeding away in a flash of mahogany fur, leaving the men watching in confusion and concern.

“She get shot?” Hosea asks, watching the retreating horse disappear into the shadows.

“Yeah. Think she took a bullet for me.” Arthur grumbles, guilt lodging firm in his chest.

“We should go after her, help her.” Sean suggests.

“There’s more coming!” Micah yells, shooting and felling a stray O’driscoll.

“We should go. There’s too many for us to fight now, and when the storm comes in it’ll be even harder to defend ourselves.” Charles says.

He and Micah sprint away into the night, followed by Sean. Arthur stares at the forest where the woman disappeared, before Hosea grabs him and tugs him away from the angered O'driscolls.

The storm cleared in three hours.

The group made it back to Clemens Point on foot in two. The group were welcomed with concern and confusion about their disappearance, but Arthur was too focused on going back out to find their injured saviour.

Hosea explains what happened to Dutch, who seethes at what could have happened if there hadn't been someone to intervene. He watches as Arthur and Charles go to their horses as the rain ceases.

“Arthur! Get back here-”

Despite Dutch’s orders, Arthur mounts his horse, with Charles in tow, and they sprint off to look for the mysterious stranger who saved them.

Hosea sighs, shaking his head as he tells Dutch he's going to take a nap.

Dutch is left alone in the middle of camp, wondering when he lost all control of his gang. With a huff, he stalks off, needing time to himself to ponder.

He finds himself at the edge of camp, puffing on a cigar as he looks out at the views Clemens Point has to offer.

It's peaceful.

But nothing peaceful lasts, it seems.

A horse nickers nearby, too far from where the horses were posted to be one of their own. Dutch brandishes his weapon swiftly, holding it up as he scans the area.

The trees are quiet, only the whistle of the wind and chirping of birds accompany his tense breaths.

Another whinny, and Dutch begins approaching the trees, steady strides with his gun held parallel to his face. Whoever was sneaking around their camp, O’driscoll or vagrant or squirrel, would not escape his notice.

Pushing through the shrubbery, he spots the horse in question in a small clearing.

It’s stressed, kicking its legs and nosing at something on the ground. A large beast, dark fur and long, strong legs. No saddle, but a makeshift set of reins hang loosely around its neck.

Taking near silent steps, Dutch scanned the area, spotting no nearby rider or any sign of disturbance beside trampled ground where the horse had come from.

His eyebrows furrow as he spots drops of blood dotting the green leaves.

A twig snaps underfoot, and the horse looks up, dark eyes locking right onto Dutch. The horse seems wild, and startled, but it did not approach, merely letting out more distressed noises. Dutch continues his approach, lifting up his other hand to display his palm in a calming manner.

“You hurt, boy?” He asks gently. His words were obviously lost on the horse, but he found himself talking nonetheless.

There were no scratches on the horse's coat. His eyes scan down, to see if his hooves were what was injured.

But his eyes widen when he sees a bundle of clothes in a heap in front of the horse. It moves, groaning slightly, dirty hair and an ashen face coming into view.

He hurries his steps, holstering his gun and keeping one hand out to calm the stallion. It whinnies as Dutch gets closer, but makes no move to charge.

Crouching at the figure's side, Dutch carefully turns them over.

The pretty face of a young girl came into view, her skin clammy and eyes closed, mouth parted in grimace. Her hand is covered in red from where she holds her arm.

Dutch gently takes her hand, peeling it away to inspect the wound. A large gash from a bullet stares back at him, bleeding profusely and staining her already dirty clothes. He winces slightly, and the girl’s hand seeks out his own. He takes it, shushing her gently.

“You’re alright now, I’m gonna help you.”

Looking up at the horse, as if asking for permission, he gently takes her in his arms. The horse snorts, but does not stop him, so he hoists her up, supporting her weight in his strong arms.

She looks so fragile, hands grasping onto his shirt as she whines in pain, and he murmurs gentle words to her, storming back towards camp with the horse on his heels.

Pearson looks up as Dutch jogs through the shrubbery, doing a double take when he takes in the bloodied figure in his arms, “What the hell…?”

“Where’s Miss Grimshaw? Grimshaw!” Dutch yells, causing more heads to turn within the camp. Everyone seems alert as they take in the situation.

“What in the hell?! Who is that?!” Dutch hears Grimshaw before he sees her, listening to her rush towards him.

“Found her in the woods. She’s shot, bleeding pretty bad.” He makes a beeline for his own tent, wasting no time.

Grimshaw calls for Tilly and Mary-Beth, sending the camp into a flurry of movement as the girls gather water and rags. Others stand around, curious and confused.

“Kieran, see to the horse.” Dutch instructs, leaving the ex-O’driscoll looking wide-eyed at the giant beast, who snorts and kicks its hooves anxiously.

Stepping into his tent, Dutch lays the girl down on his cot, stepping back for Mrs Grimshaw to prod at the wound and shout instructions at Tilly and Mary-Beth.

The tent opens again, and Hosea enters with a concerned expression. His eyes fill with realisation when he looks down at the injured woman.

“That’s her, that’s the girl!” He says, coming to Grimshaw’s side to look over the shaking form lying on the cot.

“The one who helped you with those O’driscolls?” Dutch asks, looking down at the ashen face of the girl, “She can’t be much older than Lenny.”

“Poor thing.” Hosea comments, his face grim, “She’s tough. No-one gets that tough so young from an easy life.”

“We'll take care of her.” Dutch nods, frowning as the girl groans in pain.

Miss Grimshaw shoos them, tearing at the girls scrappy clothes to inspect the gash and other small cuts and bruises she must have gained trying to ride while injured.

The two men exit the tent, leaving the women to tend to the strange woman’s wounds.

Arthur and Charles ride back into camp, looking dejected. Karen says something to them, and they quickly walk over to Dutch’s tent.

“What's going on?” Arthur asks, “Karen said you found someone injured.”

“It’s the girl from the woods. Dutch found her in rough shape, but alive.” Hosea explains, taking a seat outside the tent and rubbing a hand over his face.

Arthur sighs, attempting to enter the tent when Dutch clasps a hand over his shoulder, halting him.

“You should get some rest, Arthur. Let Miss Grimshaw fix her up, you can see her when she’s better.”

“She's injured because of me, Dutch.” Arthur snaps, “She took a bullet for me, a complete stranger. If she dies and it's because-”

“Enough.” Dutch says firmly, “Don't get all worked up over this. She'll be fine, and when she is, you can thank her. But you ain't gonna do her no good if you stomp around here kicking yourself for her good deed.”

“He's right, Arthur.” Charles says softly, patting Arthur's shoulder, “We should eat, and get some sleep. We’ll talk to her when she's better.”

Arthur grumbles, but relents, walking away with Charles to Pearsons wagon.

Dutch and Hosea exchange a look, and Dutch sits beside his oldest friend, the two watching the sun begin to set as they listen to Miss Grimshaw and the women fix up the mysterious girl.

“Strange day.” Hosea murmurs.

“Yep.”

AN/ yes I wrote an insane amount of backstory for the reader when I'm planning on writing fifteen chapters of her just straight up getting railed by the entire gang. what are you gonna do? sue me?

thanks for reading! mwah xx

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn

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keanusbabydoll · 5 months ago

Note

If you're taking requests, how about a daryl x reader with him hunting you through the woods. Y'know, the classic predator/prey thing. Maybe when he catches you, he uses his knife on you. Not to like seriously hurt the reader, but he knows she thinks he looks hot using a knife. Feel free to not write this if It makes you uncomfortable, though.

HIS PREY

a/n: anything for you guys!! i looove this one.<3

paring: daryl dixon x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content, p in v, unprotected p in v, rough sex, dom!daryl, slight knife play, knife kink, daddy kink, age gap, fingering, slight edging, slight spanking, degrading, praising

wordcount: 2.2k

masterlist

MDNI

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡ ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

it was a crisp morning when rick approached you and daryl, suggesting the two of you head out to scout for food. the group needed supplies, and he knew that daryl was the best hunter in the group—and that you, after months of being together, had become a skilled tracker in your own right.

it wasn’t the first time you were out alone and let’s say you were more than just excited.

being alone on a scavenger hunt with daryl always ended up with you getting your brains fucked out against a tree. and you couldn’t get enough of it. there would be no annoying rick or michonne who constantly interrupt you or ask daryl to guard at the gates. there, it was just the two of you.

as soon as you stepped into the woods the calming scent of damp earth and pine needles filled your nose. you looked to your right and found daryl adjusting his crossbow, his sharp blue eyes scanning the area for any walkers. hell, only the sight of him made you drool and hold yourself back to not jump on him. the way his muscles flexed and his shirt hugged his trained form so perfectly.

you needed him dearly, the forming wet spot in your panties only prove of it. and you definitely knew how to get what you want.

just as daryl seemed to have prepared everything you glanced over your shoulder with a smirk, arms folded over your chest. “you know daryl,” you teased, “if i wanted to hide out here, you’d never find me.”

he snorted softly, not looking at you. “that so?” you took a step closer, leaning into his space. “you’re good, dixon. but not that good. you’d be wandering around these woods all night.”

now you got his attention.

daryl’s lips twitched into a faint smirk as he finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing like he was already sizing you up.

underestimating daryl’s abilities? bad idea.

“you’re talkin’ a lotta shit for someone i could catch in under five minutes.” he stated, your words definitely affecting him. “prove it.” you challenged, your voice low and teasing. you could already feel your heart racing at what would happen next.

for a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of his predatory gaze making your breath hitch. then, without a word, he reached out and gripped your upper arm firmly, his expression shifting into something darker. “you better run, girl. clock’s tickin’.” your heart skipped a beat as soon as the words left his mouth and for a second, you hesitated, but the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t kidding.

and you were fucking in for it.

you turned on your heels and bolted into the woods, the adrenaline kicking in almost instantly. the forest felt alive as you weaved through the trees and your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of excitement and something far more primal.

you eventually found a spot—a large tree covered in ivy. its wide trunk provided the perfect hiding place. carefully, to not make any sound, you knelt down and pressed your back against it, trying to catch your breath. you knew daryl well enough to know that he’d take his time, moving silently, stalking you like his prey. the thought of it sent shivers down your spine.

but honestly, you would’ve loved to hide somewhere really obvious only for him to find you after a minute. that’s how much you fucking craved this man. but then again, you knew that he would remind you forever that you were hiding this poorly. and the thrill of not knowing when he’d find you, got you even more excited.

the forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. but then, you heard it—a soft, deliberate footstep. your breath caught in your throat. he was close.

you leaned ever so slightly to peek around the tree, scanning the woods for any sign of him. nothing.

you let out a quiet sigh of relief, relaxing back against the tree.

big mistake.

in a flash, a strong hand gripped your arm, yanking you to your feet. you barely had time to yelp before your back was slammed against the rough bark of the tree harshly. daryl loomed over you, his chest heaving from the exertion of the chase, his piercing eyes locking into yours. without you even fully realizing it, he held his sharp knife against your throat— not enough to hurt you but still to show you who’s in charge.

“thought ya could hide from me, huh?” his voice was low and gravelly, dripping with dominance. your eyes drifted down to the blade against your throat, your heartbeat quickening. “guess i was wrong.” you whispered, finding his gaze again.

“stupid lil’ thing.” he murmured as he began to trace the tip of the blade along your jawline, down your throat and to your exposed collarbone— leaving soft white lines. you tried to stifle a moan but the undeniable tension and daryl’s dominance made this impossible.

and he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

given the fact how pathetically you were rubbing your thighs together to gain just a tiny bit of friction. “you’re such a lil’ slut, doll.” he growled as he let the knife wander down to your tits, his eyes following it closely. “only for you, daddy.” you quietly whimpered, batting your eyelashes at him.

“yeah?” he amusingly huffed out before he captured your lips in a heated kiss— rough and demanding. his free hand gripped your waist to pull you closer as you moaned into the kiss as you felt his hard cock pressing against your lower belly.

he ached for you just as much as you ached for him.

his blade once again nestled on your throat, this time pressing a little harder, knowing it would rile you up even more.

he pushed his tongue past your lips, claiming you as his as he devoured your sweet taste. your tongues fought for dominance but daryl obviously took the lead, not letting you win this battle. the hand that lingered on your waist now grabbed one of your tits, squeezing it harshly. in reply you just pressed yourself harder against him, wordlessly signing him that you longed for more.

you felt him smirk into your kiss and he slowly let his hand glide down your body, stopping at the edge of your jeans. “please, daddy.” you whimpered softly against his lips, staring up at him with the prettiest doe eyes you got.

“what d’ya want?” he teasingly asked, his fingers inching very slowly down your pants. “you, daddy! touch me please.” your plea made his dick twitch in anticipation, he always thought you were so hot when you begged. you impatiently pushed your hips toward his fingers- your cunt was burning for his touch.

“can’t say no now, can i?” he sarcastically retorted as he finally dipped his digits inside your panties. immediately, he began to rub your clit in slow, circular motions, eliciting a relieved sigh from you. again, he trailed his knife down your body before he put it back into its sheath. he expertly opened your jeans one-handed and pushed it with your panties below your ass, giving him more access. daryl almost lost it when he saw your glistening cunt on display.

“you’re fuckin’ drippin’.” he lowly rasped, sliding a finger down to your soaked entrance, wetting the tip of it. “just for you.” you mumbled, tangling your fingers in his hair. “good fuckin’ girl.”

in the blink of an eye he had two of his digits knuckle deep in your pussy, your wetness allowed him to slide in with ease. “ah- fuck!” you mewled, gripping his hair tighter. daryl pressed his lips to yours again as he began to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt in a steady pace, his other hand was back at your tit, groping it feverishly. jolts of pure pleasure crashed through your body as he suddenly curled his fingers and stimulated your sweet spot. “right there.” you squeaked, leaning your head back against the tree.

daryl only took this as a sign and thrusted his fingers faster and rougher inside of you, your walls instantly clamping down on him. he began to lick and suck on your neck, occasionally biting down on your hot flesh. the squelching sounds your pussy made got his dick even harder, needing to be inside of you.

you were a moaning mess, his fingers bringing you closer and closer to your high but then he suddenly pulled them out of you. “wha-“ you began but daryl interrupted you mid-sentence by gripping your waist and turning you around.

“can’t wait any longer.” he mumbled sharply as you heard him fiddling with his belt. with heavy breaths you stared over your shoulder and caught him unzipping his pants. hastily, he pulled down his boxers, making his fully erect cock spring free.

he pumped himself a few times, precum already dripping from the tip, before he stepped closer toward you.

daryl quickly guided his redend tip to your slick entrance, rubbing it up and down teasingly. “ready?” he whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. you frantically nodded your head and when you finally felt him push into you, your world turned upside down.

there was no other feeling, than his cock stretching you painfully open, that could make you feel this euphoric.

with a rough thrust of his hips he bottomed out, his hips flush against your ass. a loud whimper escaped your throat, followed by strings of sinful moans. daryl’s head arched back at your tight walls wrapping around him so deliciously. “never gonna get tired of your tight lil’ pussy.” he growled, immediately starting off with a fast pace, not giving you any chance to get used to his size.

his hands gripped your hips tightly and he just increased his speed, making sure you could feel every inch of him. you yearned it, desperately trying to meet each thrust. “you’re so big, daddy.” you yelped, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at his bruising thrusts. “ya can take it.” he growled in reply.

the sound of your skin clapping together lingered in the air, only mushing your brains up. daryl pushed your legs apart and made you arch your back painfully, allowing the tip of his cock to brush exactly against that one spot, nestled deep inside of you, that made you go feral. your nails scraped harshly against the tree bark, eyes tightly closed. “you like that, huh?” he asked you breathlessly, “you like my cock stretching you open?” he pistoned into you like a man on a mission.

“yes! i love it!” you purred as he continued to fuck you straight into oblivion. “dirty whore.” daryl growled as he sent a harsh slap to your ass, receiving a high pitched moan from you. to add fuel to your pleasure, he reached around your middle and let his middle finger draw messy circles on your puffy clit. “god, daryl! don’t stop!” you cried out, feeling your orgasm slowly build up.

daryl himself was close to his high, hammering into your tight hole in an animalistic way. your knees began to buckle as he flicked his finger faster- determined to coax an orgasm out of you.

he knew exactly what you liked and how you liked it to get you to your release in an instant.

“gonna cum?” daryl whispered in your ear, kissing the spot just beneath it. “mhm, close.” you managed to let out—his dick was the only thing in you could really think of.

daryl rolled his hips even rougher and quicker than you thought was possible, his cock twitching uncontrollably- always a sign that he was on the verge of cumming. “‘m gonna cum.” he utterly growled through gritted teeth. the only thing that daryl wanted more than anything was to feel you gush all over his cock. “me too!” you whimpered pathetically, knowing that you will cum any second.

“now.” daryl commanded, using a second finger on your clit. “oh my fucking—” a scream tore from your throat, interrupting yourself with another yelp. you were sent straight to heaven as a powerful orgasm took over your whole body.

quick gasps left your mouth as you clutched on the tree in any way you could.

feeling you cum around him and your pussy clamping down on his shaft, daryl’s hips began to stutter as the contraction sent him over the edge with you.

he kept rubbing your now sensitive nub and slammed his hips a few more times against your ass before they sputtered to a stop. reluctantly, he pulled out of your pussy, a sharp hiss falling from your lips.

“was that enough prove?” he mocked you while smacking your ass.

“maybe.” you replied defiantly and pulled your jeans and panties up, still trying to catch your breath.

“you’ll never learn to shut that cheeky mouth of yours.” he stated irritatingly, adjusting his pants as well.

“nope.”

REQUESTS ARE OPENED <3

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illyrian-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

And Then There Were None – Part 1

Azriel/fem!reader

Synopsis: In the lead up to the war, Hybern releases a catastrophic spell that wipes out all humans, sparing just one.

Abandoned in the desolate human lands, you scavenge to survive long enough to find your family.

Reluctantly, you are found by the Shadowsinger as fate intervenes to guide you under his watchful eye.

Part 2>>>

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Death, blood, suggestions of miscarriage

Twigs snapped beneath your boots, your steps heavy with exhaustion as you stumbled through yet another town, as barren and deserted as the last one.

Exhaustion and dehydration weighed heavy, wisps of dust caking your skirts, your boots the only thing to disturb the rubble in days.

There was no concern for a carriage that might pull up behind, or a bossy merchant to yell at you to clear the path. While the ghosts of the life that once flourished echoed in closed shops and abandoned stalls, you stopped looking over your back days ago.

There were no plumes of smoke from chimneys, no distant chatter or laughter or cries. Safe from the occasional grunts or mews of abandoned cattle - there was not a single sign of life, and no human in sight for the past ten days.

A jarring cramp ripped from your abdomen, pulling you from delirium with urgency.

Water, food, bathe and sleep. That was why you were here.

You tried not to think about how quickly resources were depleting, even though you were sure you were the only one using them. Without people to treat water, the stagnant liquid became increasingly dangerous. And you couldn’t farm a vegetable to save your life, and had spent too long journeying to have tended to any crops.

You’d have to go further into the woods soon, find a fresh stream, perhaps hunt too. But you'd need strength for that, and you had just about run out.

At least it was spring, and at least the trees bloomed with fruit as you travelled from town to town, feet blistered and chapped. You cursed you parents for not teaching you formidable survival skills - fighting, hunting, even the ability to ride a gods damned horse would have been an incomparable luxury these past hellish days.

A clang of guilt, and frustration quickly churned to longing. Gods, you hoped they were alive. You would do anything to have them here, to journey this devastating isolation together, the little ones too. You prayed to the Mother for the umpteenth time that day that they were safe and well.

It was not a concern when you woke to an empty house almost a fortnight earlier. Your father was likely at the market, your mother hard at work at the tailor in town. Your siblings were hard to catch at this time of year, with school out of term and the warm spring air, they would spend each waking moment by the river if your parents let them.

It wasn't until you spotted your fathers wheelbarrow through the speckled glass of your kitchen window, held by rotting wood. Empty and unmoved, his tools lay flat on the ground, untouched since the day before. You could have sworn he told you he’d be at the market by dawn.

Scanning the room, your eyes flicked to the doorway where your mothers workbag lay untouched. Needles sat poked in balls of yarn as stray thread sprawled over leather - but an eery stillness sang to you at your parent’s tools.

Names and calls went unanswered, and after a quick search of the home you ran outside, urgent to ask your neighbours where they had gone, your heart fastening with every step.

Too frantic to observe the lack of movement and noise from your own street, you rapped on the door, waiting only a few seconds to push the rattling screen and forcing your way in.

Names went unanswered again, and it was instinct that steered you straight for the nursery. You halted at the sight of new born's empty crib, blankets rippled as if the babe was taken straight from it’s sleep.

Your calls turned frantic as you scoured each room, an upsetting, looming sensation creeping over your skin.

Bursting from the home, you shielded your eyes from the bright sun as you scanned the street with urgency. Your only greeting was a quiet breeze and snort of a horse left abandoned by a cart - as if it had stopped it's journey halfway through.

In a panicked haze, you searched the next home, and the next, and the next. The dizziness found you then.

Clearly there was an emergency of some kind. But you had been abandoned, left to sleep until midday amongst the quiet. The thought pained you.

More calls to anyone who might have stayed behind, yet still no answer. Your heart was a thunder in your ears.

Had the war finally reached you? Had your family fled in the dead of the night? You shook the thought from your head – they would have woken you, would have needed your help to escape with the youngens.

And then you were running – yelling, sprinting through the dusty streets, voice breaking as you dashed from home to home, shop to shop, calling, crying, pleading.

You were utterly alone. You had been left there, alone.

In a swarm of panic, you pressed a palm at your heart, willing yourself to calm. It was a dream, surely. You were not abandoned, only stuck in a nightmare, the kind that often found you as murmurs of Hybern’s army reaching human lands became louder.

In that dizzying thought, you willed yourself awake, forcing your eyes open to the walls of your dark and cramped room, to the noises as your siblings shouting and playing from downstairs, to the whistle of the kettle and the creak of the wood as your father came to wake you.

But the light was blinding, the sun as true as the your abandonment.

Beads of sweat that ran down your neck, a gnawing anxiousness building in your stomach as it heaved and cramped, nausea and panic churning to one.

Something truly terrible had happened.

And in that moment of utter disbelief, a stabbing pain ripped from your stomach, so great it forced a whimper from your throat.

As silent trickles of blood ran from your thighs to your knees, tracing your calves beneath the fabric of your skirt, you found a numbing sort of courage. Pushing your legs forward, you mindlessly heeded the road out of your home town, and on to the next.

People. You needed to find people.

————

Ten days, and still not a single sole in sight. Each home, each tavern, each market and farm left eerily untouched.

The silence was enough to drive you mad, if not besides the aide you so desperately sought. This was not your cycle - although the pains were familiar. You had known what you were, what this was.

Almost a fortnight, yet the blood still came. Slower now, spotting instead of trickles. You had stolen clothing from abandoned shops, food and water too. But you were distraught, moments away from folding into utter madness. And you were weak – very, very weak.

Water, food, a bath and rest. A list you repeated to yourself, your body begging to prioritise sleep with every step as you approached a farm at the town’s edge.

With a weak hand, you pushed past the gate to the yard, large rusty barrels sat open where a cow and her calf now drank. The water was murky with a distinct smell, but it would have to do. Tomorrow, you’d find fresh water tomorrow.

The trembling hand that dipped to the cool water hardly looked like your own. Dirt lay thick under your nails, your skin littered with cuts from the countless times you had shattered windows of stores and traders homes, scouring the stock for preserved goods and weapons.

Bringing the cool liquid to your lips, you ignored the taste of iron as you willed it to soothe your throat - hoarse from the endless calls that went unanswered.

Ears pricking at sudden growl behind you, you jerked at the site of a pack of dogs who approached on stealthy paws. Their eyes were hungry - flicking between you and the calf. Once loyal farming dogs you were sure, now abandoned by owners and left to fend for themselves. They had formed packs - clever things. While you were sure they couldn't kill you, you didn't have the strength to fight an infection if they got close enough to sink their teeth.

From your side, you unsheathed the hunting knife you had looted from a previous town. Swinging it with unpracticed skill, you shouted at the pack, your heart thundering as you waited for them to recline on hindered paws and leap.

They pack seemed to weigh you up, deciding the calf was an easier target. You fled inside the house before you could see it meet it’s end.

The home was neat, and you almost cried at the sight of a loaf of bread sitting atop the kitchen counters. Mould had attacked it’s edges, but you tore at it, fisting mouthfuls of the centre, dry crumbs coating your throat it was an effort not to choke.

Your stomach lurched, unhappy with the quality of the food and water, but you didn't care. You were on step closer to rest.

Another jarring cramp from your stomach, and you faltered, gripping at the wooden table as you trembled to keep yourself upright. This ailment, how much longer would you last? Sleep begged at you, your body moments from giving out. You’d have to forgo the bath, and prayed to the mother you’d find the strength for it in the morning.

Forcing yourself to the bedroom, swaying with each stumbled step, consciousness was already slipping as you collapsed on the bed, clothes and boots in tact.

————

It was a feverish sleep, your body doused in sweat as you stirred often, jolting awake in panics, phantom calls of your family mixed with the flap of wings, and the crunch of stone and rock under heavy boots.

Then a voice, voices – ones you were sure they were part of your slumber.

But as those footsteps got closer, you woke in a startle, your heart fastened as you blinked furiously.

Voices. Humans. People. Alive, well enough to talk.

You leapt from the bed, ignoring the spin of your head as you clambered to the window, peering behind sheer drapes to the street in front.

Your stomach sank. Lurched. Then sank again.

A large, demonic figure stalked for the home. Wings arched behind it’s head, it’s figure blackened by the leathers it bore, sword and knives strapped around.

And, wisps of some kind. Deadly, reaping magic.

Fae.

Fae had come.

Knees buckling, you stumbled back a few steps.

The world around you reeled as adrenaline coursed through. You would have just moments to prepare if you wanted a chance to survive.

Knife. Your hunting knife. Still strewn at your hip.

Grasping it’s hilt tightly with a trembling hand, you scanned the room for the best place to hide.

The cupboard was too obvious, and there was room under the bed - but there’d be not enough to swing your knife, only enough for them to drag you by the ankle…

The gentle click of the front door opening, and it took all you had not to whimper in panic.

Scrambling for the door as quietly as possible, you pressed your palm to your mouth, begging yourself not to cry as you pressed yourself behind the wood.

From what you could hear over the thunder of your heart, the steps of the fae were quiet despite it’s size.

“Anything in there?” a deep voice boomed from the street. You jolted at the volume. More than one, then.

There was no reply from the creature in the home, only the creak of the wood as it made it’s way through.

“Really, Azriel? Are we to check every home?” Female this time, impatience and ignorance laced in the somehow ancient voice.

No response again, instead a footstep, right by the door.

Something tickled your ankles then, and it was beyond you to stifle your compulsive scream.

Black furling wisps coated your boots.

And then the door opened.

The creature made it one step inside before you had aimed your knife for it’s heart.

A prepared, cool hand caught your wrist inches from it’s chest. Your bones crushing in it’s grasp, and you let out a yelp of pain.

It’s face - his face - was one of shock. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, dropping his grip all together.

You blinked back in shock, ignoring at the throb of your wrist as you snatched it back.

For a dumb moment, you stared at each other with equally wide eyes. The male didn't seem to know what to do.

“You’re human? How are you here, where-?"

The males sentence was clipped short as you drove the knife towards his chest again.

Quick as an asp, he caught you by the forearm this time, more gently too.

Hazel eyes scanned you, his features schooling as he called over his shoulder. “I’ve found someone.”

You were sure you looked mad, grunting with the effort to pull your arm from him, breaths ragged, eyes and hair wild. The male studied you as he might a rabid animal.

Behind him appeared an even taller male, his form more terrifying than the one that gripped you.

“Mother above,” the new one whispered, scanning you in the way the first one had.

“L-let go of me,” you rasped, pulling your arm back, tears stinging at the pain of you surely broken wrist began to swell.

It was a odd detail to note, the scars and ripples of the fae’s hand as he gently unfurled your fingers, prying the hunting knife from you before releasing his grip.

“Let me see,” the female’s voice piped from behind, the males struggling to fold their wings further, cramming into the room to let her through.

You faltered back on instinct, legs hitting the edge of the bed.

As the female broke through the males, harsh silver eyes scanned you up and down. She was half their height, a little shorter than you actually, but the depth of her gaze kept your hands by your side.

“Seems the Mother has spared one after all,” she muttered, nose crumpling at your scent.

Your answered with a scowl.

“What is your name?” it demanded.

“Amren,” the taller male warned, his eyes flicking back to you with softness.

You refused to answer. Couldn’t if you wanted to.

Amren sighed, casting her head sideways to the one with rippled hands. “She bleeds.”

“I know,” he answered, hazel eyes not breaking from you. You blushed, furious and humiliated.

He stepped around her then, the movement graceful and soft despite his size.

“You need aide.”

You gulped, unable to process his words. “L-leave me be,” you demanded, voice hoarse as you tried to create more distance between you and it.

He crouched in front of you then, leathers stretching against ripples of muscle. You noticed them then, jewels, saphires, humming from his body as if they were alive.

He followed your eyes curiously, before answering you with a soft smile.

“These are siphons,” he said plainly, giving one a friendly tap.

You snapped your eyes back to him, disgust forming your features. “You are here on behalf of Hybern?”

The female snorted from behind, earning a shove from the larger male beside her, his siphons glowing red.

The one in front of you studied you. “No, absolutely not.”

You scowled, not inclined to believe them.

“We come one behalf of our High Lord Rhysand, and High Lady Feyre. Rulers of the Night Court. Do you know of them?”

Feyre - the human women who had freed the fae from the grasp of their enemy. You knew the story, the heroic tale of a human women who gave her life for the male she loved. Had heard of her triumphs Under the Mountain, that she had been made into fae herself in exchange for her sacrifice.

“The-the curse breaker?”

A small smile cocked on both of the males faces.

“That’s right,” the one crouched in front answered. “She sent us to retrieve you.”

A panic surged within you. “Me?” you spat. Oh the ignorance of the fae, as if you were some pawn to pluck and place elsewhere.

Azriel frowned, eyes dancing as he realised the mistake in his words. “To help you, of course. There has been-"

"No-n-no. My family, they will seek for me-"

Azriel's brow pulled with softness, his tone falling flat. "We will search for them. Meanwhile, you must see a-"

“Where are the others?” Your voice was louder now, eyes dancing in panic, chest rising with fastening breaths. Had they taken them too? “The people, they've left, I don't know-"

“We are searching for others. You are… the first we have found.”

Your mind reeled. How could that be? You had searched by foot - but with those wings, and the strength and power of fae…

“WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE OTHER HUMANS?” the volume of your voice shocked even yourself, that strength, that demand from deep within your chest.

Azriel gave you a pained look, before standing to turn to his counterparts. “Amren, can you heal-?”

“I’m spent,” she cut off the male with a flick of her fingers. “Those canines out back were hardly enough to keep me going until sundown, so forget about healing. Unless you suggest I drink her blood, though I doubt she’d survive.”

Mother above.

You were too hazed to see the glare both of the males cut her.

“Then she will need to see a healer before we can continue.”

“She might refuse,” the larger one countered.

“If she’s smart, she won’t. She won't survive out here on her own,” Amren muttered, cleaning her nails as she leaned one on leg, checking her cat-like claws for flecks of blood.

They continued their mutter without once turning to you.

“There is no option here. I’ll take her to Velaris, and return once she’s safe.”

A shaking, blubbering anger grew within you, the creatures in front of you as ignorant and obnoxious as you had always been told fae are – to discuss your own fate as if you weren't in the room.

A killer instinct flared in you then, and you remembered the second knife you bore, hidden within your corsette. A pocket knife, a tool from your father to help pit and peel the fruit from his farm.

The oak handle was cool in your left hand, the right throbbing and limp. With the last remains of energy, you pushed up from the bed, swinging with all your strength - aiming for the blue-siphoned back.

In a graceful turn, the male caught your arm for the third time. You had to blink at the speed with which he stopped you.

Bracing for cruel, unforgiving anger, you were instead met with sympathetic eyes.

Loathing coiled within you.

“Release me,” you spat.

“I’m sorry to do this,” was all he said, and then pads of those rippled fingers were grasping your jaw, pressing to the pressure points of your neck with precision.

Grunting to fight his grasp, you didn’t struggle long before a ringing in your ear grew to defeating silence and the world tipped to black.

Part 2 >>> AN: HELLLOOO! And welcome to ATTWN - massive shout out to @kindasleepywriter for finding the perfect name for this series! I so so hoped you liked part 1. I edited it like a million times, still not 100% happy with it, but I think I just needed to get it out. Fair warning - this fic won't be light hearted, our reader is going to go through some really heavy stuff. I'll of course put my warnings ahead of each part, but please know I plan to explore some darker themes surrounding mental health etc. If you'd like to join the tag list for this fic, let me know in the comments! Always love hearing your feedback, and thank you so much for reading! <3 Nic

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tinytownn · 10 days ago

Text

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. iii - gossip girl (no...like please go piss girl) series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 12.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), u and joel fight again (not sorry), age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, mentions of abuse???, no use of y/n

a/n: so...after a month i return!! this chapter is pretty long, but very lightly edited. sorry about that...if i looked at this piece any harder i would have just scrapped it again. it's kind of all over the place and i hate it but i have better parts coming so i just need to truck thru

August 3rd, 2025 -

Something within that tiny corner store on the outskirts of New York softened something between the two of you. Conversation flowed, as much as it could for someone like Joel, his thick and gravelly voice something you became accustomed to. Occasionally, if you caught him on a good day, you would be able to pull a small laugh from his lips that he’d quickly brush away with a pensive hand.

Your arguments, however, were still as harsh and unforeseen as the last. The proximity of your opposing personalities sometimes drove a wedge between you–Joel’s anger and distrust for the world mixed with your hopeful innocence led to some differences.

He tried to be patient though.

Instead of resigning to his usual bids of silence, leaving you anxious and bitter for days, he would attempt to reason with you. He opted to explain his discernment, never going into great detail, but sharing enough to know he’s lived enough life for the both of you.

So, slowly throughout the following months, you began to trust his judgment, and followed his lead more than you already had. He had done more than enough to prove he knew his way around–hunted and scavenged for food, knew the best routes to avoid infected, and was strong enough to handle anyone you encountered.

You had willingly put your life in Joel’s hands from the beginning, but now he fully had your trust too.

The journey hadn’t been all smooth sailing though. Joel seemed to be in a better mood–whatever had happened before you met slowly began to slip off his shoulders. However, the change in atmosphere didn’t dull his survival instincts. Each person you passed, while not many, immediately received a scowl from Joel. He was distrusting, almost hostile, towards anyone you passed.

Sometimes though, it was for the better.

Ducked low in the forest, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, it was a dull and dreary day, rain pouring down from above. You both walked, hunched through the trees, trying to gain whatever coverage you could.

Suddenly, a rustling echoed through the forest. Before you could react, an arrow whizzed past your head, digging deep into the trunk of the tree beside you. You gasped, ducking to the side, and Joel’s arm instinctively pulled you to his side.

“Stay close,” he whispered, words barely audible over the downpour. “Be ready to run.”

It was the same simple words he always said. A short ritual of shared heartbeats and sweaty palms. Tense shoulders brushed against each other, sending a shiver down your spine, while you both carefully crunched through the leaves.

Then, like a flash of lightning, a spark of navy blue rustling fabric shot out through the trees. You whipped your head to catch more than a glimpse of the stranger, but Joel was already ahead of you. His arm left your side, already bounding for the shadowy figure weaving through the brush.

The sound of a windbreaker wooshed past branches, the fabric snagging and tearing, leaving behind a trail for you to follow. You were ways behind the two, Joel nearly catching up on their heels. Just as the person was about to take a turn, Joel lunged forward, tackling them to the ground.

There was a scuffle in the leaves, stray pine needles and mud sloshing beneath them. Staggered grunts and heaved breaths were the only thing heard from the two men wrestling on the ground.

As you neared, attempting to catch your breath, you finally got a look at the stranger. Long, blond hair cascaded down the back of his neck, face covered in a messy scruff, and balancing on his nose was a crooked pair of glasses, the right lens cracked.

Joel loomed above him, heavy hand and a firm grip pinning him to the dirt. It was obvious that the crash had already taken a lot out of the men, but Joel persevered, pulling back his arm and following through with a swift punch to the cheek. The man wriggled defenselessly, only movements being an attempt to get away from Joel’s radiating anger.

“Motherfucker,” Joel growled, arm recoiling for another punch. “Why were you watching us?”

“I wasn’t,” the man gasped, eyes squeezing shut, awaiting Joel’s fist. “I swear! I was just passing by! I don’t want any trouble, please.”

“Bullshit,” Joel seethed, fist cracking against the man’s jaw. “You fucking shot at us!”

The noise made you cringe–knuckles against bone. A crack rang out, a cry and helpless whimpers leaving the man’s lips.

“Joel,” you said softly, afraid to disturb whatever beast had awoken in him.

He didn’t move, knuckles turned white underneath the staining crimson. He gripped the stranger’s shoulders violently, like they would snap if he squeezed any harder. Pure rage flowed off of him, rendering the man underneath him speechless–even before his jaw hung slack from Joel’s punches.

“Joel,” you said more confidently this time–voice firm. “You don’t need to kill him.”

He didn’t even turn to you, a low growl leaving his lips. “Why shouldn’t I? A few inches to the left and that arrow would’ve shot you dead. I’m not leavin’ this bastard here still breathin’.”

Your eyes flicked between your shoes sloshing in the mud and the limp, whimpering body in the leaves. For just a second, your eyes met his, a deep, pleading stare piercing through your skull. Suddenly you felt nauseous, the sight of his mangled jaw and bloodied face too much to take in.

“Joel, he doesn’t even have a bow,” you yelled, your feet bringing you towards him before you could even think. “I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.”

Hands outstretched, you pushed your palms into his steady shoulder, his hold on the man unyielding. You did little to move him physically, but your efforts snapped him out of whatever trance he was in.

He rose to his feet, the blood and mud caked heavy onto his clothes. Taking a look at the man beneath him, he saw that you were right. The only thing around his chest was the tattered windbreaker and stained white tee–no sign of a bow.

Guilt panged his heart for a moment, his brain leading him to wonder how cruel this world had really made him. But then, another arrow sliced through the air, just barely missing Joel as he stood up.

Deeper in the woods, hidden behind a thick tree, stood a woman crouched in the shadows. She held a bow shakily in her hands, the quiver lazily strung across her back.

Bang!

The familiar click of Joel’s gun rang out and your eyes shot to him. Before you could even blink, he pointed the gun to the ground, the man from before still laying in pain. Pulling the trigger, blood painted the forest–and your shoes.

Your mouth hung open, there was such a deafening ringing in your ears, you didn’t know if you screamed or not. The man, now corpse, lay lifeless in the slush, the hole in his skull gushing out spurts of blood that made you sick. The same thick liquid–a mixture of mud, blood, and rain–covered your boots, oozing underneath them and sticking to the soles.

Shock having taken over, Joel was far out of your sights before you could tear your eyes away from the scene. Another deafening gunshot pierced the air, your stomach dropping at the sound.

Then, from through the trees, Joel emerged. Bloodied, but unscathed, he jammed the weapon back into his jeans pocket, wiping some blood off onto the denim. You stood frozen, unable to process everything that had just happened.

It was all so quick–Joel pouncing on the man, the sound of his jaw cracking, and then as it all seemed to be ending, the moment of betrayal left Joel with one choice, and shockingly no hesitation.

You had always known him to be a man of action, but the icy stare the moment that second arrow shot out scared you. His jaw untensed, breaths evened out, and brow unfurrowed as if this brought him some sort of serenity–a precise, tactical rage that was both deadly and terrifying.

“Here,” Joel muttered, pushing something into your palms.

In your daze, focused on the corpse’s dead weight sinking into the earth, you didn’t notice the weapon in Joel’s hands.

The sight sickened you.

In his bruised and bloodied hands he held a bow and quiver–the same one that woman held in her trembling hands. He pressed the leather strap of the bag into your hand, outstretching the weapons towards you.

“Figured you could use a weapon,” he said in response to your silence.

You took a step back, adjusting the straps of your backpack. “I figure I’ll be fine,” you mocked, a bite of anger in your tone. “Plus, I’m no good at shooting one anyway.”

That was a lie. In this world, you needed a weapon just to be able to fall asleep peacefully at night. But each glance at the bow repainted the picture of the previous owner cowered in fear as she met what could only be a nightmare inducing scowl from Joel.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is,” he spat, slinging the bow over your head. “But I just saved your life. Now I’m not expectin’ no thank yous, but droppin’ the attitude would be nice.”

A tense silence filled the air. The same kind that always happened just before one of you and Joel’s arguments. The few moments while you questioned if you really wanted to push his temper–you always did.

“He was running away.” Thunder cracked out from above, rain pouring down even harder now. “You didn’t even bother to see that he had no weapons!”

Wiping a hand over his beard, he groaned, reaching for his backpack long discarded in the leaves.

“Well his friend did,” he said, grunting as he pulled the arrow from the tree. “Or do you not remember this almost going through your skull?”

Harshly tugging the quiver at your side, he tossed the arrow inside. The bag thudded against your hip, the quills scratching against your arm as you struggled to match Joel’s quickening pace.

“You didn’t even try to talk to them. You just pounced on him…like one of those things.”

Your words, laced with venom, made him freeze.

“If you want to go around making friends,” he paused for a moment, then resumed his steps to create some distance. “I’ll just let you get killed next time.”

This time it was you that froze. Rain fell heavy like bullets onto your skin, stripping away your flesh until you stood there completely vulnerable.

Those words alone were like a death sentence. It wasn’t like you couldn’t fend for yourself, medical knowledge and basic survival skills became an ingrained part of everyday life in this new world. It was your innocent naivety that would be your demise–something that Joel didn’t have.

He kept you on a good path, having a sixth sense for danger and every corner it loomed. He had the confidence to know that he could protect not only himself, but you as well, without needing the help of others. He knew other people were far more dangerous than any infected could ever be.

And without him you probably would have been dead tonight.

August 16th, 2025 -

The following days had been painful.

Despite the beginnings of opening up in the bodega, Pennsylvania had shown to be bringing nothing but bad omens. The state was filled with people, most of them looking for trouble, and after your first encounter in the woods you begrudgingly decided to let Joel take the lead.

Still, you slept with one eye open, not leaving the events of that night behind. Something about it stuck with you, that almost mechanical-like need to kill that filled him in that moment. The image of the man’s face–jaw unhinged, glass from his lenses piercing into his skin–stayed in your mind even in your sleep, dragging the days along slowly.

Joel noticed your shift in energy towards him. You honestly expected him to say nothing about it, taking your retraction as a blessing and bidding his usual vow of silence. The first week was awkward, Joel trying to fill the space with small talk and forced conversation, but the effort was there. Still, your anger raged on–mostly in some unrecognized way of being cautious.

You figured after a week of brushing off his attempts at talking to you he would give it up. The next morning however, he woke you up with a gentle shake.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he grinned slyly down at you, something held in his hand hidden behind his back.

The nickname made you huff out, both in embarrassment and frustration, wiping the sleep from your eyes. As usual, your makeshift pillow of sewn together tattered clothing left you neck stiff, a shock of pain only adding to your annoyance.

“I thought we were staying for another day?” you groaned, facing the man with pouted lips.

A few days ago, the two of you had settled in a small town. It was void of any life, or infected, the perfect spot to stay for a few days. Joel had decided the location of the town’s cinema–the most intact building.

So, the two of you sat on the stained, red carpet of the grand entryway. The velvet ropes that usually formed that line were wrapped around the door handles–something that took Joel too much effort to cut through. Stale popcorn sat in the warmer, butter caked on the glass, and the drink machines reeked of mold and mildew. Above the lonely hallway where Joel had inspected each branching room, hung a black board filled with tattered lettering of the last movies played before the outbreak.

‘Fin ing N mo - 7:30 pm - Ro m 5’

‘Lord f th Rin s - 8:00 - oo 7’

‘Hulk - :00 - Room 3’

Reading the names washed a wave of nostalgia over you when you had first walked in, remembering each movie in vivid detail.

“That’s one thing I miss the most.”

Whipping your head around, Joel was behind you, watching you read off the film names. He had been off checking each theater, both for supplies and any lurking infected–you hadn’t expected him back so soon.

“You liked movies?” you said, a slight surprise in your tone.

“Loved ‘em.” A slight smile twitched at his lips, a distant memory clouding his eyes.

It was odd. Ever since that night in the woods, Joel had been more avid than ever to start conversation. Whether he popped out from within the shadows, filled the empty space while you walked, or spoke to the darkness while you fell asleep, Joel would try to piece together some sort of conversation starter. It was mostly superficial, occasionally hinting at bits of his past life, but always quick to cover it up with rushed steps and a pensive hand across his chin.

The way you met had put you both in an odd position, but the way Joel had acted throughout the months of knowing you was even odder.

When his actions towards you were on the softer side–tending to your wounds, providing for you–his words were nothing but cold, his stares icy. But now that you had seen this side of him–violent, impulsive–it seemed like each word he said was calculated, smoothed over with honey. Like he was trying to give off a certain impression, convincing you, and himself, that he wasn’t a monster.

So now as he shook you awake, hands more gentle than ever, you didn’t buy it. If this was his true character, then he should have shown it to you before, not in some cruel attempt to cover up his actions with faux smiles and sappy nicknames.

“We are,” he said, voice low while he cautiously brought his hands from his back–the blood-stained bow now cleaned in his hands. “I just thought I could finally teach you how to use this thing. I’d feel a lot better sendin’ you out with a weapon in your hands.”

He stayed crouched beside you, shoulders tense, awaiting your response.

The bow in his hands looked cleaned–brand new almost–like it had been rid of everything it had been through. The quiver laid on the ground behind him, the quills peeking out behind his boot, like a tempting wave.

His effort tugged at your heart, a softness in his gaze that almost seemed too real to be an act. You imagined him, deep in the night, washing away the blood, probably splintering himself in the process.

Since he had first slung that wretched weapon around your shoulder you swore you could smell the stench of death wafting from it–although you knew it was impossible. But he had noticed and taken the time to try and scrub away the memories that haunted you–and unknowingly himself too.

“Sure.”

That was all you gave him with a simple nod as you rose to your feet. You didn’t take the bow from his hands, if you were even able to, just the sight of it made you uneasy.

Joel stood alongside you, palms splayed across your back as he led you down the hallway. The red carpet grew more stained in the shadows, popcorn and drink cups strewn about, while he ushered you into theatre number seven.

The trip down the walkway was silent. You had fully expected him to bring you into the woods, shooting at some bottles on stumps, or some birds in the trees, not lead you into the depths of a dark and grimy theatre. As you rounded the corner though, a sliver of light caught your eye. A couple lanterns sat posted in the corners of the room, doing a decent job at giving the room a warm, comforting glow.

A display of cardboard cutouts and movie posters were placed at different heights along the torn screen in the front of the room. Jack Sparrow and his pirate crew were plastered in the middle, a cutout of Buddy the Elf standing proudly in the corner, and the shark from Nemo staring dauntingly from the bottom corner–barely visible.

You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips, “What is all this?”

His lips curved into a playful smirk, once again offering you the bow.

“Target practice.”

“You’re kidding,” your tone was flat, but your face was anything but–a childlike smile on your face, eyes wide.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He lowered his head, removing the quiver from around his shoulders. “Pick a target and shoot. We’ll work from there.”

He walked towards you, closing the gap you had been purposefully creating for days. Carefully–almost as if he was waiting for you to push him away–he hung a wary hand near your head, the strap of the bag balancing on his forefinger. Then, when you didn’t flinch, he gently wrapped the leather around your shoulders, adjusting the quiver until it fit snugly against your back.

You couldn’t help the soft blush that warmed your cheeks as he worked–his soft breaths against your ear, arms wrapped around your body, fingers grazing your waist. It was a casual movement, one that didn’t come with much thought from him, but that didn’t stop your find from temporarily racing.

The fear, embarrassment, frustrations–every emotion you had towards this man crashing down on you in that one simple moment. You didn’t know anything about him–nor did he know a thing about you–but the months you had spent by his side were enough to pick away the important parts of him. You felt like you had some understanding of him, and in this moment you realized it was the same for him.

That discomforting feeling in your chest, the one that bubbled each night with crippling fear, you had thought it was fear of Joel at first–his rough demeanor and harsh words were nothing but unkind. But you had soon come to realize your fear and unwarranted anger towards him came from the harsh reality Joel faced you with: that you weren’t ready to survive in this world on your own.

“When did you do all of this?” you asked in awe, taking an arrow from the quiver.

Stepping to the side, Joel leaned back, taking a full view of your figure. You felt small beneath his gaze, uncertain in your movement as you clipped the quill to the string, pulling it back with all your strength.

“Took me a couple nights,” he mumbled softly to let you focus. “Those cases up front weren’t too difficult to crack open. I was afraid I’d wake you up gettin’ them open.” He let out a small chuckle, eyes still focused on your poor form. “You slept like a rock.”

Your fingers let go of the string, a burning sensation brushing across as the thick cord released. Aiming for the center of Johnny Depp’s face, your gaze never left the tip of his nose–where you hoped to hit–until the arrow plunged into Keira Knightly, all the way on the left.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

“I take that’s not what you were aimin’ for?”

Your gaze fell to your shoes, embarrassment creeping in.

“It’s pretty bad isn’t it?”

Softly, you heard Joel's heavy footsteps creep up behind you. His hand, warm and calloused, gently took hold of your arm that held the bow. His chest was pressed firmly to your back now, his beard tickling the side of your face as he leaned down to see your view. Cheeks flushing a deep red, you were glad he couldn’t see your face, but his cheek pressed so closely to yours, you were sure he could feel it.

“Better than when I first started,” his voice, deep and gravelly, sent shivers down your spine as he encased your hand in his. “You just have to steady yourself.”

His boot tapped the inside of your ankle and your breath hitched at the contact.

Typically tailing feet behind him, the image of Joel in your mind was usually his broad shoulders, boots trudging in the dirt, occasionally reaching a hand up to scratch through his peppered hair. Now, the proximity gave you a glimpse of the man you had never seen before–the scent of cigarette smoke and some earthy undertone flooded your senses, his skin a roaring fire that burned with each touch, and the coarse hair scratching against your smooth skin.

You widened your stance at his request, his foot planted firmly between yours.

“Take a deep breath.” He lifted the bow with you, sliding his arm around to place an arrow between the fingers of your other hand. He held that one too, fingers entangled with yours around the thick rope.

“Hold it as you pull back.” Steadily, he pulled back, allowing you to do most of the work, but keeping you still. “Don’t breathe until you release.”

Then, his hands left yours, taking a step back and leaving you with an unexpected chill. Releasing the bow, the arrow slicing the wind, it struck into the center of the poster.

A gasp left your lips and the bow dropped to the ground as you jumped in excitement.

“I did it!” you squealed.

Joel leaned back on the wall, amused at your enthusiasm.

“Not too hard now is it?” his said, hands once again secretly hidden behind his back.

Taking another arrow from the bag, you took it in your hands, inspecting it proudly.

“I could get used to this.”

He smiled. “That’s what I want to hear.” Pulling his arms out from behind him, a small plush polar bear sat in his hands. “You keep up the good work and this is your prize.”

Turning the figure in his hands, you saw it comically had a red sweater and a slushie–the iconic ICEE bear.

“No way,” you gawked, immediately going to snatch the toy from his grasp, until he held it from your reach. “Not fair! Where did you find that thing?”

It was tattered, the sweater gained a few holes during his stay in the rubble filled theatre, but the nostalgia he brought you was more than enough. You jumped up, even balancing on your toes to try and tear it from his hands.

“He was behind the counter.” Joel laughed–a real, hearty, genuine laugh. “I thought he’d be a good motivator. Looks like I was right.”

September 17th, 2025 -

“Keep in the shadows,” he mumbled, voice low and even–he was serious. “Don’t know what’s out here.”

Your feet trudged on the broken sidewalk of what used to be a town somewhere in Ohio. With your leg healed, you both were able to cover more distance than before, a partial reason for Joel’s lift in spirit.

As you strayed behind him, pace steady, a familiar feeling began to build in your lower abdomen. Crossing your legs and quickening your pace, you tried to fight the feeling, but it persisted.

‘Fuck, not right now.’

Biting your lip, you debated telling Joel. You knew he’d be annoyed by the inconvenience, but he would be even more upset if you slowed him down with your constant leg shuffling.

Each step had you on your toes, wobbling side to side trying to ease your pressing bladder. You tried placing your focus on Joel’s heavy steps ahead of you, attempting to replicate them.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s stern whisper caught you by surprise, earning an especially tight press of your thighs.

Legs crossed and movements jittered, you shamefully refused to meet his piercing gaze. You could feel this patience thinning and knew the truth was the only thing getting you out of this. Supplies had been running low, Joel taking the lesser half had left him particularly exhausted and agitated the past week. His eyes–encompassed in dark clouds, lids hung low–were only a further demonstration of that.

Hands awkward clasped behind your back, you spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I think I have to pee…”

His grip, tight on your wrist, caught you by surprise. A low groan left his lips at the comment and embarrassment panged in your chest.

“I told you to go before we left,” he growled, words sharp. “Go back there. And make it quick.”

You stumbled deeper into the alleyway. Broken glass crunched underneath your feet and bits of plywood and garbage practically made you unable to see the ground. A rotting, rusted dumpster sat in the corner, its presence dismal and grimy. It wasn’t an ideal place to use the restroom, but it was the only cover you had from Joel who kept guard at the entrance.

His back was turned, his broad shoulders and thick muscles flexing through his sleeves as he surveyed the area. He kept a tight hold on the small gun you had found on a previous supply run. There were minimal bullets left, but Joel knew to use them well and sparingly.

Fingertips fumbling at the waistline of your jeans, you struggled to undo the button. You danced on the tips of your toes, your bladder threatening to burst at any second. Your fingers restlessly worked at the worn button that was sloppily resewn, mumbling silent curses to yourself.

Then, a low groan rumbled through the depths of the alley. Your entire body froze, tensed in fear. Pupils dilated, desperate to adjust to the shadows, you kept your wide eyes focused on a pile of wood pallets and trash where the sound erupted from.

Not taking any chances, you took a careful step backwards. Too terrified to tear your eyes away from the corner, that low rumble still vibrating off the walls, a stray piece of trash caught your foot. Stumbling backwards, you regained your balance with a yelp. Shooting your head back towards the pile, a hand crept out from the rubble, anchoring a spongy, rotted body from the trash.

Without hesitation, you started your way towards the light of the street. Feet carrying you as fast as they could, you grabbed ahold of Joel’s gray sleeve, tugging him towards you.

“Joel, run!” you screamed, hands travelling down to get a more secure hold onto his arm, nails digging into the skin.

It had been a while since you had encountered any infected, let alone a clicker. The groups you stayed with hid deep in the woods, far from any wandering infected. Most patrol groups were led by the men, leaving you to tend to things back at the camp–not that you minded. All your close calls and encounters with infected were at a young age, leaving traumatic, scarring memories of their reeking flesh inches from your face.

Just simply seeing the decaying, fungus flesh rise from the rubble struck an unfathomable fear within you. Joel had sworn to protect you and you never had any doubts in him, but you had seen what those things could do.

Joel was quick to match your pace, instead taking your arm in a firm grasp, dragging you behind him as he began to outrun you. He didn’t bother to question the situation, the deafening clicks that rang from the alleyway were enough to piece things together.

You had only seen him like this a handful of times–jaw so tense it might snap, every muscle tensed so harshly a sweat formed at his brow, and nails dug so deep into your skin it bled. Nothing was on his mind except whatever last second escape plan he had formulated in his head. Despite the thrumming heartbeat you could feel in his wrist, his body oozed an unmistakable confidence as he twisted through corners and ducked under fallen signs.

Your panicked scream, combined with the persistent creaking of the berserk clicker had attracted a swarm of runners from a nearby building. The group had at least five infected, arms outstretched, croaking out horrific sounds as they hurled themselves towards you.

Each time you would sneak a glance over your shoulder, you would stumble over your feet, Joel harshly tugging you upright.

“Focus,” he huffed, voice breathy and ragged.

Firing off a few hurried shots, Joel widened the distance, striking the clicker until only two bullets remained. The rest of the infected shrieked at the sound, their pace slightly staggering at the sudden shock of the bullets ringing out.

His chest heaved, shoulders tense from the tightening of his lungs as he pushed himself to keep running. The deeper he ran into town, the more buildings and obstacles he could use to lose the band of runners. Their animalistic howls and slobbering grew more distant, but he didn’t dare look back just yet.

Then, as you reached the center of town–a large bell tower in the middle and four surrounding buildings–Joel brought you up the stairs of the town hall. Four grand, white pillars stood proudly at the entrance, allowing enough coverage for you to hide behind them.

The windows of the building were boarded securely, a contrast to the rest of the town that had been scoured through and destroyed. Even the door was securely shut, something that was rare nowadays–most doors blown to bits, or the lock busted off. Instead, the two stately doors, knobs still golden and glistening in the sun, stood proudly as if the very town it stood for wasn’t in shambles.

A deafening silence filled the air. The only sounds came from your thrashing heart and Joel’s staggered breaths. His hands on his knees, he tried catching his breath, the sound of the runners finally having subsided.

The peace didn’t last long though, a rattling of chains echoed from behind the door, the metal eerily scratching against the wood. Joel was quick to react, sliding from his place behind the pillar and slinging an arm around your waist, the other reaching for the gun in his back pocket. He pulled you so close you could hear his heart beating almost in time with yours, his breath fanning on your ear as he whispered strict instructions.

“Whoever is in here–do not trust them,” he warned, gun steadily aimed towards the entrance. “Let me do the talkin’.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat keeping you from responding–as if you had any time to. The doors groaned open and you held your breath, hoping for a kind face, some water, or simply any refuge from the infected that were surely still roaming the streets.

A low creaking rumbled the porch beneath you, the doors opening slowly with wear and time. Behind them, stood a couple. A man was in front, maybe in his late thirties, with a thick head of brown hair in a bowl shape on his head. The woman looked much younger–even younger than you–her long, blonde hair cascading down her back. Both were dressed in an unusually put together outfit. Her ankle length dress seemed almost untouched and a simple gold cross necklace lay delicately on her collarbone. He was in a tucked in polo, unscathed khakis, and matching silver cross.

“Get inside!” The man waved his hand, ushering you both towards the door. “Quick! Before they track you here.”

At first, you didn’t hesitate, the fate of whatever was in store for you inside seemingly better than the horde of infected on your trail. But then, in a firm grip, Joel took your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

Brow furrowed, you turned to face him.

Was he crazy?

You had pretty unfriendly encounters with people before, but surely this situation called for an exemption of Joel’s typical distrust. The two figures in the doorway looked like they would blow away if the wind blew hard enough, there was more chance of taking them on than the group of infected.

Back pressed to his chest, you could feel his hesitance seeping into you. His breaths were heavy, the groaning sounds of infected coming closer left him with little time to think, and you knew he was trying to come up with something, anything, to not have to enter a house with strangers.

Unexpectedly though, he held you close to his side, but still taking the lead as he walked through the doors. The couple promptly shut them behind you, a series of locks being wrapped and chained shut.

“Are y’all crazy?” the man huffed out, his southern thicker than Joel’s, almost incomprehensible. “I ain’t ever seen a group of those things that big and y’all still waited to come inside! You two musta met some real crazy folks hestiatin’ on an offer like that.”

The arm wrapped around your waist tightened, his fingers digging deeper into your side, bringing you hip to hip. Looking up at Joel, there was a clear scowl painted across his face, trying to give off an intimidating air. His other hand had a careful hold on his gun, fingers curled around the handle–and trigger–ready to shoot at any moment.

“It’s a dangerous world out there,” was all Joel muttered, eyes burning holes through the man’s skull.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” Seemingly unfazed, the man stuck out his arm to Joel. “The name’s Samuel and this here is my wife Liz.”

Samuel lowered his hand when Joel only nodded in response.

In a slight effort to ease the tension, your gaze fell upon the petite woman, almost cowering in her husband’s shadow. Liz’s hands gently clasped in front of her, shoulders slightly hunched forward as she bowed her head downwards, eyes focused on her shoes.

“Well,” Samuel continued, breaking the thick silence. “Liz and I have been stayin’ here for a while now and don’t mind y'all stayin’ as long as you need,” he paused for a moment, eyes suddenly flickering to you. “But I can’t just keep two strangers in here, now can I?”

“We’re not stayin’,” Joel said firmly.

He started towards one of the windows, trying to get a peek through the boards, but never fully turning himself away from the two.

The scene outside had calmed, most of the infected had been lost in the chase, but there were still others staggering about. They dragged the worn soles of their feet across the pavement, gasped breaths and painful wails escaping their decayed lips.

“Well you can’t possibly be thinkin’ of going out there.”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes glazed over, probably scheming up some way to get out of this situation.

“Just stay for dinner.”

Samuel offered yet another solution within Joel’s introspective silence. The offer was so casual, too casual even. Being invited over for dinners wasn’t something too common nowadays, most food being rationed and eaten in portions. Not only were they offering their valuable food to strangers, but ones that wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there.

“Fine,” Joel caved, his hand dipping deep into his pockets, fingers curling around the hunting knife he always kept with him. “But if things clear up before then, we’re out of here.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, wrapping an endearing arm around his wife. “We wouldn’t want to stop ya from where you’re headed.”

The next moments were filled with a thick, awkward silence, only growing by the second. Liz stood stiff under her husband’s arm, eyes focused on her dusty mary janes. Not once during the conversation had her eyes lifted to meet yours–or anybody’s. Her retraction piqued your curiosity, such a contrast to the personality of her partner. Samuel had answered each question, invited you inside, and persisted you stay for dinner all while his wife stood like a statue.

Joel’s eyes were focused, not once caring to look your way, only caring about the potential danger in front of him. He still stood uncomfortably close, the hair on his knuckles tickling your fingers as they brushed past, ready to grab your wrist and run.

It was the same practice every time he sensed a threat, but this time it persisted. Usually Joel took you by the arm, dragging you away the moment he got uncomfortable, and leaving it at that.

This was nothing like those times.

Joel was trapped and he didn’t know what to do.

Like a caged lion he sat, waiting for his captor to strike, and then would tear him to pieces.

Then, his eyes flickered to you, sticking just a moment too long. You shifted under his gaze, his eyes panning uncomfortably low. It wasn’t until then that you realized the damp, sticky feeling through your jeans.

In the chase, your bladder must’ve let loose, the fear and adrenaline taking hold of your body. You were too focused on survival to notice, but now, the denim stuck to your thighs set a dark crimson hue to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize,” you stuttered out, voice cracking in embarrassment.

Eyes dropping to your shoes, you couldn’t bear to look at the reaction of those around you. Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind–those hazel eyes growing wide, unable to look away as his brow softened with a newfound pity.

Instinctively, he shielded you, stepping in front of you to cover whatever dignity you had left. With his back turned to you, the worn soles of his shoes all that you could see, a slight weight was lifted from your shoulders knowing these strangers couldn’t see your accident.

“That’s quite alright,” Samuel laughed–not a teasing one, but a warm, almost comforting laugh. “I’m sure Liz has something you can change into. Right dear?”

“Yes, honey,” her voice was just as small as her, barely able to pick up on the words she said.

“Perfect,” Samuel waltzed dangerously close to Joel, closing the gap with a hand to the shoulder. “We’ll help you get settled and how about you help me get the meat for dinner tonight?”

Joel stiffened, straightening his back to both shield you and try to brush off Samuel’s hand.

“Whaddya mean?” he asked suspiciously.

Samuel tightened his hand, pulling himself to stand side-by-side with Joel–too touchy for both of your likings. His other hand waved in the air, pointing towards a grand double staircase that stood in the middle of the room.

“Ya see,” he beamed proudly. “We were able to get a generator and some fuel. To save power we only have it hooked up to the freezer downstairs, keeps all the meat nice ‘n fresh. I need your help connectin’ it to the kitchen so these ladies can get to cookin’. We’re havin’ a feast tonight!”

His voice echoed through the mostly empty corridor and despite his enthusiasm, Joel didn’t seem any more impressed–only more suspicious.

Finally turning back to you, Joel looked over to you with apologetic eyes–not something he gave very often. Sweat drenched hair clung to your skin, cheeks slightly flushed, but what his eyes stuck on was the streaks of red trailing down your arm.

In his frenzy, Joel didn’t think about how rough he grabbed your arm—only that it was enough to keep you upright and running.

Now, he didn’t waste time slinging the bag from around his shoulders, brushing off Samuel’s hand. Stepping away, he placed it on a nearby bench, fishing though for the pack of medical supplies.

“I need to patch up her arm first,” he muttered, knowing he was mostly stalling for time. “Then I can help you.”

Once again, Samuel stepped a little too close–this time to you. He took your arm, lifting it to inspect the wound.

“Nothin’ my Liz can’t fix.” That same toothy smile plastered on his face.

Taking your other arm, Joel had stepped behind you, gently pulling you towards him.

Between the two men, you felt minuscule. Joel’s intimidating presence had always made him seem so much bigger–stronger. But the vibe Samuel gave off was even larger, more discomfoting–demanding even.

His constant proximity and physical contact took you back, it was almost like interacting with people from a distant time, before all of this had happened. Their pristine clothes, sunshine smiles, and glistening skin were all so out of place in this dilapidated home–but so were you with your urine soaked jeans, blood stained t-shirt, and the gruff man leading you around like a dog.

“I’d like to take care of it myself.”

Palms in the air, backing away in defeat, Samuel retreated towards the stairs.

“A man wants to take care of his wife, I respect it.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, but the words didn’t find their way. Something about the way Joel took your arm in his hand, giving it an immediate tight squeeze as if to say keep your mouth shut.

So you listened, too embarrassed to say a word even if you had the chance.

The couple made a slow retreat, Samuel with a teasing grin and directions to the kitchen, and Liz with a slight wave and soft promise to return with clothing.

“What the fuck,” you whispered, not even waiting for the two to fully ascend the stairs.

Cloth in hand, he dabbed the blood from your skin, the slight tinge of alcohol burning into the wound. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist, pulling you closer before he spoke.

“I don’t like how they’re tryna separate us,” he mumbled lowly, voice thick with concern and his stare sharp and intense.

Rolling your eyes, you flicked your focus to the interior of the building. It was all white with dark, wooden accents on the railing and support beams. The building was old for sure, but hadn’t cracked to time, the foundation was still standing as strong as ever. The furniture had mostly been cleared out of the room you stood in, but down a darkened hallway, you could make out the shapes of a library filled with bookshelves and papers strewn across the floor in some sort of barricade.

The upstairs looked more put together from what you could see. A small bust statue intact at the top of the stairs and other historical paintings and documents sat faded on the walls. A low buzzing could be heard through the floorboards, most likely the generator Samule spoke about in the basement. Another staircase, this time more compact and discrete, sat hidden in the corner of the room, a little latched door covering the entrance.

“You don’t trust anybody,” you teased, finally meeting his gaze. “Surely me saying we’re not married isn’t gonna get us killed.”

He huffed at the realization you weren’t on his side–or that you at least wouldn’t be taking this as seriously as him.

“They don’t need to know a damn thing about us,” he warned, his voice even lower now–almost threatening. “If I can’t find us a way outta here in time, you don’t tell that woman a damn thing. You understand?”

His gaze kept shifting between you and the stairs, like he was waiting for Samuel to come back down and intrude. You knew he couldn’t help his distrust, the topic being a hot point of contention, but it still irked you. These people had shown you more kindness than most had given you in the years since the outbreak, and despite Joel’s attitude, still invited you to dinner.

“C’mon, they’re trusting us down here all alone and you can’t even give them your name?”

Still warily close, you noticed the way he stood on edge, like any misstep and the floor would crumble beneath him. In all the moments you two had been pressed against the wall–hordes of infected on your trail, the whizzing of bullets as Joel shot back at raiders–he always knew what to do, or at least acted like it. Now, it was evident he had no plan with how his eyes nervously shifted and each word you spoke made him bite the inside of his cheek raw.

As he wrapped the last of the bandages around your arm, he gave you one final waning stare, eyes sharp and intense. “We’re not doin’ this here. I don’t care about whatever little peace project you’re trying to pursue here, but we are not here to make friends.”

Instinctively, you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but his patience wore thin.

“We’ve already been over this. You’re stayin’ with me so you keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.” His words were so hushed, you had to lean in so close his breath fanned your face.

His paranoia had begun to seep through your skin, creating a deep pit of anticipation in your stomach. You began to grow uncomfortable under his stare–the alcohol dully buzzing on your skin, the way his fingers pressed onto your skin, and the darkened denim that awkwardly clung to your thighs in a moistened, clammy grip.

Almost as if on cue, just as Joel was pulling away, his words still lingering in the air, Samuel pushed open the doors at the top of the staircase. His footsteps were heavy, clicking against the wood in hurried–almost impatient–steps. The ever-present smile on his face told a different story though as he looked at you over the banister, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I hate to intrude,” he sang, southern drawl thick and crisp. “With everyone tryin’ to get to Chicago, people’re in too much of a rush to get outta here. So, we usually don’t get any guests.” Samuel’s eyes flicked to Joel. “Can’t help but be cautious. No offense.”

Joel nodded warily. The distance he had created was slight, but still enough to grab you in a moment's notice.

Since the stay in the old theatre, Joel had been more inclined to trust you to handle yourself. He seemed to fully trust you to protect yourself–and him if needed. The moment you stepped foot into this building though, the floor creaking and door groaning almost like some kind of call, Joel had been on edge. His distrust was a usual trait of his that annoyed you, but this proximity and paranoia was beginning to worry you.

Your shoulders stiffened as Samuel's gaze trailed back to you. Not wanting to abandon what little faith you still had in the world, you stood straight, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach. The feeling of something wrong was beginning to pile in your chest, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the two men exchanged words muffled by your anxiety.

Although he was talking to Joel, when you regained focus you could see that Samuel was still looking at you–or maybe through you. And Joel had definitely taken notice. He tried to ignore it, brushing it off by urging conversation, now more keen to the idea of getting Samuel out of here–even if it meant being alone with him.

Joel had creeped slightly up the stairs now, leaning onto the railing, knuckles turned white as he gripped the wood. “How come I ain’t ever hear anythin’ about this group before?”

His words confused you, dropping into the middle of a conversation you were meant to be paying attention to.

“I thought it was the Fireflies at first,” Samuel said, his long legs carrying him down the staircase. “But it seems like some other group that thinks they can save the world. Sounds like a lot of lies to me, but they had lots of people convinced. Whole group of ‘em came through here ‘bout a month ago talkin’ about some museum.”

Eyes thinning, Joel looked at the man skeptically. Although confused, you joined in on the skepticism, as many people as you had been around, you hadn’t ever heard of such a group.

“How come you haven’t joined them yet?”

Samuel shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle under his breath. “Like I said, I don’t believe in any of that stuff. All that genetic mutation and human trials they’re doin’ down there just ain’t human. It ain’t God’s way.”

The way those words left his lips, the sharpness of them, sent a chill down your spine. Throughout your stay, Samuel had been nothing but cheerful, that characterizing grin never leaving his face. Now, it was replaced with a deep scowl that spread across his entire face, his eyes melting into something darker.

Joel hesitated for a moment, the noticeable shift in the air catching him off guard. “Don’t sound like anything we’d be interested in either. Chicago wasn’t on our itinerary anyways.”

Almost as if nothing happened, that toothy grin returned to Samuel’s face. “Listen, I don’t know where y’all are headed,” his gaze was slightly more serious now, his voice having a deep, more affirmative tone to it. “But Liz and I belong to this group out west that I could really see you two havin’ a place in. I ain’t tryin’ to force nothin’ on y’all, but thought I’d make the offer before you left.”

Knowing Joel would protest, Samuel took a careful step forward, holding out a handful of clothes he had tucked beneath his arm. He took a glance over the pile in his hands, then one more analyzing look over your figure, and you instinctively shuffled your legs, trying to cover the stain.

“I was scared these wouldn’t fit,” he said, urging the clothes into your hands. “But lookin’ at you close up I think you’ll be just fine. Should fit like a glove.”

If you weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse–sweat clung to every inch of your body, standing with piss down to your ankles–you would have thought he was making some creepy attempt to hit on you. This unflattering situation though, just made his persisting kindness seem like pity and an unnecessary kindness you hadn’t been shown in a long time–not even from Joel.

So despite your intuition telling you something was off, you bathed in the short lived attention, graciously taking the fabric from Samuel’s hands. Unfolding it, you held a thin, cotton dress–something you hadn’t worn in years. You couldn’t remember the last time you had worn something other than pants or shorts, anything else seeming like a luxury of the past.

The dress was a darker green with a delicate floral pattern threaded into the neckline. It was a similar cut to the one Liz wore, modestly spanning to your ankles, and the sleeves puffing around the shoulders with an elastic hem. A thick band of an even darker green wrapped around the waist, slightly cinching it, but the most noticeable feature was how spotless the whole thing was–like someone had spent hours caring for it.

“This is way too nice,” you shook your head, pushing the dress back into his hands. “I can’t take this–I’ll just ruin it.”

A deep, hearty laugh erupted from Samuel’s lips, taking both you and Joel by surprise.

“Don’t even worry ‘bout it,” he chuckled, placing his hands on his thighs as he doubled over. “All that woman does is sew these dresses. She’s thrilled to finally have someone else wearin’ em.”

Nodding your head in appreciation, you clutched the dress to your chest. Each stitch looked professional, the entire piece beautiful, and you made a mental note to thank Liz later.

Turning back to Joel with a small smile, he gave you a slight nod of approval. For just a moment, his eyes flicked to the dress tightly held in your hands, followed by an even quicker glance to your frame, picturing how you would look in it.

Before you could catch him, the familiar creak of the door began to rumble through the floorboards once again. All three heads turned and a timid Liz peeked her head through the opening.

Looking at his wife, Samuel’s lips curled into an even tighter smile. “Perfect timing, dear. Why don't you get dinner started, hmm? You can show our new guest around?”

Joel’s eyes met yours with a knowing stare–you were out of time.

You both would have to face the inevitable and go your separate ways.

Taking a few cautious steps towards the door, you didn’t dare look back at Joel again. There was something off about him. How instead of exuding confidence and an unwavering boldness, he now leaked fear from every pore and his brow knit with worry. And it scared you.

Even when running from the infected, you felt the fearlessness coursing through Joel’s veins, and your confidence in him was strong enough to give you the will to look back over your shoulder. Now, you felt nothing but uneasiness behind you and knew looking back at him would break you–and any hope you had.

Most of the upstairs was shockingly dark, curtains drawn and doors shut to most of the rooms down the hallway. A large kitchen and dining room stood openly connected, taking up most of the space of the second floor. To the right, slightly branching off from the two, was a half bathroom, a small flickering lantern balanced on the lip of the sink.

Her voice, light and airy, barely drifted its way towards you. “You can use that bathroom to change. I left a washbucket in there if you’d like to use it.”

You gave her a thankful nod and started towards the bathroom. It was dimly lit and you stumbled on the cracked tiles beneath you. On the floor next to the sink, sat an old wooden bucket filled with water that steamed up into the air. A patched washcloth sat along the edge of it along with a pair of washed undergarments, also adoring a few sewn on patches.

Sitting on the edge of the toilet, the lid ripped from its hinges and lost somewhere, you balanced on the edge, careful to keep your belongings clean. You stripped off your clothing, the cool porcelain shooting goosebumps through your skin. Fingertips dipped into the hot water, longing to be able to sink your entire body within the bucket for a refreshing bath. Lathering a sliver of soap within the cloth, you brushed the suds across your limbs, massaging the bubbles deep into your skin.

Travelling with Joel meant sticking to the forests, rivers, parks–pretty much anywhere people weren’t likely to be roaming around. Supply trips were scarce and mainly for food, water, and medical supplies.

“We ain’t got room for luxuries.” He would groan each time you tried to bring along a cracked lipstick tube, dried out nail polish, or anything that would give you even the hint of femininity. And apparently soap fell into that category for him as well.

There was one time you had found a half-full bottle of 3-in-1 and although the sight of it sent shivers down your back, it was better than nothing. That glorious bottle only lasted a month however, before your weekly routine of river showers and hair lathering were cut short by Joel’s outrageous overuse of product.

You let out a breath of air through your nose. A smile tugged at your lips, a memory replaying, your hair sopping wet, not bothering to have dried off before storming over to toss the empty bottle at Joel’s head.

Drying off with the tattered towel hung on the back of the door, you slipped the dress over your head, reaching around to clasp the back. The mirror was faded and cracked along the edges, but the middle gave a clear image of yourself you hadn’t seen in a while. One not caked in blood, nails free of grime and dirt, and in a handmade dress nonetheless.

Patting down the fabric at your hips, you smiled warmly at your reflection. Seeing Liz’s unscathed image, her skin silky smooth, hair unknotted, and clothes ironed and unstained, made her seem like a spectacle–an art piece in the middle of this broken down town. Now, for just a moment, you felt like that as you looked back at yourself.

Shaking your head, you placed your focus elsewhere, the reality of your situation striking that sinking feeling back in your chest. Folding the rest of your clothes neatly on the counter, you wrung out the washcloth until it was almost dry. Although you knew no one was looking, you couldn’t help but cautiously look over your shoulder before slipping the last sliver of soap into the rag and into your sock, hidden in your boot.

It wasn’t the best hiding place, or the cleanest, but you knew Joel would appreciate it nonetheless. You could imagine the short nod of approval and softening of his face that would truly tell you he liked it–although his every word would say otherwise.

You could hear him now:

“Where’d you get this from?”

“You don’t need to be stealin’!”

“What’d I tell you about carryin’ things we don’t need?”

Each word that fell from his lips would be a front of denial for the bar of soap he would likely use all of in one singular shower. But you had gotten pretty good at reading Joel at this point and knew better than to pay attention to anything that left his mouth.

Finally ready to leave the bathroom, hoping you had stalled long enough for Joel to have returned, you took a cautious step out the door. Immediately, the smell of vegetables cooking and the lingering scent of garlic filled the air. Instinctively your legs, and your stomach, led you to the kitchen.

Standing on her toes, Liz was propped in front of the oven, stirring ingredients into a large pot. The lights were now on in the shared kitchen and dining space, the overhead lights filling the room with a warm glow, and the hood fan roared in the background.

It had been a while since you had seen actual, functioning electricity, let alone a working kitchen. You stood in the doorway in awe, watching as Liz danced from counter to counter, chopping up vegetables and measuring mason jars of broths as if this luxury was an everyday occurrence.

Turning to grab a knife from the block on the island, Liz noticed you watching. With a slight gasp, she acknowledged your presence, a soft smile pulling her lips into a childish grin.

She waved, urging you towards her as she held out what looked like a grape held between her fingers. “Come here! You have to try these, they’re amazing.”

Without the two men around, Liz had really seemed to come out of her shell, that meek and timid crease in her brow replaced with an uplifted joy.

Popping the green fruit between your lips, you couldn’t help but hum at the taste. The closest you had gotten to fresh fruit were canned peaches and the berries on bushes you passed–nothing compared to this.

Eyes wide, you peered around the kitchen, looking for more. “Where’d you get these? They’re so good.”

Liz giggled, a cute, giddy giggle that she covered with the edge of her cardigan sleeve. “We grow all sorts of things back at home. The freezer downstairs lets us keep all of it fresh so we can cook with it while we’re here.”

“Back home?” you raised a brow, placing all your weight on your elbows as you leaned back onto the island. “You two don’t live here?”

Before returning to the stove, Liz pushed a wooden bowl of grapes across the counter.

“We’re from a camp back in Utah,” she started, that warm gaze sapped from her eyes the moment the words left her lips. “There’s a whole group of us at the farm, ten married couples just like me and Samuel…”

There was a tense silence that filled the air, the only sound coming from the bubbling of the pot beneath her. You could tell there was more to what she had to say, the words stuck in a lump that bobbed in her throat, so you stayed quiet.

“Samuel got into a fight with our church leader,” a short spurt of a laugh left her lips, but nothing on her face looked like anything was funny. “So he sent us out here to gather…supplies for the farm.”

Brow furrowed, your rolled grapes between your fingers, trying to piece together her story.

“All the way out here? Aren’t we in Ohio?”

Liz solemnly nodded. “A few men from the group set up a few safehouses, like this one, across the country. Both so we can take longer supply trips, but also in case anything happens to the farm. We’ve got crops, animals, electricity, a lot of things people would come after us for…I’m glad we’re out here.”

You sighed at the thought of this farm Liz spoke about. Working electricity, food at your fingertips, and a stable roof over your head sounded like a dream. Samuel’s offer didn’t seem so daunting anymore. So why did Liz seem like she hated it?

“This place is pretty nice,” you bit your lip, trying not to pry. “I haven’t seen anything like this in years. A whole farm full of buildings like this is crazy…”

She shrugged. “It’s not all it's cracked up to be. This world…it changes people.”

For a moment she paused, looking you in the eyes, neither of you knew what to say. You both sat in the weight of her words, trying to rethink the situation despite your obvious envy.

“Has your husband,” Liz started up again, taking every moment of this alone time to give into her curiosity. “Always been that way?”

You laughed, immediately catching onto her lack of subtlety. “For as long as I’ve known him? Yes.” Taking a sharp breath in, you pondered how much you should share–Joel’s warning still lingering in your mind. “And he’s not my husband.”

If it was even possible, Liz’s face grew even more pale. She turned back to the stove in a frenzy, trying to cover up her pupils that had blown wide, her warm brown eyes now focused on the pot in front of her.

“But Samuel said…”

Confused by her reaction, you straightened yourself off the counter. Her shoulders stiff and rigid, only moved to chop vegetables, the clink of the knife against the counter more intense and forceful than before.

“Well Samuel was wrong. Joel didn’t say-” you froze once you realized you mentioned his name. The casual conversation with Liz had made you grow too comfortable, forgetting everything Joel had warned you about, but still you carried on. “He didn’t say anything, but we’re not together.”

“How do you know him then?” Her words were quick and sharp, like she was running out of time.

“We just sort of…met,” you shrugged, popping another grape in your mouth. “He’s looked after me ever since.”

Reluctantly, Liz tore her eyes from the stove, barely making eye contact with you as she spoke. “Does he treat you right? I mean– I’m sorry, it’s just that– your arm. A-and the way he spoke…”

Eyes wide, you shook your head, arms outstretched in front of you. “No, no, no! It’s nothing like that, we were just in a rush, that’s all. He can be a little harsh sometimes, but nothing more than words.”

“You don’t have to put up with that you know?”

Snorting, you let out a genuine laugh, only to look at Liz’s deadpan expression and saw she wasn’t joking.

Sure, from the few minutes they were in the same room, Joel hadn’t made the greatest impression. But to hint at the idea that was unkind–abusive–to you was just absurd. Almost a complete breach of boundaries.

“Jo-” you began, only to shake your head in frustration. “He isn’t like that. I don’t know what kind of idea you’ve got, but it’s the wrong one.”

A surprising surge of confidence exuded from the girl beside you, now staring into your eyes with an unforeseen intensity.

“I’ve seen cruel people in this world and he’s one of them,” her words were icy now, venomous, as she spat them in your face. “He has nothing but anger in his heart and it’s only a matter of time before that anger is towards you. I’ve seen it happen too many times. You need to leave before he kills you.”

Stunned, you stood shocked. Liz was beside you, gripping the handle of the pot, knuckles white as she shook with rage. Or maybe fear?

Placing your palms on the counter, you slightly grounded yourself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Liz, but I think it’s time you stop.”

Her words were sending an eerie chill down your spine, some unrecognizable force–maybe your intuition–telling you, for some reason, that she was right.

“I can see you care about him,” her words were more hushed now, but still that direct, cold tone. “But, that man isn't capable of loving anything. He may say he cares, but he only knows how to provide. So take your heart and run before he crushes it and kills you with it.”

That soft spoken voice from before, now shot holes through your chest with each word she uttered. Her voice was like a song, singing the lyrics to a hymn that destined your fate. Each word she spoke was certain, so sure. You had no choice, but to trust her somewhere deep down in your gut.

You’d never let her know that though. You had sworn your loyalty to Joel, a silent pact as you two parted on the stairs. An agreement made in that one, simple nod.

“I appreciate you for looking out for me, but he’s the only reason I’m alive right now,” you clenched your hands into tight fists at your side. Your mind went back to that fateful night, the thud of that granola bar against your chest, the exact moment you knew Joel was going to save you. “I’m sticking by him because I care for him as a friend and nothing more. We keep each other safe.”

Guilt panged your heart, like uttering those very words betrayed your entire being. You don’t know why saying those words made you feel the way it did, almost as if a veil had been lifted to expose your true feelings.

It wasn’t something you’d ever had much time or reason to think about. Most days were spent on the go, exhaustion and hunger ready on your mind, clouding any other thoughts throughout the day. Conversations with Joel had only really been apparent within the last month, some sort of unspoken guilt laced in each conversation since that night in the woods, so you didn’t think much of it.

Each “affectionate” act from Joel just seemed like some sort of redemption plan. A way to earn back your trust each time it frayed. And although you played along each time and gave in, you knew the motive behind his actions.

But that doesn’t mean it meant any less–the way he let his guard down, eyes slightly softened with anticipation of how you’ll react, and the self-assured grin each time you’d clap your hands in amusement.

Your relationship–if you could even call it that–with Joel was complicated, but not for a second abusive. If you had feelings for Joel or not would be a topic to ponder on another day, because even if you did, all of the words Liz said about him would still be lies.

Before you could bite back though, the beginnings of an argument brewing in your mind, Liz spoke up in that usually soft voice.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, backing down, that surge of confidence from before puddling at her feet. “I shouldn’t have assumed…he just reminds me of someone I knew.”

For a moment you felt bad for raising your voice, even if it was slight. The sight in front of you was pitiful, the woman completely retracted back into her shell just as you had met her–shoulders up to her ears, head ducked down, anything to make herself appear smaller.

“It’s okay,” you assured, lowering your tone. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. He’s just…done a lot for me.”

Liz softly smiled. “I’m sure he has. He looks very capable–a lot of drive. Especially to get out of here.” She let out a laugh, eyes flickering to yours for reassurance.

You returned her laugh, honestly surprised Joel hadn’t come up here and dragged you out of here already.

“Yeah…he isn’t too good with strangers.”

Bits of small talk echoed through the kitchen, conversation flowing steadily between the two of you. You helped with the rest of the prep, preparing the rest of the dish while you waited for the men to bring the meat from the freezer. They had made the trek out back to connect the generator to the kitchen and start it up, but you hadn’t expected it to take this long.

While you rinsed and peeled potatoes, you tried to distract yourself with a silent competition of fastest potato peeling. On the fifth swipe of your finger, the tip nearly getting plowed off that time, you decided maybe that wasn’t the best distraction and settled with sitting in your thoughts.

They were heavy, unpleasant. The plopping of potato peels in the sink was now the only relief from your anxiety as Liz left the room to grab seasonings from the pantry.

Being alone left you with this dark, unsettling feeling that something was deeply wrong. Samuel and Joel had been gone for way too long now, the freezer only one floor below, and with dinner already being prepped you wondered what the hold up was. This was unusual for sure, and you felt that with Joel’s earlier urgency, he would be desperate to get back in your sights.

All of your worries were cast aside however, when your ear perked to the familiar rasp of Joel’s voice. The deep gravelly drawl stood out against Samuel’s cheery accent–the both of them laughing? The chatter grew closer, the door at the top of the staircase letting out that familiar creak, giving you a better listen to their conversation.

At first it sounded like just Samuel laughing, but underneath his over-the-top cackle, you could hear the bits of something familiar. You had only heard it a handful of times through your stay with him, but clear as day, you could hear that low, drawn out honeyed laugh of his–and it sounded genuine.

Something–anger, jealousy, sadness–struck you in the chest, freezing your every move as you eavesdropped on the conversation. Even your breath stayed stuck in your lungs, afraid that even the sound of breathing would distract you from this moment.

“Sounds like an unforgettable trip.” It was Samuel. “Wish I did somethin’ like that before everythin’ got turned around.”

“Tommy’d kill me if he knew I ever told anyone ‘bout that,” the last bits of laughter tugged at the edge of his words, waiting to burst again. “But that story was just too perfect, I’ll die laughin’.”

Waltzing into the kitchen, Samuel was the first to enter, a large box balanced in both of his hands. Behind him, Joel was smiling, the remnants of a laugh still on his lips. As soon as he saw you though, he stiffened, and his usual stoic expression returned.

He placed the box on the counter with a thud. You peeked over the edge to see pieces of chicken freshly sliced and defrosted.

So that’s what took them so long.

Nodding, you turned back to the stove, hoping to let the men carry on whatever friendly conversation they were having before. For someone who was so uptight and distrusting, Joel walked in the room the most laid back you had ever seen him–almost casual looking.

He must have seen the soured look on your face though, because the moment he had noticed you, he was silent, only Samuel carrying the conversation now.

“Smells great in here,” Samuel complimented. “Where’d Liz go?”

“Pantry,” you said simply, wanting Joel to hear your shift in tone–although you knew he would probably just roll his eyes.

He hummed in response and you could hear him sifting through the box behind you, most likely sorting things for Liz.

“What’d I tell ya,” his voice was laced with pride, taking a deep inhale through his nose. “My Liz is the best cook, Joel-”

Your head whipped over your shoulder, dropping both the peeler and potato into the sink. Samuel was oblivious, but Joel had already knowingly met your gaze–his eyes wide and guilty.

His words from earlier replayed in your mind.

“You keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.”

Within the few minutes you were alone, he had made it a point to jam that point into your head until his paranoia seeped fully into your skin. All his worry must have fully bled into you, because he was now sharing names and stories with the man he was so distrustful of moments before.

Your lips thinned, a scowl painted deep on your face. Joel’s eyes were filled with regret and guilt, his face drooping with the heaviness of his heart. It took everything in him not to interrupt Samuel right there and make some pathetic attempt to redeem himself, somehow explain how things got here.

But you didn’t give him the chance.

Turning back to the sink, you peeled potatoes angrier than ever, replaying your conversation with Liz. Maybe her judge of character wasn’t as bad as you thought?

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write (message me to be added or removed)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #tlou fic

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lunajay33 · 1 year ago

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Missing🖤

Summary: You and Daryl got separated at the started and now you’ve just been wandering hoping to find a secure place will you find Daryl again?

Pairing: Season 2 Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

You and Daryl have known eachother since you were kids, growing up right next to eachother, along the way feelings grew and you got together right before graduation, you became a teacher and he worked at a mechanic shop, life was nice and simple together, you were even thinking about having a family but then things change, the world ended when you were teaching and you haven’t seen Daryl since, you search everywhere for him until eventually you had to leave down because of the walkers and venture out on your own, hoping you meet him again

Along the way you came across a barn, you scavenged for food finding some cans and as you looked out the window a horse was grazing the field, you packed up the rest of the food and ventured out finding a saddle approaching the horse steadily trying not to spook it away, thankfully it was friendly and approached you with ease letting, you strapped the saddle around her and hopped up, leading the horse as it trotted north

You’d be alone on your own for about 5 weeks now and it’s been lonely, you just wanted to see Daryl again just needed for him to hold you, you were on the horse walking through trees when a clearing opened up showing a farm house with people walking around, you were a bit wary since you’ve run into some shady people along the way but for some reason you were drawn to this farm, you lead the horse, you named Pixie, slowly as to not scare the people

As you and Pixie walked up the dirt road people started to gather, you hopped off Pixie holding her rope and waiting for the others to do or say anything and not just ogle you

“Who are you?” A man in a police outfit asked

“I’m y/n, I’ve been alone since the start, until I found pixie here” you said as you pet her shiny black hair

“Where’d you come from, who’d you find this place?” Another man asked he seemed a little crazy

“I’m from outside of Atlanta, I’ve just been wandering until I found something, I lost someone at the start and I’ve just been looking for him”

“Sorry to break it to you, he’s probably dead”

“Shane!” The officer glared at the man

“I still have hope, but do you guys have room for one more, I know how to hunt and I can help out”

“Of course, we could use another hunter, got one out hunting right now”

“Thank you”

The officer who introduced himself as Rick, showed you around introduced you to everyone even the owner of the farm, the sun was setting by the time all that was done

“We don’t have anymore tents we’ll have to go out tomorrow and get you one”

“Oh that’s no problem I can sleep out with Pixie” it was the normal for you now

“You sure?”

“Yeah it’s no problem…….shouldn’t your hunter be back by now?”

“Yeah oh there he is now” he said looking over you shoulder at the dirt road

A man with a crossbow and plaid shirt with ripped sleeves, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, you sprinted off towards him your heart racing, tears streaming down your face

“DARYL” you screamed as he looked up dropping his crossbow just in time to open his arms and wrap himself around you as you threw yourself into his arms

“Is it really you peach?” He asked in such disbelief it broke your heart

“It’s me, I can’t believe I found you I thought I’d never see you again, I looked everywhere for you I waited at our house hoping you’d come back but……I had to leave I had to find you” you said quickly your eyes not believing you found him having to tell him everything you’ve been thinking these 5 weeks without him

5 weeks may not seem like a lot but in the apocalypse there was no guarantee about anything so everything was precious

You held his biceps as he traced his fingers over ever features on your face completely forgetting others were around you both

“So I’m guessing you two know eachother?” Glenn asked

“She’s my girl” Daryl stated not taking his eyes off of you

“Thee Daryl Dixon got a girl?” Andrea laughed, you turned and glared at her

“You bet your ass I’m his”

“And ya ain’t ever leaving my side again”

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julietsbody · 1 year ago

Text

ultraviolence

words : 2,261

tags : gun kink , fucked with a gun , predator / prey , reader has a prey kink , peacekeeper ! snow , light sadism , size difference , size kink , obsessive behavior , power play , creampies , orgasm delay / denial

a/n : idk what came over me whilst writing this im gonna be so honest…. semi inspired by Cherienymphe‘s “everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer” fic!!! its so good

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!!! ( divider by pommecita )

snow barely had any empathy for people, let alone any districts. he was a man who fell into poverty himself, but he got out of it, he was a capitol and he’s friends with those that come from the highest statuses. normally people felt pity for those in the districts, they scavenged for food, or proper clothing. not snow, he thought it was a game to watch them snatch up fresh bread and run like their lives depend on it. because it does, they survive, they live another day and satisfy their hungers, if they get caught, they’ll be dead in seconds— especially if coriolanus catches them.

he liked the power he had, the fact that he could do almost anything he desired and get away with it because the districts had been committing a crime anyway, he just stopped them from doing it any more. he liked that they would cower underneath him, beg for their lives, he liked that he had the power to give them a simple warning, to let them off the hook, but he never did.

not until now.

he found himself chasing yet another bunny, heavy boots padding behind your thin, poorly made shoes.

something about the adrenaline rushing through your veins had a heat developing in between your legs, like it was a primal reaction, an animalistic urge. he nearly noticed in the way your steps staggered, but that could be lack of spacial awareness, which he noted that you had. you were so busy running in straight lines you didn’t even bother to juke him or to hide.

easy prey, aren’t you?

he thought that at first, until your steps suddenly changed, turning to the right.

and you had disappeared between the greens and tall trees, his wild eyes raced around the all too silent forest. he tuts, a low taunt, “where are you, bunny?”

his voice came out sing - songy, having your breathing shake from the tree you hid behind, your thighs pressed together.

how was a hunt so intimate, so sexual?

“why are you hiding from me, bunny?” his voice is softer, as if he’s pouting.

you hear his boots snap twigs with ease, crush leaves into fragile pieces, dip through mud. he was getting closer, like a wolf stalking it’s prey, like he knew where you hid. you tried to hold your breath, to keep yourself hidden, but it was no use. he rounded the corner, and you ran into a sprint again, nearly dropping the bread you had taken.

if you hadn’t dropped it then, you were sure to now.

his arms took you into a threatening hold, at first pushing you into a tree, then slamming you against the floor when you wriggled at his grasp. his panting breath, your fearful whines, the begging that sat on your tongue silently, it was as if sex had been happening even with your clothes on. your tears well with tears at being slammed on the hard ground, and he feels the fabric of his pants tighten at the sight.

“please,” here comes the begging, music to his ears, “it’s my first time stealing, i’ve never done this before—“

“is that so?” his head cocks to the side, holding down your wriggling hands, “i’m sure i’ve seen you before, doll.”

“you must be mistaken,” your puffy lips part, breath heaving as you try to pull away from him.

it doesn’t work, he just simply holds you down, he easily could with one hand if he wanted to, “are you calling me a liar?”

it was embarrassing, truly, being so turned on by the way his voice deepened with firmness, by the way he held you down with such ease, “of course not, i would never—“

“you just did, though,” his tone is biting, typically he doesn’t let conversations last this long, but something about you was different. his eyes catch on to the way your thighs are rubbing together, not in a way to try to free yourself from him, but where you crave friction. “my, my, what do we have here?”

his hand taps against your thigh, pulling up the hem of your dress, his eyes land on yours, waiting for confirmation.

you immediately nod, it’s so quick, impatient, he adores it.

his long fingers lace around both of your wrists whilst the other pries your thighs apart, noticing the way fluids soil your panties.

“how cute,” he observes out loud, allowing his hunger to show in the way he nearly rips your panties apart whilst harshly tugging the, down, watching how your legs immediately fall apart into a spread, panties hanging off your ankle for dear life. you were so desperate, you were willing to do this in the woods, present yourself to a peacekeeper just because you had gotten horny merely off a chase.

his hand smoothes against your right inner thigh, feeling goosebumps form in prickles, and the way you shiver underneath each touch. his hand is large against your cunt, a single finger moving through it to feel the wetness, your hips immediately buck, desperate for more.

his chuckle is soon silenced by his hand raising to his mouth, just so he can taste your slick.

removing it with a pop, a curt smile tugs at his lips, sweet, like honey.

his hand smoothes down your inner thigh again, and you realize he’s teasing you, “officer—“

his thumb is threateningly close to your cunt, “hm?”

“touch me,” you breathe out, “please.”

how funny is it that the last time you said please to him you were begging for your life?

“like this?” his eyebrow quirks, pad of his thumb moving to swipe against your clit, your back arches ever so slightly.

the whine that emits from you is far too loud for his liking, so he hushes you with gentle shhs, thumb rubbing slow circles on the bundle of nerves.

“you don’t want people to hear us, hm?” he hums, “to find out you’re letting a peacekeeper touch you in such ways, truly scandalous.”

he can imagine it being front page of the district newspaper, girl caught fucking peacekeeper in woods!

your fingers twitch in his grasp, finding his movements far too slow, and he finds your movements and whines far too annoying.

he moves to plunge a finger into your cunt, making your whines hush to whimpers, unintelligible words.

“real impatient, aren’t you?” his finger moves slow at first, watching the way your hips move against it in response, “maybe i should just put you in your place.”

he removes his finger, watching the way you desperately clench around nothing. his hand moves to grab his machine gun, which he had ditched as soon as he threw you to the floor, he finally releases your wrists, you have a chance to run if you wanted to, but you didn’t— because you didn’t want to run, because the fear that filled you when he aimed his gun at you had even more of your fluids escaping the oyster between your legs.

he moves to cock it, taking it off the safety.

“fully loaded,” he reminds you, but also seems to be reminding himself.

he seems to believe you don’t believe him in the way you look up at him through glossy eyes, and he moves to aim his gun at a nearby tree, one to your right, directly behind you. and he shot, birds cawed as they flew away from the loud shots, he noticed how you flinched, immediately moving to the safety of his grasp, and he only smiled, how adorable that you find safety in the man who had enough power to kill you in seconds.

he hushes your fears, not reassuring anything about your safety as he moves the gun tip your legs back apart, one of his hands leaving it as he wraps it around your wrists once more, holding you back down in a missionary position. the hand on his gun was less steady now, finger tight against the trigger, it had you biting your lip. he traces along your inner thigh with the tip of the gun, “you’re gonna be a good girl, right?”

he watches you immediately nod, so eager, “yes, yes, officer.”

his gun passes a trail down to your cunt, pressing against your clit, he could shoot right now, the finger on the trigger was so tight, so unsupported. he could slip once and shoot directly into you, something about that thrilled you more, made your hips buck against the gun, practically riding the weapon. he admires your desperation, the way your face twists with pleasure as you move against the cool material that built the gun.

he eventually pulls the tip of the gun down, until it’s at your entrance.

he watches your eyes widen as the metal dips inside of you, spreading you open with ease.

your hands flail in his tight hold, “it hurts— officer, wait—“

“hm?” he pauses for a mere second, “sweet bunny, you can take it.”

the pain soon subdues to pleasure as he begins moving the gun again, pumping it in and out of you and coating the black of the weapon with your milky slick. whimpers of pain soon become moans of pleasure, the tears that had built a gloss over your eyes dipping down your cheeks as your eyes close, hips bucking against the weapon.

“easy, bunny, easy,” his voice is strained, like seeing you cry awakens something within him, when your hips stop moving against his gun he continues to pump it, faster this time, “good girl, gonna cum all over my gun?”

you nod, more tears escaping as the thrill of your possible death and the pleasure from the weapon that may cause it becomes all too much. a deep groan vibrates from his chest at the sight of you crying, lips parting to continue, “that’s it, good, good.”

it’s as if you crying is enough to have him reaching his climax already, as if seeing you cry felt like jerking off.

the gun widens the more it goes into you, stretching you until you’ll be nothing but a gaping mess from his gun when he’s done.

so filthy, to be easily stretched out by something that has killed many, how terribly cruel of you, to be cumming on it.

and the man who had done it is merely watching, admiring you like this was an art gallery, and you were the center piece. he notices the way you near your orgasm, as your hips can’t help but grind down on the gun, moans escaping past your nearly bitten to bleeding lips. and you start calling out to him, “officer, officer, please— can i cum— please.”

a mere plead, and if snow was a good man, he would say yes, but he wasn’t one.

“no, bunny, you ran from me,” his finger slides against the trigger, staring at you with a new tint glossing over his eyes, “do you think you deserve to cum?”

“yes, i need to, i want—“ your breath quickens, mindlessly grinding down onto the gun.

“no,” he pulls the gun out, depraving you of every wish. he notices the way you whimper, thighs pressing together and rubbing in desire to form friction. there was none, and soon he was tossing his gun to the side, tugging his pants and boxers down ever so slightly to free his cock, then prying your legs apart once more.

he carefully moves himself between your legs, his hand around your wrists finally freeing them, admiring the red ring he left from how tight his grip was. the same hand moved to fall against your throat, fingertips dipping in to your delicate skin as he guides his dick to your entrance, carefully pushing into you. he feels you tense underneath him at the feeling of him filling you once more, the length and girth enough to reach your intestines, you were sure of it.

once he bottoms out, he notices the way a bulge appears at your pelvis, popping up against the skin then falling to a settle with each thrust. his other hand moves to your mouth, his fingers spreading your pillow lips apart, your salty taste pressing against your own tongue.

“taste yourself, bunny, so sweet, hm?” he grunts with each thrust, practically manhandling you with each snap of his hips, fingers dipping down your throat. he watches your eyes roll back, mumbling pleas for the satisfaction of your orgasm to finally come, your bodily fluids sticking to his pelvis and his dick, your walls pulsed around him, drooling onto his cock.

he nears his climax almost immediately, nose scrunching slightly, “cum, cum for me, sweet bunny.”

“officer—“ your back arches off the earthy ground as you finally reach your climax, moans vibrating against his flesh and he continues to thrust, riding out your orgasm, overstimulating you until he’s practically fucking you dumb. eventually, he bottoms out, pumping you nearly full of his cum. he moves his hand from your mouth, sticky from your saliva, and takes your panties off your ankle, pulling out and plugging your hole with your own panties. just so you don’t lose any of his cum.

“there, now you can walk around with my cum inside of you, how sweet.” he takes his hands off of you, moving to tuck his softening dick away and standing.

he offers your limp body a wink, swiping up his gun, and following up with a, “don’t let me catch you again, doll.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x y/n #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth

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angelofthenight01 · 4 months ago

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The witch's guardian

Wanda Maximoff x Reader (AU)

genre: horror, fluff || warnings: lycanthropy, witch hunting, violence

The biting wind whips through the skeletal branches of the ancient forest, mirroring the turmoil within you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a painful reminder of the curse that claws at your soul. The moon, a malevolent eye peering through the swirling clouds, fuels the beast within. Tonight, the change is coming. You can feel it, a burning tide rising in your veins, contorting your bones, reshaping you into something monstrous.

You stumble through the undergrowth, thorns ripping at your worn leather tunic, the scent of damp earth heavy in your nostrils. You abandoned the village days ago, fleeing the terrified whispers and the glint of fear in the eyes of those who had once called you neighbor. They knew, or suspected, a truth you had tried so hard to conceal. The truth of the moon’s hold on you, the monstrous transformation that consumed you under its gaze.

You sought refuge in this dark wood, hoping to outrun the terror, or at least contain it on your own. You find a small clearing, a meager sanctuary, and collapse against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. The transformation begins, a horrifying symphony of crackling joints and tearing flesh. You writhe and howl, the sound lost in the symphony of the wind. Claws sprout from your fingers, your teeth lengthen into fangs. Fur bursts through your skin, a coat of thick, dark fur, a shield of shame and revulsion. Finally, you’re no longer a person, no longer human. You are a beast. A werewolf.

You pace, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, your senses heightened tenfold. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, is amplified into a symphony of fear. The forest, once a haven, now feels like a cage. You are both predator and prey.

Days blur into nights. You scavenge for food, the taste of blood and raw flesh filling your mouth, a stark reminder of the monstrous life you’re forced to lead. You learn to navigate the forest in your beast form, becoming a part of its shadows, a creature of the night. The human you once were feels like a distant memory.

One evening, under a sky bruised with twilight, you catch a scent unlike any you've encountered before. A scent as intoxicating as wildflowers, a lingering note of smoke, and something…else. Something ancient and powerful. It draws you in, pulling you past the usual boundaries of your forest territory, toward an isolated glade bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight.

There, beneath a canopy of ancient trees, stands her.

Wanda.

Even in the dwindling light, her beauty is undeniable. Hair as dark as raven's wings frames a face of sharp angles and mesmerizing emerald eyes. She stands with an air of quiet power, a collection of herbs and strange stones arranged around her in a circle. She is a witch, that much is clear from the aura that radiates from her, and even in your feral state, you know it.

She doesn't flinch at your appearance, doesn't recoil or scream as other humans have. Instead, her gaze meets yours, holding a curious mixture of assessment and understanding. It’s both unnerving and captivating. You find yourself stopping, the instincts that drive you as a wolf warring with an unexpected desire for her approval, or rather, her understanding.

Slowly, you approach, your steps wary but driven. You lower your head slightly, a gesture of submission that feels both instinctive and strange. Wanda watches, her expression unreadable until she offers a slight tilt of her head, a gentle acknowledgment of your approach.

“You're hurting,” she says, her voice low and melodic, a soothing balm to the beastly rage that still rumbles in your chest. “And confused.”

You whimper softly, a sound that holds the pain of your existence.

She moves, but instead of fear, she reaches out, extending a hand towards you, her fingers long and elegant. Hesitantly, you lower your snout until it’s close to her palm. She slowly, and with intention, places her hand on your snout. The touch is brief, a featherlight caress, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through your snarled muscles, a calming wave that soothes the edges of the beast within.

"I can help you," she murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. "But it won’t be easy.”

You look at her, and she at you, and from that moment onwards, you know that your life will change.

Over the next few weeks, you find yourself drawn to her glade each night. It’s the only place where the beast feels manageable, where the pain of your condition feels less like a curse and more like a weight you might learn to carry. Wanda helps you understand the nature of your lycanthropy, teaches you to recognize the triggers, and the slow ways of controlling it. She guides your beastly nature to an equilibrium. She uses herbs and her magic to soothe your mind, eases the transformations.

You, in turn, become her protector. Your wolf form is a fierce guardian, a shadow that lurks in the forest, watching her, keeping her safe. During those long nights, you learn of her history, of her isolation, and her unwavering commitment to the forest and its secrets.

You learn to anticipate the hunt, the growing murmur of human voices and clashing steel that means they've come for her. When the scent of men, their fear and greed, floods the forest, you become a dark whirlwind of fur and teeth. You emerge into the glade, a terrifying figure, and stand between the intruders and Wanda. They've come for the witch who lives in the forest, because they fear that which they don't understand.

Their torches flicker, casting grotesque shadows on their faces. They’re armed with pitchforks, axes, and hunting knives, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and bloodlust. They’ve come to destroy her, and you will tear them apart first.

A roar rips from your throat, a challenge to their presence. You stalk forward, your fangs bared, your eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They hesitate, their bravado faltering in the face of the true predator you have become.

One man, larger than the rest, steps forward, brandishing a rusty axe. “Monster!” he shouts, his voice trembling. “We’ve come for the witch!”

You charge, a blur of speed and rage. You lunge past the axe, your teeth sinking into his fleshy arm. He screams, dropping the weapon, and stumbling back with a terrified yell which echoes through the forest.

The others attack, but you are too fast, too strong. You tear through their ranks, your claws ripping at their clothing, your teeth sinking deep into flesh. You feel a primal exhilaration, a savage joy in the violence you inflict, and you fight with a ferocity born of protective rage. You feel as if you could tear down trees and mountains, you could destroy worlds just to protect her.

You let out a terrifying roar, one that comes deep from your lungs, a primal beast sound that sends them scattering back into the shadows. Your teeth grind against one another, itching for some flesh. Some bones to crush.

They flee, abandoning their weapons, their fear palpable on the wind. You stand panting, your fur matted with blood, the scent of human fear heavy in the air. You turn back to Wanda, and she stares at you with a strange mix of pride, trepidation, and something that could only be called love. Her eyes, though wide, are full of care and adoration.

The night is cold, silent, after the cacophony of the battle, yet in the calmness you see yourself for the first time, see the power, the strength, the protector. You have given into the beast, but you’ve done it for her. You have torn them to shreds for her, defended her with your life, and she recognizes it all.

“You protected me.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, lowering your head, and transform back to a human again. The shift takes its toll on your body, but you're used to it, and you know she'll fix your wounds. You stand before her, naked, drenched in blood, your body scarred and twisted from the transformations, but she takes your hands anyway.

“I know,” she says. “And I am eternally grateful.” She pulls you in, her touch light, yet you feel as if you're being embraced by the sun. "Let’s clean you up. I have some herbs that will soothe the wounds of the body and the soul.”

You allow yourself to be led into the hut, the only place where the beast in you feels at peace, where the human you once were can breathe again. You know that future battles await, that the men will return, and there will always be those who fear the power of Wanda, whom they call a witch. But you will be there. You, the protector, the beast she now understands. Together, you will face the darkness, you, the monstrous protector, and she, the powerful magician, united by a forbidden forest and a love forged in the shadows.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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baby-you-you · 1 month ago

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Things for a winter regressor !!

❄️ Activities

Curling up with a warm drink under soft blankets Watching winter cartoons or snow scenes Listening to wind and snowstorm soundscapes Coloring snowflakes or winter animals Decorating a mini tree Blanket fort Igloo Pretend snowball fights with plushies or white socks Playing with faux snow or snow slime

❄️ Clothes

Fuzzy onesies Flannel PJs with snowflakes or arctic animals Cozy knitted sweaters or cardigans Scarves and mittens Beanies with pom-poms or ear hats Thermal socks or fuzzy slippers Snow boots or soft booties Capes or cloaks made of blanket material (or just a blanket fashioned into a cloak) Pajamas with holiday or snowy themes

❄️ Toys

Stuffed arctic animals Plush snowballs for safe indoor snowball fights Frozen-themed toys Faux snow sensory toys or kinetic snow “Build-a-snowman” felt sets Light-up or musical snow globes Weighted plushies to feel like a snuggly snow hug

❄️ Games

Hide and seek with snow animal toys Catch the snowflake (paper or digital) Snowflake matching or sorting games Ice skating dance party (socks on smooth floor!) Snowflake scavenger hunt Pretend snow patrol (rescue plushies in “blizzards” of blankets)

❄️ Foods/Drinks

Hot cocoa with marshmallows (or warm milk alternatives) Peppermint or vanilla milkshakes Sugar cookies shaped like stars or snowflakes Warm cinnamon applesauce Ice cream in tiny cups (for cold-themed fun!) Pudding “snow” cups (white chocolate, coconut, etc.) Frozen yogurt dots or “icicles” (pretend or real) Blue raspberry juice

❄️ Nicknames

Snowflake Snow sparkle Flurry Frosty Lil'snowflake Cozy bean Snugglebug Pufflet snowy lil fella

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phightingheadcanons · 2 months ago

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since it was fucking burning hot for 3 days straight, heres a little hc list of what phighters would do in extreme heat.

Sword: turn on the air conditioner to the max. I also hc that he has a pool outside the house so he would swim there as well

Skateboard: goes to the beach with Boombox and Coil. if he can't come then he go out to his backyard and spray water on himself to keep himself cool

Katana: Walks around the house half naked

Biograft: Subspace keeps them in a cool place to not get overheated

Ban Hammer: swims in the pool outside as well.

Rocket: watches TV the entire day

Shuriken: sits underneath the shade of the trees of the garden outside the Den trio's house. (I hc that they have a garden outside)

Slingshot: drinks a lot of water to cool himself down. draws as well.

Hyperlaser: spends time with his cat Princess

Scythe: really used to heat. probably goes hiking with Broker or something. checks up on Medkit

Medkit: not used to heat but he stays home and drinks a lot of water. Scythe and Broker check up on him sometime during the day.

Subspace: hides all of the biografts in cool places so they won't overheat

Boombox: goes to the beach with Skate or Coil. if he can't come then he lies in his bed the entire day and eats a lot of cold foods to cool himself down. listens to a lot of chill music as well.

Vine Staff: stays in her treehouse the whole time doing little bracelets and other jewelries

Coil: goes to beach with Skate and Boombox. if he can't go then he will lie down on the couch and doomscroll on tiktok

-🧑🚽 skibidi anon (今日、学校に携帯電話をこっそり持ってきました。ノートパソコンのケースの中に入っています。) (ykw every single time I will throw a hc here I would add a little message in another language and make you guys translate it. its funny)

I love going on little secret scavenger hunts

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thedragonboi · 1 year ago

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Pseudo-predators

Probably not a real thing but humans are kinda like pseudo-predators. We adapted all these predatory traits before we ever behaviourally became predators.

Examples being:

Forward facing eyes

Starp canines

Pack structures

Probably more that I can’t remember.

Forward facing eyes developed because of us being arboreal. Or…at least from when we used to be arboreal, since it made swinging from branches and jumping between trees much easier since you could tell the distance of the leap and make the decision if the risk of falling would be worth it.

Sharp canines are a shared trait among primates, especially considering toothy bois like gorillas and mandrills have famously large chompers despite being rather strict vegetarians.

Finally pack structures. I guess group structures in general. Group structures aren’t explicitly a predatory trait, but considering our weaker position in the food chain early on, group structures 100% added to our ability to survive.

All together, these traits made it much easier to transition into scavenging and hunting behaviours as opposed to trying to specialise for some kind of plant diet.

#humans are space orcs #primates #pseudo-predators #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are strange

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amerricanartwork · 1 year ago

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RW Headcanon: Know the Difference! | An Overview of Quetzalli's Slugcats

Here’s a headcanon I’ve wanted to elaborate on for a while, and today I finally felt compelled to make it real! Also, just a disclaimer I am not a huge biology nerd nor have I studied it that heavily, so I apologize if something here doesn’t make sense or if I get something wrong. I just like fantasy worldbuilding from time to time, and I always like trying to make sense of things I’m interested in!

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Basically, I’m in the crowd that interprets slugcats as mustelids rather than literal slugs. When I say this, however I don’t mean that slugcats would necessarily be classified in the actual mustelidae family, seeing as Rain World’s world is most-likely not Earth and therefore our taxonomic classifications and phylogenetic relations can’t necessarily apply. Thus, when I call them “mustelids”, I really just mean that I imagine them as some kind of weasel with all the necessary physical traits to earn that general label.

The first half of the name “slugcat”, in my headcanon, is thus not referring to any literal connection to slugs or other mollusks, but is instead derived simply from their appearance. Due to their long ears and thick tail, and because their fur and fat often squishes together in such a way that it makes their features blend together and their bodies appear more smooth (it’s the same physics as that whole “cats are liquid” idea), the general silhouette of a slugcat can easily be likened to that of a literal slug. The second half of their name is also not literal, and instead refers to their jumping and acrobatic abilities and their skill in hunting and pouncing on small prey, which is very similar to that of small cats.

Species Overview

Now to give a little more detail on slugcats themselves as a species! I headcanon them as small to medium-sized mammals most similar to Earth weasels in both their biology and their ecological niche, who originally served as cute low-maintenance pets for the Ancients and as hunters of small pests in facilities on the ground. They’re clever by nature and good at fitting through tight spaces, and later on they evolved greater jumping abilities to pounce on prey. They’re also very social creatures, who’ve taken to forming medium to large colonies primarily in and around the massive trees that thrive between the cracks in iterators’ rainstorm areas (like the one Gourmand, Survivor, and Monk’s colony lives in). Due to this social nature they also generally travel in groups of at least two, both for company and protection against tougher animals. Travel partners are usually siblings or good friends, and sometimes even whole families will journey out together to find food and other resources for the rest of the colony.

Despite being a small prey animal, slugcats have managed to get by not only due to their intelligence — the evolution of which would be seen as a rather unexpected twist of events if you asked their creators, for the Ancients found them cute but rather simple — but because of their impressive adaptability. It’s similar to that of real life red foxes and pigeons, and it allows them to survive decently well even in less ideal environments; a trait especially necessary for a world as industrialized as this one, even if its people are gone and most of the machinery is inactive. As such not all colonies live in trees; some find homes in the abandoned facilities, large underground hollows, and a few bold colonies have even claimed territories high up in iterator cities alongside scavengers. Slugcats are opportunists and masters at making the best of their surroundings, yet even beyond that they carry a certain other, “special” ability of their own that makes them as diverse as they are clever. But that’s a headcanon for another day…

Reasoning

Now for some out-of-universe explanation for this classification choice. I’ve always seen slugcats as some kind of small scurrying mammal (kind of a bias on my part, I just like mammals honestly, and they’re most familiar to me), mainly due to the way they look and move when on all fours, and their place in the game’s food chain. Originally though I saw them as rodents and compared them to mice and rats, which I still sometimes use for anatomy reference for these creatures. But one day a friend of mine saw me drawing slugcats and thought they were weird ferrets, and the more I thought about it and the more I developed personal speculative biology headcanons for slugcats, the more that label seemed the most fitting for them. It was also solidified when I did a bit more research and realized the main characteristic of rodents is their buck teeth, which just didn’t seem to fit with how I perceived slugcats. Not to mention rodents aren’t really predator animals, and slugcats’ implied natural diet and the gameplay itself does strongly imply if not confirm they have some instinctive hunting ability.

Thus, it seemed “weasel” was the best classification for these creatures, and I quite like it so far! Once again it satisfies my mammal preference, but I also just think it’s a fun idea that neither part of the “slugcat” name is literal, similar to a lot of real-life creatures named after completely different animals, including fellow weasel, the polecat. Plus, I realized recently it’s kind of ironic with how I perceive the messenger slugcats, Hunter and Spearmaster, as being like hunting or guard dogs for their creators, when weasels are exactly the kind of animal humans with their dogs would normally hunt for! It’s cute, it’s familiar, it’s fun, yet I think it still has just as much potential for some interesting speculative biology ideas as the literal slug slugcat interpretations!

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I'm so glad to finally get this out! I like seeing specbio slugcat headcanons in the RW fandom, yet I haven't seen many more in-depth takes from artists who don't take the "slugcats are literal slugs/mollusks/primarily mollusk-based" angle. Not that that's a bad headcanon of course; do what you think feels right! But once again I personally prefer slugcats being mammals, and I always look for fan-content that's as close to my personal preferences as possible. And when I can't find enough of it, I make it myself!

So hopefully this serves as a bit more of that kind of representation for the mustelid slugcat interpretation. It at least helped me develop my own idea of the species a bit more; much of that stuff in the overview part was ideas I came up with while typing this whole headcanon out!

As always, I hope you enjoy this headcanon of mine! I've still got so many ideas to develop and share, and even more coming as I continue to ponder these characters and their stories, so as long as you guys still like these Rain World headcanons of mine, they'll keep coming!

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thechillsquid · 7 months ago

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Giant Arthropods

Silverfish, Endermite, Bees, and more!

Shown above are some of the most well known and studied of the giant arthropods;

The Dungeon Silverfish (often just called a ‘silverfish’ despite the fact it is neither a true silverfish or a silver fish): A large predatory insect notable for their elongated bodies, habit to dwell in underground End dungeon locations, and their recorded habit of attacking in swarms. These insects are actually a kind of beetle, though living underground and growing to such massive sizes has reduced the need for wings and they’re secondarily wingless. While a single silverfish often will prey on smaller insects or mammals like rodents, they will attempt to hunt larger prey and in swarms can overwhelm a player.

The Endermite (also sometimes called an End Mite or Enderman Mite): While this species of massive mite (a type of arachnid related to scorpions, spiders, and ticks) is much rarer to actually encounter, as they are native to the End rather than the Overworld or Nether, they occasionally manage to fall through dimensional tears crated by enderpearl usage into the Overworld. While they are not venomous or known to swarm, they are highly aggressive and will attack if they feel their space is being threatened. They are more so scavengers/opportunistic feeders.

The Titan Bee (the largest species of bee that can currently be found in the Overworld): A generally peaceful species of massive bee similar in appearance to the more common and smaller carpenter bee. This species can often be found in large, open habitats, traveling from flower to flower as they collect food for their hives, which often are settled within oak or birch trees growing along the edge of forests. They are very fuzzy and will aggressively defend their hives from perceived threats, their massive size and subsquentially large venom sacs can cause nausea, dizziness, and sometimes fatal allergic reactions. In massive swarms they can kill even kill a player, though because of their massive size, they thankfully aren’t the fastest flyers and usually can be avoided. This being said, they are a high interest to those that enjoy honey and bee-keeping, and with the proper methods in place, keeping them is not difficult.

The Giant Bee (the second largest bee species in the overworld, much less common than their larger relative): Having a body plan similar to that of a bumble bee, this large species is commonly mistaken for young workers of the Titan Bee, however, unlike its larger relative, this species is almost exclusive found in forested biomes. Their smaller size helps them better maneuver in such areas but while much smaller, these bees are more prone to an aggressive response to disturbance of their hive. They often cause painful stings that can cause burning/itchy sensations or possibly more life threatening allergic reactions. Despite this, they are likewise prized for their honey and the fact that they are a lot easier for beginner or novice bee-keepers to manage than the larger Titan Bee, which can be more picky or selective in the hives they will accept.

While much more rarely talked about, there are a lot more giant species of arthropod, these are some of the more commonly discussed or encountered. Note this covers only a small proportion of the expansive types of arthropods one may find out in the world.

The Titan-Killer (this parasitoid wasp preys on the larva of the Titan bee, thus the name): This wasp will sneak into the hives of the Titan bee, piercing either cocooned bees and/or larva with its elongated ovipositor, laying its eggs on the unlucky individual. When the wasp’s eggs hatch, they will eat the developing bee/bee larva alive, pupating in the hive cell its host was inside, and emerge as new adults after a period of development. They share a striped pattern with the bees and will even mimic the bees scent pheromones to deceive any workers that do come across them while inside the hive. They can be an issue for developing hives but otherwise are of no threat to players or most other mobs.

The Giant-Killer (this related parasitoid wasp specializes in preying upon the Giant Bee rather than the Titan Bee): With a similar lifestyle to the Titan-Killer, this wasp is much smaller and mostly relies on avoiding the adult bees and sneaking into the hive in order to similar inject vulnerable developing bees/bee larva with its eggs. The eggs hatch, consume the bee, pupate in the cell, and leave the hive. They can be a bit more tricky to deal with due to their more skittish nature though they are likewise harmless to players and other mobs.

The Goliath Firefly (a very rarely seen species, they once were rumored to be found in the swamps and mangrove forests, but their numbers have been greatly reduced to near mythical status): These fireflies are massive beetles with very distinct sexual dimorphism, the females being nearly twice the size of the smaller males with underdeveloped wings incapable of flight. The females elytra (the hardened forewings of beetles) are visible in adulthood but completely vestigial. The males can be spotted in flight looking for the light signals produced by the ground dwelling female, their smaller size and functional wings giving them better mobility than the usually stationary female.

The Enderian Firefly (A species from the End, one of the few large arthropods found there besides the Endermite, a couple ground beetles, and several large crickets): These fireflies act behaviorally very familiarly to their Overworld cousin, however rather than spending their time in leaf litter, they live along the chorus fruit forests. The females, which are notable for their armored appearance and complete lack of wings (vestigial or functional) are adapt climbers that will work their way up the chorus fruit trees to better signal to the smaller, flying males. The males of this species are notable for having a design like that of an eye of ender along their elytra, though whether this may indicate selective breeding for this feature by the ancient ender societies that used to exist within the End pre-societal collapse, or is merely coincidental, this is not well known. These fireflies, while more populous than their Overworld relative are still very rarely encountered.

The Harvest Termite (there are several more castes not shown in the image, however the solider and worker are the mostly commonly seen of this species and thus the selected representatives for the species): A semi-arid dwelling termite species notable for their large size and curious ‘moon’ like head coloration along the head. They act and behave much like their smaller cousins, though their size can make them a pesky species to deal with, particularly when they bite. While their bites are generally more irritating and painful than deadly, a group of them can cause significant injury.

The Shear-Jawed Ant (Similarly to the Harvest Termite, this ant species has several castes but the main ones showcased here are of the solider and worker castes): One of several massive ant species, this desert species is notable for the mandibles found on the solider caste as well as the spines ridge along the back of its exoskeleton. The jaws in particular appear similar to shears with a more hooked and serrated edge, made for cutting off flesh from carcasses or unfortunate prey, they can also cause severe bites. These ants are mainly nocturnal and can come in conflict with players when unknowingly setting up camp near one of their nests, the workers and soldiers travel long distances for food and resources. It is thought that many of those lost in the desert and never seen again were dealt with by a hungry swarm of these ants. Though recorded deaths caused by these ants have yet to be confirmed.

The Eyed Roach (one of several large roaches, they are one of the most recognizable for the pattern on their pronotum, the shield-like structure that often hides the head from overview): A peridomestic species often found near or in villages along the Savannah plains or semi-arid habitat, they feed on anything and everything though are mostly harmless save for the possibility of mechanical transmission of disease. Elsewise they very rarely will be out during the day and are incredibly skittish and quick despite their wingless nature and size.

The above image showcases the largest known arthropods in both the overworld and nether dimension, those of the massive spiders and centipedes.

The Common Wolf-Eater Spider (also known simply as ‘spiders’ by most players due to their reputation): These massive spiders are known ravenous predators that have been recorded catching and killing anything from wolves, sheep, cattle, players, etc. They can be found almost anywhere above ground across differing climates and habitat types, though thankfully, they are restricted to the Overworld. They are nonvenomous, but their massive fangs can still cause great damage. They are best dealt with in well-lit areas or during the day as they almost become ‘docile’ in well lighted conditions, most likely because their prey can better sense and spot them and thus its easier to save their energy for when they have a greater advantage. They are thankfully mostly solitary though if a group senses blood or an injured entity, they will gather together to tackle the possible prey.

The Cave-Dwelling Wolf-Eater Spider (also known simply as ‘cave spiders’ by players due to their reputation): These large spiders are nearly two times smaller than their larger above ground relative, though this does not make them less dangerous. Infact, these vigorous spiders are known to active live in massive groups/colonies and hunt coordinately. They also are notable for having massive fangs that inject a venom that causes illness, vertigo, drop in blood pressure, etc. Some players have even been shown to go into cardiac arrest or organ failure if struck by a large enough group. While they are rarer to encounter, they can be highly deadly and persistent, particularly considering the fact that with their somewhat smaller size, places and holes that might keep one safe from a ‘common spider’ will not keep you save from this species.

The Birch Spider (also known as the Forested Spider or the ‘knuckle-head spider’ due to the habit of them accidentally dropping on player’s heads from above): Exclusively found in the birch forests in the Overworld, this spider is the much smaller and less deadly relative of the ‘cave’ and ‘common’ spiders. They also, unlike the fore-mentioned two, are web-builders rather than pursuit predators. They often prey upon large and small flying insects that get stuck in their webs along with small rodents and reptiles. Their venom can cause irritation but rarely triggers much else than a sore spot where bitten.

The ‘Cave-Crawler’ (aka Hell’s Centipede, one of the very rare, yet highly adapted, giant Nether arthopods): This massive ambush predators mostly feeds on unfortunate striders, lone pigmen, and young hoglins that come across their hidden burrows carved into netherrack walls. They usually keep themselves hidden away in these burrows until they sense approaching entities and struck, inflicting a venomous bite before retreating into their burrow. The bite will often start to feel itchy and irritated before growing numb as a paralysis agent works through the body, eventually leading to organ failure, coma, and eventually death. These giant centipedes will then follow the scent trail of their injured prey and drag the body back to feed on in their burrows. They have a heavy armor that is nearly impossible to pierce with even the toughest of swords though their softer underbellies are more vulnerable. They can however be scared off with bright lights and strong scents like mint or citrus as the strong smells disorientate them. They are rarely encountered or rarely discussed because of the dangers in study them. The Oakworm (aka the Overworld Mega-Centipede due to its unusual size): This centipede species is larger a scavenger and opportunistic hunter, wandering about and eating what it comes across. They, unlike the Hell’s Centipede, a distant relative, will not attack organism larger than themselves, preferring to stay hidden under moist, cool logs in dense forests during the day and emerging at night to feed. They were originally mistaken for a massive species of worm, thus their odd name in reference.

The Hero’s Stickbug (aka the walking sword): A highly camouflaged, elusive herbivore from the Overworld, this species while massive, often stays out of sight as much as possible. They usually live in dense forest canopies, feeding on fresh growth.

And there we have some of our many Giant Arthopods! Due to the high oxygen levels in the atmospheres of the differing dimensions, the restriction of size caused by capability to carry oxygen throughout the body is little concern. However, this wasn’t always the case as it can be noted via recent research that many of these massive arthropods are technically much younger species than their smaller counterparts.

Infact, I think the rise of these massive arthropods is linked with the post End-exodus event (also called the post-End disaster event) whereas some unknown event caused the near complete destruction of Enderman society, the vanishing of the great unknown ancient society responsible for crafting the Warden and Exodus portals these entities guard, and possibly the rise of The Infections (the main terrible diseases of the pigmen plague, the death-curse illness, and The Corruption).

I think that when one of the ancient civilizations attempted to escape from some horror (be it war, famine, or sickness) after failing to find salvation in first the Nether and then the End, they returned to the Overworld and created the Exodus portals found in the Deep Dark, punching their way through to a currently unknown, theoretical fourth dimension. This dimension’s introduction to the known three caused shifts in magical systems, the atmosphere, etc. and either assisted in or caused the massive extinction event that occurred some millennia ago.

It was as the surviving organisms of this incident managed to adapt and thrive that diversification was able to take hold. There is still much to piece together and figure out, particarly when trying to craft a timeline or estimation of species origin can be so difficult and time consuming.

Either way, I thank you for viewing my admittedly limited showcasing of some of the many impressive Giant Arthopods of the known three dimensions.

#my art #traditional art #speculative biology #minecraft biology #Minecraft mobs #Minecraft speculative biology #minecraft spider #minecraft silverfish #minecraft endermite #minecraft bee

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