#want her to wwe smackdown this

[dyke-a-saur]

I just reawakened my crush on Rhea Ripley, and let me tell y’all, I absolutely CANNOT be normal about this woman.

[livsjaded]

SHE LOOKED PHENOMENAL !!

[breadandcircusandallthatjazz]

Okay 1) love the maroon looks on Chelsea and Piper tonight, extra star stickers for the pretty bow and the sassy scarf

2) are they actually (hopefully) pushing Piper to get far into the US championship tournament? Because they’re certainly setting up a split between Chelsea and Piper and Piper does seem to be noticing and be bothered by Chelsea’s winks and nudges that she’s planning to be the one who wins it and not her

[laknxghts]

yea she’s taking it, my god, she’s so insane

[unintentionaloracle]

DAMN MIA SENT HER FREAKING FLYING! 🤣

[xxamorxexmortexx]

Can we please just focus on Asuka and Iyo 🤦‍♀️

[bijouxcarys]

Just Your Tribal Chief (Roman Reigns x fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Description: In the chaotic world of WWE, where titles and egos clash, the Women's World Champion faces a new kind of challenge: her own boyfriend, Roman Reigns...

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, angst, slight daddy kink, dirty talk, rough sex, oral sex (m recieving), semi-public sex, voyeurism, lil bit of choking, Tribal Chief-mode...

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: @trippinsorrows (literally don't know who else to tag so if you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, let me know!)

Her face was hard as stone as she followed her boyfriend, struggling to keep pace with his towering strides. Despite her own formidable strength—she wasn’t the undisputed WWE Women’s World Champion for nothing—his height advantage was undeniable.

She had earned her title through relentless dedication, ever since she started training at fifteen. She had bulldozed through her opponents, male and female, during her NXT days and earned her place on both RAW and Smackdown. Being assigned as a Free Agent in the 2023 draft by Hunter had been the culmination of years of sacrifice.

That’s when the chaos began.

Interviews, talk show appearances, high-stakes matches—nothing could deter her from her goal. Her ultimate triumph came at Wrestlemania 39 when she vanquished the one and only Charlotte Flair. It took her long enough to comprehend that she had in fact defeated the daughter of the man she’d sat and watched hours of as a kid. But it happened.

Life was perfect; she was the champion, her boyfriend retained every time. Pure bliss, right?

No.

Just… no.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today?” Y/N spat, slamming the door behind her as they entered his locker room. His. Of course, his.

“Me?” Joe laughed, running a hand over his face as he paced the length of the room. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Yeah, you. You’ve been bitching all day, Joe!” She crossed her arms, her eyes ablaze.

“Oh, I’m Joe now,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, halting his stride. “Out there, I’m Roman Reigns, undisputed champion—but in here, I’m fuckin’ Joe.”

Y/N was baffled. Joe hated being referred to by his ring name when they were alone; he despised being treated like a superstar off the clock. So what was this?

“Last time I checked, your name was Joe,” she huffed.

“And the last time I checked, my girlfriend didn’t let men leer at her like she’s a whole ass meal on a plate.”

She laughed bitterly, amused by his newfound insecurity. She had never seen this side of him before. They had joked about it, but it had always been about his magnetic presence and how women practically swooned around him.

“Aw, are you jealous?” she taunted, leaning forward. “Is that what this is about? Does my success fracture your delicate little ego?”

She wasn’t about to let anyone, especially a man, undermine her. Not even when it was hers.

“You get off on this, huh?” Joe’s brows narrowed as he stepped closer. “You get off on antagonising me all the damn time!”

“Antagonising you? I was doing a fucking interview, you insecure prick! What am I supposed to say—oh, sorry, I can’t talk today, my Tribal Chief is a little fragile, let me come back once his dick is intact again!”

“Oh, my dick be stayin’ intact, babygirl, you know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t fucking detract, Joseph.”

“I’ll stop detracting once you admit that… guy out there was gunnin’ for your number. My boy’s eyes couldn’t even stay focused!”

As they argued, they closed the distance between them, Y/N’s neck craning to meet Joe’s intense gaze. She couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him riled up, though she knew this wasn’t genuine anger. She recognised angry Joe, and this wasn’t him.

This was angry Roman.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N chuckled, her nose inches from his. Joe’s lips curled into a sneer before he straightened, taking a deep breath.

“Joe–”

“I’m not gon’ tell you again, Y/N…” he began, his voice measured, before he lowered his head, his eyes locking with hers, darker and more menacing. “When we in these four walls. This arena. Hell, when we at work…” He loomed over her, metaphorically trapping her, though she was free to leave if she chose to.

“I’m Roman Reigns. Ain’t no Joe here. Do you see Joe in this room right now, baby?”

She bit back a grin, revelling in the tension. Damn, she was fucked up, but she loved it.

Before she could respond, his large hand encircled her neck, holding her in place.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding.

Her irritation melted into a dull ache low in her abdomen, her thighs clenching involuntarily. She exhaled shakily, struggling to maintain her composure.

“No…”

The whisper conveyed everything he needed to know.

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on her neck. “Now, are you gon’ make it up to me, or are we gon’ keep fighting?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the air between them electric. “Make it up to you?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes, testing him.

He didn’t reply with words. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers with a fervour that sent shivers along every inch of exposed skin on her body. The kiss was demanding, urgent, reflecting the tension that had been simmering all day.

His hands travelled down to her waist, gripping her possessively as she responded with equal passion, her fingers tangling in his hair, just below where it was all neatly held together in a characteristic man bun. They stumbled backward until her back hit the wall, pinning her in place with his weight. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her with dark, smouldering eyes.

“You know exactly what to do, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that weakened her knees. “Show me just how sorry you are.”

Her breath hitched, heart racing as she nodded, her fingers already working to unbutton his pants. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

She sank to her knees, a willing captive to his dominance. Joe chuckled, pleased with her compliance.

“Even when we arguin’, you still so desperate for this dick,” he taunted as she tugged down his pants and briefs. She didn’t have to look up to know he was smirking—that signature smirk that always had her pulse quicken.

“Well, sometimes it’s the only way to get you to shut up,” Y/N retorted, unabashedly cheeky as she stroked him with a deliberate slowness, savouring his reaction.

“Babygirl, that mouth of yours better get to work before I do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

Instead of following through immediately, she paused, her hands resting on her thighs. Eyes wide and provocative as she looked up at him innocently.

“What are you doing?” Joe asked, narrowing his gaze. Her innocent facade only fuelled his frustration.

She simply shrugged, maintaining her coy demeanour.

A slow, understanding smirk spread across his face. “Oh, you wanna play that today, huh?” His voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a predatory hunger.

Y/N licked her lips slowly, teasingly, her eyes glued onto his. “Maybe I do,” she murmured with a slight husk.

Joe’s smirk turned into a wicked grin. “A’ight then, babygirl, let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back slightly, not enough to hurt her, but enough to assert his dominance. Y/N’s heart raced, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. She loved when he took control, loved the raw, primal intensity that radiated from him in moments like this.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough and authoritative.

She complied, her wide eyes locking with his. The room seemed to shrink around them, the outside world fading away as their focus narrowed to just the two of them. They didn’t even care that someone could walk in at any moment.

“You know what I want, don’t you?” Even though his tone was softer, it still carried a growl in its undercurrent.

“Yes…”

“Then stop playin’ games and show me.”

With that, he released her hair, his hand moving to the back of her neck, guiding her forward. She didn’t need any more encouragement. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his length, her other hand resting on his thigh for balance, and took the bulbous head between her lips. Slowly. Just enough to savour the taste of him.

Joe let out a low groan, his eyes closing for a moment as he felt the warmth of her tongue circling the sensitive skin. “That’s it, babygirl,” he murmured, his hand tightening slightly. “Just like that…”

She worked him with a deliberate slowness, swirling and teasing around him—torturing him with every movement. She traced the tip of her tongue along the bulging vein that stood out prominent along the underside of his cock, applying pressure at the correct places. Just that alone caused a light throb against her, his breathing to grow heavier, more ragged with each passing second.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled with a strained cadence. “You gon’ make me lose my damn mind.”

Her response was a soft hum, the vibration shooting right through him. She loved having this effect on him, loved knowing she could drive him to the edge with just her mouth. Increasing the pace slightly, she took him deeper, her fingertips digging into his thigh for further leverage.

Joe’s hand slid from her neck to her jaw, guiding her movements, dark eyes surveying her every move. “That’s it, baby, take it all…” he encouraged lowly. “Show me how much you want this dick.”

It was inevitable that his gravelly words made her moan around him. Made her core tighten around nothing. Throat relaxing, she forced more of him into her mouth, pushing herself to her limits. Eyes watering from the effort.

“Fuck,” Joe hissed, his hips bucking involuntarily. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

She pulled back slightly, gasping for breath as she ran her hand along his length, coating the entirety with residue spit. Before he could even process it, he was back in her mouth, and her warm palm was skillfully lowering to pay attention to his full balls. A steady massage. The combination was almost too much for him to handle.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned. “You keep that up, and I ain’t gon’ last much longer.”

Y/N pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his throbbing cock. She looked up at him with a hint of arrogant pride. “Maybe that’s the point,” she teased breathlessly.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

She nodded, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Maybe.”

He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up to her feet and pressing her back against the wall. “We’ll see how clever you are when I’m done with you,” he growled, his lips smashing against hers in a bruising kiss.

She whimpered into his mouth, hands flying to his broad shoulders as she clung to him. His punishing assault had her arching into him, her body pressing against him in a desperate attempt for any friction. She even went as far as to roughly tug at his bun, clumsily pulling the hair tie from his head and letting it snap around her wrist for the time being. The way his hair framed his face when down and free had her yearning. Every. Single. Damn. Time.

Rough, calloused hands played with her, yet failed to relieve any of the growing arousal below her waist. He squeezed at every curve he could grasp, a non-verbal worship of the woman in his arms, despite his harsh demeanour.

“You want this, babygirl?” he murmured against her lips, dragging her across the room with him. “You want me to fuck you? Here? With everyone walkin’ around outside?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she felt the back of her legs hit the couch. “Please, Joe.”

He chuckled darkly, pulling back to look at her. “Sorry, who?”

“Roman,” she corrected herself quickly, voice shaky. “Please, Roman…”

“Good girl.” Even though, in essence, he praised her, one could not miss the slight condescension woven between the words. A condescension that intensified as he guided her back until she let her weight fall onto the plush, cushiony surface behind her. With one hand propping himself up, his other traced light circles along her bare leg, slowly creeping further up until it disappeared under the skirt that started it all. The short, form-fitting skirt she chose to wear that day for her interviews. The one that showed off the shapely contours of her body—toned legs and all.

He hadn’t even gotten beneath the thin material of her underwear and he could already feel the dampness collecting on the fabric. “Damn, so wet for me already.”

She whimpered, bucking her hips against his hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she begged weakly.

Narrowing his eyes down at her, he gauged her reaction, every contortion in her face, as his fingers gingerly slid beneath her panties, barely grazing her weeping folds. That alone caused Y/N to let out a breathy moan, her head falling back against the couch as the small grant of relief encompassed her.

“You like that, huh?” he taunted, allowing the tip of his middle finger to apply the slightest pressure, scarcely touching her sensitive nub. “You like it when Daddy touches you like this?”

“Yeah…” She furrowed her brows at the sensation of Joe’s fingers dragging downwards, teasing around her entrance. He lowered his head down to hers, pressing a light kiss to her forehead before he pushed forward, allowing a single finger to slide into her with ease.

It seemed almost immediate that she clenched around him, the bare minimum sending her into utter bliss.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groaned with a smirk, lips moving to brush against her ear. “I can’t wait to dick you down, babygirl. Feel all this,” he added his ring finger without warning, steadily stretching her in preparation, “around me.”

Y/N was trembling with need, her body threatening to take her pleasure by grinding into him, but she refrained, knowing the outcome was always a prize in the face of anticipation.

“Please, Roman,” she sighed, moving her head to look up into his eyes. “Please.”

He continued to taunt her, pulling his fingers from her pussy, only to lift them up to his mouth to suck them clean. “It’s a damn shame you ain’t gettin’ no head right now when you taste so good, baby.”

She wanted so badly to cuss him out, to stop this whole thing and make him suffer further. But she knew better. This was all part of the game, and they both loved every second of it.

“Ass up, babygirl,” he smoothly demanded, leaving no room for argument as he nodded his head to the side.

Like clockwork, she obeyed, flipping herself onto her hands and knees, finding a place on the couch arm to prop herself up. Back arched, she presented herself to him. For him to use at his disposal. One look ahead and she was caught by the sight of their own reflection in a full-length mirror. Their eyes met, and a smug little smirk appeared on his face as he braced himself on the couch behind her with one knee propped up.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, tracing the pre-cum soaked head of his cock along her folds, shimmying the tight fit of her skirt up and over her ass so he had the perfect vantage point.

“Always ready—please,” she whimpered, teeth clamping down onto her lower lip. “Please, Roman, fuck me.”

It was almost brutal, the swift motion that allowed him to sink into her tight hole. She tightened around him within seconds, the burning stretch taking over her entire being for a moment. His thickness stung her, impaled her. Claimed her.

His face strained with his stubborn attempts at refraining himself from going to town on her pussy, his hand momentarily leaving her ass to tug his shirt off. Now she had the glorious sight of not only her needy body bent over for him, but also the perfectly sculpted structure of this Godlike human’s body.

Whilst he started out slow, giving her the benefit of letting her adjust, it wasn’t long before he’d fallen into a brutal pace, hands grabbing at her hips as skin collided and sweat beaded up all over both of them.

“Mm, that pussy singin’ for me, baby, y’hear that?” he chuckled airily, leaning back to watch as her core hungrily swallowed his thick dick, the glisten of his shaft when he withdrew, just to slam it back in. The noises were lewd, and entirely theirs.

Y/N could barely think, her body consumed by sheer ecstasy, all provided for by him. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her, building a steadfast pressure as she hung onto the couch for dear life. Her body jolted forward each time his hips collided with hers, a groan reverberating in her chest when he swung particularly hard.

“Can’t even speak, I’m fuckin’ you so good…”

As much as she hated to hand him a perfectly stroked ego on a fucking platter, she couldn’t argue with that very simple fact.

“H-harder,” she managed to squeak out.

Always happy to destroy her, he lifted his leg to plant his Jordans-clad foot on the couch, allowing him to build up momentum as he obliged, his thrusts becoming animalistic. She reached back to grab at one of his hands, pulling it lower and guiding it towards her clit.

“Needy lil’ girl,” he chastised, but happily circled her swollen clit with a rhythm that matched the ferocity of his thrusts. Glancing up at the mirror, the sight sent him into overdrive; her mouth dropped open, her face flushed and makeup smudging around her eyes. “Look at you, babygirl… how fuckin’ beautiful you are takin’ this dick.”

She let out a moan, starting to viciously bounce back against his dick, a fiery look in her eyes as she, too, watched their reflection putting on a picture perfect show curated for an audience of two.

“That’s it, mama… Goddamn, you takin’ me so well.” Joe’s body careened over hers, shadowing her entire form with his. His lips were ghosting beside her ear as he roughly purred, “Remind me to make you sit on my face when we get home.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, body rippling as his large arm circled her neck, holding her against him as he went to town on her cunt. Her head fell back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as she felt her climax barreling closer.

“Nuh-uh, baby, open those eyes,” he mumbled into her ear. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I nut in this pussy.”

With a strained whine, she obeyed, forcing herself to open her eyes and look ahead of her.

“Good girl… fuck, Y/N.”

“Oh my God…” she groaned.

“Ain’t no God here, babygirl,” he started, tightening his arm around her neck. “Just your Tribal Chief.”

That did it for her, she arched painfully, pussy fluttering around his shaft. “Roman… I’m gonna cum—fuck, yess, keep going…”

“Yeah? You gon’ give me that nut, huh?” He nodded at her, his hair falling around them as he pressed his lips into her neck, dragging his long tongue over her salty skin, teeth baring down on her as he felt her clench so tightly around him. “Gon’ cum on Daddy’s dick like a good lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, fuck, please–”

“Ain’t nobody make you feel this good ‘cept me, baby. You got that?” he said through clenched teeth, pummelling his hips into hers. When she only responded with a shaky whimper, he yanked her against him. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Nobody can fuck me like you, Daddy, only you!”

“Damn right… go on, aulelei, cum for me.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice. Without further effort, she let out an elongated whine, high-pitched and unbothered by the very public location. Convulsing, writhing, ears buzzing, she released harshly on his cock, squeezing him so intensely, she could see the effects of it on his face in the mirror. 

“Goddamn, that pussy cummin’ so hard,” he breathed with a low chuckle. “You want this nut, baby? You want it?”

Garnering the last of her energy, she nodded fervently.

“Tell me. Tell me you want it.”

“I-I want it…”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to cum inside me.”

“You want who to cum inside you?”

“You!”

“And who am I?”

The sensitivity was too much, and her hips jerked, the aftershocks stunning her pussy as Joe chased his high like a cheetah with its prey.

“I said,” he ripped his hand away from her clit, landing a sharp sting of a slap to the side of her ass in the position they were in. “Who. Am. I?” He emphasised each word with a jolting thrust.

“Roman Reigns! Fuck, you’re Roman Reigns…”

“That’s right… You gon’ get this Tribal Chief nut, and you gon’ take it.”

“Yes, please, please give me it all…”

“A’ight, baby.” His movements became erratic as he soon found his release, practically roaring as he hit his zenith, spilling into her in hot ropes.

All Y/N could do was stay in his grasp, her weight completely limp in his arms as she allowed him to empty his frustrations deep inside her. She already knew she’d be feeling it seeping out later into the day, but that’s what she loved so much about it; the hidden reminder that she was his, and nobody could come close.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies entwined, breathing heavily against each other. Eventually, with a huff, Joe pulled out, shoving himself back in his pants and turning her over to face him. His tepid fingers stroked over her hair as he gazed down at her, eyes softening.

“You okay, babygirl?”

“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. “More than okay,” she hummed, leaning into his touch.

Unlike last time, the kiss he planted on her lips was a stark contrast to his roughness. “Good,” he whispered against her.

“Are you actually upset with me? Y’know… about the interview stuff?” she asked quietly.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not in the slightest… I’m proud of you,” he let her know earnestly, lightly grazing his lips over her nose. “And I love you.”

Y/N grinned, almost giddily. “I love you too.”

“Dammit, Uce, again?!”

Both Joe and Y/N snapped their attention to the locker room door, where a flabbergasted Jey stood with a take out bag from Waffle House in his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Joe smirked. “I asked the twins to get us some food,” he casually told her.

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open a bit. “You’re such a dick.”

[madhatterbri]

Better | J.U.

Summary: Y/N insists they are friends until they are alone. 18+.

Happy Friday Night Smackdown, babes. ❤️

Jey Uso Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @magicalbuttertarts @miss-kuki-nz @surdelcielo

Jey leaned against the doorframe of his hotel room. Basketball shorts and nothing else covered his tan tattooed body. Deep dark brown eyes of his saw the very woman he had been thinking about since laying his weary head on his pillow.

Her head poked out of her hotel room. Cautiously, she looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one would see her go to his room. They were just friends, she insisted on the outside world, so why would she be going to his room at midnight?

"Come on, mamas," he told her. Jey motioned his head towards his room. All the wrestlers on their floor were either at the hotel bar or sleeping in their rooms. No one would be bothering them in here.

Heat burned her cheeks. She made her way towards his room quickly. The wrestler moved out of the way. The door slowly came to a close behind him.

Back pressed against the wall, Jey wasted little time tonight. His kiss muffled the shocked moan that came from her. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck. Fingers snaked in his hair.

"Jey," she sighed the moment he left another mark on her neck. Another lie she'll have to come up with on how the marks materialized.

He didn't remember when she started giving him head. Her head bobbed up and down on him. His tan fingers placed on the back of her head. Eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she relaxed her throat to accommodate him.

Each thrust of his hips pushed him further inside of her. Hand wrapped securely around her neck, the other balled up to a fist against the wall.

Whenever they were alone, this was all she talked about. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Arms placed around his neck to steady herself. Just the two of them in a room, no need to hide. They didn't have to hide. Just enjoy each other's bodies whenever they want.

Her legs jerked around him as she orgasmed. He placed his forehead on hers. Their lips met as he came inside of her. His lust filled eyes stared into hers. Pupils blown out from the pleasure. The night was still far from over.

Nothing was better than this.

[punksyeet]

ᰔᩚ Double Trouble ᰔᩚ

Plot: Gianna (OC), a backstage interviewer for WWE, has had a ginormous crush on The Usos for the longest time. After one particular interview, they finally pull her aside.

Warning: Mature language & smut (threesome)!

The camera man points to me, cueing me to begin my first interview of the night.

"Jimmy and Jey," I begin, turning to face The Usos, who just retained their SmackDown Tag Team Championships. "It was just five days ago when you found out you'd be defending your SmackDown Tag Team titles here at WrestleMania. And you defended and retained! How does that feel?"

I hold the microphone up to Jimmy, who's looking as gorgeous as ever in his white sleeveless hoodie and matching snapback hat.

I do my very best to keep my cool and remain professional on the outside, but my insides are practically melting at the sight of his gorgeous eyes making direct contact with mine as he speaks.

And soon enough, Jey chimes into the conversation, not helping my sex drive one bit.

I've been a backstage interviewer here in WWE for a little over 3 years now and, while there's lots of different tag teams, The Usos are easily the best looking.

From their dreamy smiles, to their damp curly hair, to their muscular tattoo-covered arms, to their freshly trimmed beards. I just can't get enough.

"Aaand cut! Great job guys!" the cameraman says, cueing that the interview is over.

As I'm about to follow him down the hallway, the twins grab my attention.

"Aye Gianna, wait up!" I hear Jimmy call, and I turn, sliding my hands into my jean back pockets.

"Y-Yeah?" I ask, just standing there super awkwardly.

They both let out a breathless chuckle before sharing a look and walking closer to me.

"Don't act all shy now girl," Jey coos, reaching out and stroking my arm. "We see the way you look at us every week."

A quick sense of bravery comes over me as I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms. "Is that so? And what kind of look might that be?"

Jimmy smirks, takes another step closer, and leans down to whisper in my ear. "Like you want us to take turns fucking you senseless."

My jaw slightly drops as Jey nods in agreement.

"For real Uce," he exclaims, throwing an arm over his twin's shoulder. "And we'd be more than happy to give yo lil fine ass what you want."

Me? Fine? Sir, may I offer you a mirror?

"Would you now?" I reply, tilting my head to the side and scanning each of their bodies up and down.

"Hell yeah," Jimmy confirms, running his fingers through his hair and adjusting his hat to backwards.

I pucker my lips to the side and raise an eyebrow yet again. "Hard Rock Hotel. Room 13A. 9:00 tonight. And y'all better make it worth my while."

Before they can respond, I turn and walk away, making sure to sway my ass side to side to tease and hold them over.

As I walk further and further away, I hear them dap each other up from behind me, causing me to smirk and roll my eyes.

What have I done?

—————————————————————————————————

I tap my phone so that it reveals the time: 8:56pm.

Only 4 minutes left.

I quickly run into the bathroom to fix my hair and adjust my black lace lingerie set before throwing my silk robe over it.

About 3 minutes later, I hear faint knocks on my door.

I check the time and, sure enough, it's 9pm on the dot.

I quickly adjust my hair once more and open the door, practically drooling at the sight I'm brought with.

Both twins are dressed in matching black muscle tops, black sweatpants to match, panda dunks, and their respective jewelry.

Their hair, however, is different: Jimmy's in those gorgeous braids that I adore and Jey's in his classic but super sexy mullet.

"Nine on the dot? Wow you two wasted no time, huh?" I tease, folding my arms and leaning against the door.

Jimmy bites his lip while Jey smirks.

"The Usos keep no one waiting," Jey replies. "Especially not a fine ass lady like yourself.

Jimmy nods, leaning an elbow on his brother's shoulder.

"What he said," he agrees, nodding towards Jey and scanning my body once more.

I shake my head smirking and step to the side so that they can come in.

Once they do, I shut the door behind us.

"Before this night starts," I begin, gaining both of their attention as they turn around to face me in sync. "Y'all should know I've never been with two guys at the same time before."

Jimmy raises an eyebrow while smirking and Jey rubs his hands together while licking his lips.

"Even better," Jey coos sexily, walking up to me and wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me close. "We work best with beginners."

He cups my face and places his soft lips on mine, to which I respond immediately.

Our lips and, soon tongues, move in sync as his hands travel down my sides.

I feel Jimmy walk up behind me and feather light kisses against my neck and start massaging my front.

I moan into Jey's mouth as Jimmy soon adds tongue, sucking and nibbling at my sweet spot just below my ear.

As Jey and I pull apart, I tug at his bottom lip ever so gently.

"Damn girl," he coos, licking his lips sexily. "Uce you gotta come kiss her. Some soft ass lips for real."

I smirk and roll my eyes as Jey slaps my ass and walks over to the bed, allowing Jimmy to take his turn with me.

We share a way more passionate and slower kiss, his dreamy lips and thick tongue ever so gently caressing mine.

Definitely more husband material than his brother.

"Get this shit off for us baby," he demands, gently tugging at the tie that's keeping my carefully chosen undergarments hidden.

I undo the knot and let the sleeves slowly peel from my skin, allowing the robe to fall to the floor.

Both twins watch in awe, practically drooling at the sight of my fully nude body barely being hidden by the sheer black lace.

"Now get these off for me," I coo, looking up at them and gently tugging at the bottom of their shirts.

In unison, they remove their shirts and reveal their muscular tattooed chests, allowing their chains to glisten under the dim hotel room lights.

"Jesus Christ," I exclaim, sliding one hand up each of their bodies. "No wonder you guys are a fan favorite at work. You're both so fucking hot."

"Us?" Jey replies, walking up behind me and sliding his hands up and down my lower back. "Lil mama look atchu. Look at this ass."

"And these tits," Jimmy adds on, caressing my breasts through my sheer black bra. "I can't wait to have these in my mouth."

I bite my lip, gently blushing.

Don't let them see you swooning.

Remember that your teasing is what brought you all here.

"Why wait any longer then?" I tease, taking both of their hands and walking towards the bed.

** smut warning! **

I instruct them both to sit, and they respond immediately.

I give them both a show, removing my bra and lightly shaking my ass while removing my panties.

"Cmere baby," Jey says, laying back on my pillow and waving me over. "I'm dying to taste that pussy."

I climb onto the bed, kissing my way up his body and turn around, hovering over his face.

He grabs ahold of my thighs and pulls me down gently, immediately darting out his tongue to taste me.

"Oh my god," I hear him mumble against my clit, causing me to giggle and run my fingers though his hair.

"Tastes good baby?" I ask, slowly moving my hips, to which he responds by gripping my thighs harder.

A muffled groan comes from between my legs. "Sooo fucking good mama."

I chuckle again and crook my pointer finger to Jimmy, who immediately responds and walks over.

"Hi sexy girl," he coos and cups my face.

"Hi love," I reply, sliding my hands up his chest and connecting our lips.

He immediately kisses me back, massaging my breasts in the process.

I tug on his lip gently as we pull away. "Get what you want, Jim."

He bites his lip and caresses my nipples before leaning down and placing one of them in his mouth, flicking and twirling his tongue around the bud beforehand.

"Mmm fuck," I moan uncontrollably, gently bouncing up and down and grinding my hips.

"Stop tryna run from me mama," Jey demands, pulling my hips down once more.

"Y-yes daddy," I reply, and continue uncontrollably moving my hips against his face.

Once Jimmy finishes getting a taste, we share another kiss.

"Those tits are something dangerous mama," he coos against my lips. "So fucking soft and big."

I giggle in the kiss and wrap my arm around his neck. "Thank you love."

Once we pull away, I push him down by his chest gently and lay him down on the other side of the bed.

"You wanna suck this dick ma?" Jimmy asks, stroking my face.

As I'm about to respond, Jey's tongue hits my g-spot. "Ye-Mmm fuck! J-Jey right there! Please!”

His tongue moves faster and so does my tongue, until I feel a huge pit in my stomach.

"Fu-fuck I'm gonna cu-" and before I can finish my sentence, I release in his mouth.

He cleans me all up before tapping my thigh, signaling me to sit up so he can too.

"You gotta taste her uce," he coos, before kissing my clit one last time. "Tastes as good as she looks."

I blush and turn back to Jimmy.

"Want me to fuck you while you suckin twin’s dick, ma?" Jey asks, as I'm pulling down Jimmy's pants and boxers.

"Mhmmm," I reply, while kissing and licking his perfectly pink tip.

"Fuck," Jimmy moans under his breath, immediately throwing his head back and stroking my hair.

As I get used to his size and begin deepthroating him, Jey inserts his dick into me.

I moan and throw my head back, before spitting in my hand and stroking Jimmy's huge cock.

"Feels good mama?" Jey asks, stroking circles into my back dimples.

I nod, taking Jimmy's dick into my mouth again.

As he continues to moan, I lean down and place his dick between my tits.

"Mmm daddy you're so big," I coo between moans, sliding up and down.

"Shit," the twins moan in unison, causing me to giggle.

A couple of moments later, I feel Jimmy tense up and see him gripping the sheets.

"F-fuck baby," he moans, arching his thighs. "You're gonna make daddy cum all over those sexy tits of yours."

I bite my lip, sticking my tongue out and allowing my saliva to drip onto his tip. "Cum for me daddy. Let go for your babygirl."

And that he does. All over my chest.

And soon enough, Jey and I do as well.

** smut over! **

"You're so fuckin amazing Gi," Jimmy coos once I'm all cleaned up, stroking my face.

"Forreal," Jey agrees, cleaning himself with a damp rag.

I give them a soft smile, blushing lightly. "So are you guys. You're everything that I've imagined and more."

Eventually, they're all dressed and ready to leave.

"So," Jimmy begins, breaking the comfortable silence. "Same time tomorrow?"

We all share a laugh and I shrug. "I'm down if you guys are."

"Bet," he replies between laughs and kisses my cheek, then wraps me into a hug. 

I smile and hug back, resting my head on his chest.

Once we pull away, Jey comes over.

"We'll see you soon baby," he coos, cupping my face. 

I nod, smiling and looking him in the eyes.

We share a lengthy kiss then a hug.

"This was fun," I say, opening the door for them. "Thank you guys for taking care of me."

"We gotchu," Jimmy says, stroking my cheek and smiling before walking towards the elevator and pressing the button.

"Holla if you need us, okay?" Jey adds on, rubbing my lower back.

I nod, giving him a soft smile. "I will."

They smile before stepping into the elevator, and we all wave until it closes.

I close the door behind me and press my back against it, looking up and biting my lip. 

What a night.

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[sayyestoheav3nn]

Nights Like This Short: Late Night Thoughts

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: language, smut

Word count: 1.1k

a/n: if you would like to added to the tag list, or if i tagged you and it didn’t work, please feel free to let me know 🤍

Three weeks.

Roman hadn’t seen Zoe for three weeks since they first spoke. After his win he had decided to take some time off, and although he found his time away peaceful, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

This was definitely new for Roman, and truth be told it wasn’t something he was used to.

Sure he’s fucked a bitch or two on the WWE roster, but never someone he has actually had any interest in. No one, and he means no one had caught his eye the way she did.

Not to mention how fucking beautiful she was. He remembered the way she stumbled whenever he stepped closer to her. Or the way his dick slightly hardened when she would look up at him with those big beautiful eyes. He loved the sound of her soft soothing voice, he could listen to her talk all day if she’d let him.

All these thoughts were running through his mind as he pulled up to the arena. As he stepped into the building and made his way through the corridors trying to find his private room, he bumped into Paul Heyman, who seemed to be waiting on him.

“Good evening my tribal chief, t-this way sir.” Roman silently followed his lead, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for talking. As he made it inside his spacious room, he signaled Paul to leave.

Roman appreciated the time to himself, he loves his wiseman, but he tends to irritate the fuck out of him when he talks his ears off.

As he went to change clothes, his steps were halted when he heard her voice in the hallway. He slowly turned around to open the door, when he stepped out the first thing he saw was her beautiful face. She started to walk towards him, he could tell she seemed hesitant at first.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” she grinned.

“You missed me sweetheart?” He smirked.

She paused for a moment, her cheeks were starting to redden. “Nah, I was just worried your wiseman was gonna have a stroke, he’s been a mess without you,” she smiled.

He laughed, “He’s a grown ass man, he’ll be alright.”

Speaking of the fucking devil. The wiseman popped out of nowhere, waddling over towards them. “T-triple H needs to speak with you m-my tribal chief.”

Roman was unamused, “I’m in the middle of something, he can wait.”

“B-but my tribal chief, it seemed v-very important.”

“It’s okay, go. Don’t want to be the reason the boss gets upset,” she offered a sympathetic smile.

Roman reluctantly nodded his head in agreement, “I’ll see you after?”

Her brows furrowed with confusion. “Don’t you usually leave right away?”

“Not if I have a reason to stay.”

She looked down with an nervous smile.

Roman walked away, as he turned the corner he immediately stopped and turned back around. He could see she was confused as to why he was jogging back towards her.

He pulled out his phone, handing it to her. “Your number, just in case I can’t find you after.”

She typed it in with no hesitation, most likely since she knew their boss was waiting.

“Thanks, see you later Zo.”

……………….

Roman got home late, he was pissed that his meetings after smackdown prevented him from seeing Zo before she left. The first thing he did when he got to his room, was take a shower and then lie down, his body was exhausted. As time passed he accepted the fact that he couldn’t fall asleep. As he was twisting and turning, his mind began to think about Zo. His thoughts became hornier as time passed. He couldn’t help but to imagine what it would be like to bend her over and fuck her till she came over and over again. His dick was getting hard just thinking about it, he imagined what her moans and screams would sound like. She’d probably be shy at first, until his dick felt too good for her to suppress her screams and moans.

As he was visualizing having her facedown on the bed while he fucked her rough and deep, he could feel his dick starting to throb. Roman pulled down his sweatpants and quickly slipped his hands in his boxers grabbing his big dick that already had a few beads of pre-cum dripping down. He spit on his hand and gently rolled his thumb over his thick mushroom head and slowly proceeded to start pulling on his shaft, his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back on the headboard.

“Fuck,” he moaned while slightly picking up the pace.

His big calloused hands worked up and down his veiny shaft, his groans were getting louder as he thought about how his dick would feel inside her soaked pussy. How she’d moan while he stretched her out, he’d probably be the biggest she’s ever had. She’d be addicted to his dick, the same way he’d be addicted to her pussy.

He imagined them switching positions with her on top of him, riding his dick allowing him to have the perfect view of her titties bouncing.

The thought of her moaning and squelching on his dick had him on the verge of coming, he started stroking faster. “Shit, just like that baby, ride this dick,” he whispered.

Roman imagined Zo whimpering and begging him to let her come again, but not yet, he wanted them to come together.

He’d guide her into a new position, missionary. A position that was once his least favorite, was now something that he wanted to do, with her. He wanted to see that beautiful face under his bulking body, unraveling for him. One hand teasing her clit, while the other gripped the headboard.

He was close, so fucking close.

Her tight pussy would grip and pull on his dick, their juices flowing together. “Go ahead baby, come for daddy,” he moaned, with his eyes were squeezed shut.

“Fuck, baby.” That was it. Roman couldn’t hold himself back any longer, he didn’t even have time to grab a rag before his cum spurt all over his stomach. He could feel it tricking down his abs.

Shit. He got up and walked to the bathroom, grabbing a rag and cleaning himself. He couldn’t remember the last time jerking off felt that good.

There was no denying that his attraction to her wasn’t going to be a phase, a small smile began to form on his face.

The tribal chief always gets what he wants, and in this moment, his number one priority was to make his fantasy a reality.

[livsjaded]

THE PURPLE BANDANA IN HER POCKET Y’ALL 👀

[breadandcircusandallthatjazz]

Please let Tiffy’s pickup line on Dominic be a one off joke please let Tiffy’s pickup line on Dominic be a one off joke please let Tiffy’s pickup line on Dominic be a one off joke please let Tiffy’s pickup line on Dominic be a one off joke please-

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 6}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: With the splinter of wood and a muttered insult, you're done. You're done with the town; you're done with the hot and cold from Joel. You're tired and you don't have anymore fight left.

Word Count: 8.7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, heavy angst, blood, mild injuries, description of stitches, reader had a mild injury, the holidays are hard, a lot on internal monologue in this (both joel pov and reader), hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, though he is a bit daft in this, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, hurt and comfort, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, kissing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably angsty, reader loses her cool, argumentative language, heated arguments, threatening language, fighting, wwe smackdown, reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: okay, this is the penultimate chapter! this series grew into something way beyond a cheeky handful of scenes that were just a random thought six months ago. it's been a joy to write for these two, i've put so much of myself in olive and for y'all to root for her and love her really warms my heart. the interaction with this has been insane and i love all of it, i love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Sleep was such a pull on your psyche as the wind outside howled, battering anything that wasn’t secure and echoing loudly through the empty streets of Jackson. The habit of waking up throughout the night to peer outside your bedroom window and toward the small slip of the front street over your backyard fence periodically had been amplified in the storm. Unease settled in you, the storm bringing back memories you would father let fade into nothing. Inclement weather had been a challenge back when the world was whole, when safety measures were in place, when medical aid was abundant, when homes and buildings were constructed with them in mind. But even back then, they had been devastating.

And now?

They were as deadly as the virus.

Incessant snowfall all through the night, the light sprinkle of it last night turning into slanted sheets of downpour. It was blindingly bright on the other side of the windowpanes.

Despite the lockdown put in place by the council, you had told Maria depending on the streets that you would still make it to the mess hall. The intention of baking some breakfast casseroles hard to shake, of wanting to provide for those who may not have stock in their homes, or who relied on the mess hall as a main source of food. Layering as much as you could to combat the below freezing temperature, you pulled on your boots by the front door. Grabbing a knit cap and a scarf, you opened your front door and trudged through the snow drifts that had formed overnight.

Joel is panicking before he’s even fully conscious. His heart feels like it’s stopped but knows that it’s beating far too fast. His entire body feels weak and achy, his head pounding and overflowing with too many things. He felt nauseous, the drag of his lungs and the slushing of his stomach too much for him to handle. He groaned, pressing his face further into the pillow, the scent of his body wash wafting up and making it even worse.

He fucked up. He knows he did.

You had raised your voice at him, refused his help, his touch. Even as you laid collapsed on the ground because he had accidently knocked you down. You had been so worked up, so angry, but he had seen the way you clutched to your middle as you fled from him for a second time. He cursed low, the words a growl as he kicked the blankets from his sweating body despite the chills crawling down his spine.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He knew that woman was bound to be nothing but trouble. She was always a little too chatty for him, too willing to burst his bubble of personal space. But she had wiggled her way into his life and coerced him into a huge project that had taken so much of his free time leading up to the holidays.

He was a giving man, having been influenced by the acceptance he had been given here in the settlement, wanted to do what he could to help establish himself here. Not wanting to go back to the eat or be eaten mantra of the outside world or a collapsing quarantine zone. He had wanted to be everything he could manage for Ellie, to keep her safe here in a place that would allow for her to heal from the things they endured together. To survive in a way she hadn’t had the chance to, to have a life that wasn’t all bad. He had done his best to integrate, to be someone she could look up to and feel safe around. All of it had been for her, to have holidays, to have friends, to have a chance at finding out who she was without the undercurrent of survival being the only inspiration. And maybe ha had wanted it for himself too.

He had wanted to invite you over, try his hand at making you something for a change. If you had teased him over it, so be it, he would’ve taken it without argument. Just to see your lips quirk up and your soft laughter ring in the air of his kitchen. He would give anything for it to be his to witness.

The faux image of the domestic scene melted away, replaced by the one of you on the ground at his feet, with fear in your eyes. He hadn’t thought you were afraid of him, so open and willing to be in his space.

To tease him and lightly berate him when his answers were less than appropriate or too gruff.

Joel had never shown violence or distaste toward you, but yeah maybe he had been quieter or moodier on some patrols. But he wouldn’t get the chance to speak with you today. Patrols cancelled until the blizzard raging outside calmed down. A safety precaution that had been made lightly by the council. The risk of a group or pair getting stuck, of horses unable to handle it, of snow drifts forming and virtually undetectable, all of it had been taken into consideration. He wasn’t sure you were even cleared for patrol with your stitches. No pain killers you had said, reserved for extreme cases with how the supply was dwindled down to too little for a town of a few hundred.

Groaning as his head hammered, Joel shoved up from the bed, the blue sheets showing damp spots from his sweating and aching body. Scowling, he stripped the bed and made his way downstairs with them bundled in his arms. He felt a weird sense of déjà vu as he stuffed them into the top loading washer, reaching for the jar of powdered soap and pouring in a scoop. It was all so fucking normal. But his whole world felt like it was tilted, off kilter. Even more so than normal.

And it was because he knew he fucked up. He had hurt you, he had seen in it your eyes as you took in the way Marsha was clinging to him in her drunken state. The way she had deemed herself important enough to impinge on his time with you, so rare within the walls. Both of you so busy and both of you so afraid to ask after each other’s time. He knew he was, because he didn’t want to intrude on the way you kept to yourself, how you let your errands build up to take a whole day sometimes. And he knew some of that was because of the way people wouldn’t hold conversations with you, let alone start them. Opting to keep to yourself as a coping mechanism. Not wanting to feel like you were imposing yourself on the people who didn’t want to interact with you. He knew, because he had felt much the same way back in the quarantine zones, even if it was more born out of fear than distaste like it was for you.

He knew when you stumbled over your words to ask after him crafting something for you that you had worried yourself into a state before you even did it. Worried about taking up his time, taking up his resources, even if you had supplied him with the wood for the project. He had felt like a complete ass when you shut down and walked away, having felt comfortable enough to ask for something more when he had agreed to the first.

But Marsha. Marsha and her ill-placed infatuation with him had ruined the moment last night. You had told him you liked him, liked him. The heat he felt from you as he leaned in close and wanted to tell you he felt the same way. Shared and stolen kisses could only infer so much. And he groaned at the memory of pulling your hand over his erection the other morning. He was a damn fool to have done that, you had been pulling your hand away, but you had been touching him in his sleep. When he wasn’t able to tell you no, when something inevitably broke the moment, when something startled you or you thought too hard about it. You had just done it and the dilation of your eyes watching him, the hitch of your breaths, it had all been too tempting. He wouldn’t have told you no and he would’ve ignored the world ending all over again if it meant he could be with you in that way, even just once.

The older woman broken another tentative moment between you two. With the courage of alcohol flowing in her veins. It had made her bold in her words to him, her sentiments, her actions. Hell, the only reason he hadn’t heard your steps on the street was that he had been in shock. She had surged up and pressed her lips to his after he had denied her offer of a nightcap. He had just been trying to walk her home and make sure she was safe, even if he wasn’t overly fond of her, her friends had all been too unaware of themselves to help her.

Anger had overridden the shock; how dare she think she could do that. His heart wasn’t his to give, it was yours. And he had been about to tell you so.

The weak arguments of the woman defending herself and the gift she had gotten him even if she hadn’t gotten his name in the exchange for today had blurred his senses even more. His mind focused on the holiday, on taking you the gift he had made along with his heart. Hoping that today would be the day things were out in the open, plainly spoken and accepted. He only worried about how well you would receive him after being caught with Marsha last night.

Today.

Today was Christmas and the town was in a semi-state of lockdown with the strong winds and flurries of show raining down to collect along the streets. The bite to the air the worst of the season so far. Turning the washer on, he moved toward the coffee maker. Only to discover that he was out of grounds to brew.

With a string of muttered curses, Joel bundled up and braved the weather to cross the street.

He needed coffee and the gift he had left with Maria yesterday.

Tommy was pacing back and forth, waiting for the second pot of coffee to finish brewing. It had been an early morning, Maria rising hours ago and taking off with another neighbor to trek toward the mess hall where you had diligently showed up for your shift. Everyone had been advised late last night to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary.

A knocking barely echoed through the still howling wind. Thankfully, the snow had stopped, though it was built up deep all around the settlement.

A few moments later and both men were seated in the living room, the tea light candles flickering underneath two names etched in chalk above the mantle.

“She won’t be home much today.” Tommy supplied, reading the anxious silence Joel was stewing in beside him. “She trekked through one of the worst bouts of this weather to get to the mess hall. Wanted to make sure everyone had something to eat in case the power stutters or goes out. Her, Maria, and a couple others are gonna deliver meals door to door.”

“She’s too good for how people treat her.”

“From what I hear, you haven’t been treatin’ her too good either, brother.” Tommy took a long pull from his mug before he set it down on the coffee table. “She was over here after that overnight patrol, helpin’ with Macon. Was so tired she was rambling about how much she appreciates everything you do ‘round here, how talented you are, how nice you are to her. But then if you’re so nice, why doesn’t she have one of the cutting boards that was her idea.”

“It ain’t that simple. I can be nice to her and not have one of ‘em for her.” Joel couldn’t turn to look at his brother, knowing how easily he would read him. Read the anxiety and worry he felt over the entire situation. All the miscommunication. All the mixed signals he had been giving you without realizing it. He thought you had opted to not talk about the kiss because you were uncomfortable, because you were worried he hadn’t liked it or wanted it. Because he hadn’t exactly told you that he did, that he dreamt of kissing you, of holding you, of protecting and providing for you. Spending quiet evenings in with homemade meals, nights out at the bar, helping you with the harvest again next fall. All of it, he thought about all of it with you.

“Why don't you just make her one, I don’t get it."

"Drop it, Tommy, she's not getting one."

"I thought you liked her, I thought...I thought I saw you two kissing the other night. Sure as hell looked like she had been caught red-handed."

"We…we were. We have, a few times., but she thinks I’m with Marsha because that…insane woman has taken such a liking to me. Saw me walking her home from the bar the last night because she downed far too many shots and Millie was nowhere to be seen.”

“She knows you, trusts you not to do that to her if you’ve shown interest. Just give her a cutting board and I’m sure it’ll all blow over. That's all she wants Joel, to feel included. Like she's a part of something.” Tommy was wringing his hands in, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought over his next words. “A lot of people have them and she doesn't. It's basically an insult thrown in her face."

“Fuck, I didn't think of it like that."

The sip of coffee Joel took turned bitter in his mouth. He really hadn’t thought of it like that. He had just been trying to hone his skills with the new craft before gifting you the best one he could make. He set down the mug, stomach turning as the acid settled heavy. Rubbing his palms roughly over his face, rustling the thick hairs of his moustache.

"She's going to ask to be taken off patrol, Joel. She did ask before you showed up, stop it altogether and just focus on the mess hall. She feels like it would be easier to avoid the looks and gossip. We know about it, the council, but there’s not much we can do about it.” Tommy was obviously upset, his voice thick as he divulged something you had gone to him in a moment of weakness. He recalled the way you had been in tears, hurt beyond words by the acceptance that Joel and Ellie had been given as newcomers when you had been here for years and how upset you were at yourself for being jealous of it.

“But she kept at it as a favor for me, to help me keep you alive. To help me feel okay with not being by your side out beyond the walls when I couldn’t be. Because I worry, I worry so damn much about you brother and I just want you to be okay. She saw that, she saw that and took it onto her own shoulders because she cares about me.”

Joel sighed, his brothers words blossoming warmth in his chest.

“I am going to make her one, Tommy. From that piece of trunk I had you help me get from her yard. But it’s drying, the slabs I got from it. Already lost one and the other two need to dry.” He huffed out, chest tight as he thought of how long it would take. “She said the wood she brought me for those spoons took months to dry.”

“They’re beautiful, the whole set. I’m sure she’ll love them.” Tommy nodded to the box that contained them on in the kitchen. Of course he had looked them over, finding them when he had woken up and curious as to how they ended up in his own if your name was scribbled on the top of the box.

“But she came to me and asked for them, Tommy. It’s not gonna be the same if what you’re sayin’ is true. It’ll feel like a consolation when it’s not. It’s just the beginning of what I’m willin’ to give to her.”

“Then you should tell her that. She deserves to hear it.”

You ignored the knocking at your door, sleep keeping you weighted to the couch in your living room.

But the crack of wood and the clash of metal following a loud gust of wind had you surging up to your feet.

“Shit-“ A grunted curse was the only greeting you got before the door swung open to reveal the large shadow of Joel just outside of it.

“Joel? Why the hell would you break down my door?”

“It was an accident, I was just knocking and the wind got me-“

“Forced your way into my home? I thought I told you to leave me alone.” You hugged yourself, arms tight as you tried to shield away from the chill creeping into the living room.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. Please, I wouldn’t-“ He stumbled over his words, turning his back to you in order to try and set the door back into the frame. The wood was splintered around the lock, preventing it from shutting completely. He leaned down to get a closer look at the damage. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to probably make you a whole new door.”

“Just go, Joel. Please.” You clenched your eyes shut and walked away from the honeyed drawl, ignoring the pull it had on you to move closer. The kettle in the kitchen was just beginning to whistle and you removed it from the stove. But instead of gathering up a mug and the loose leaf tea from a cabinet, you flattened your palms on the table and hung your head.

You flinched when a wrapped box slid between your arms, pushed by a tan, weathered hand.

“’s for you.”  His voice was so tender, his eyes wide and beseeching when you glanced up.

“No, thank you.” You pushed it back toward him, standing on the other side of the table.

“Olive, please. You said your name always gets thrown out of the exchange. I wanted to and it’s what you asked me for.”

He lifted the top of the box, setting the lid down beside it, the ribbon atop it looking far too cheerful for you. Set inside, amid a soft looking swath of cloth, was a set of wooden utensils tied together with a thick string. He held them out to you, a slight tremble in his hands. They were beautiful, the wood crafted expertly and you shook your head to rid yourself of the image of Joel sat in his desk chair face focused as he took the time to carve them from the block of wood you had taken to him.

“I pushed a lot of stuff back to make sure they were just right. Was so careful with the wood you brought to me, it was dense but I managed to sand it down without altering the look of it too much. I didn’t stain it, to keep the natural color, the grain is really beautiful-“

When you didn’t say anything, eyes focused on his chest, he trailed off. He set the gift back down on the table and took a step back, his mouth snapping shut. His gaze heavy on you as you tried to focus and keep your temper under control. But you were at the end of your patience. This time of the year already hard on you. Paired with the hot and cold from Joel, the judgment from the town, the lack of inclusion on anything going on and you were just tired. Deep down in your bones, exhausted.

“Joel…” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“You’re a good man. But I really don’t want to do this with you right now. I need some space because whatever I do, I can’t get you out of my head and it’s ruining me.” Your voice had started off at a normal volume, quickly growing as the words rushed from you. Anger flaring overwhelmingly, leaving you panting, chest heaving and hands clenched at your sides. The set of tied spoons resting on the table between you both, like a line not to be crossed. Like a mockery of the things he was offering you a little too late. Surging, you reached for them and hurled them in a display of anger you had thought you had managed to control. “Take your things and go, Joel Miller!”

They clattered to the floor across the kitchen, skidding along the tile to slam into the baseboards. The wood splintering and covering the floor behind him. But he hadn’t ducked, hadn’t brought his hands up to shield himself. Knowing, knowing that you wouldn’t have aimed them at him even as anger and hurt lit you from the inside out. He saw the remorse flash across your face the second they had left your hand.

Knowing that it was all an act of self-preservation. A way to save face, to save the fact that you had been hurt by his actions, his indiscretions. The memory of turning down the street, his hand wrapped innocently around Marsha, guiding her toward their shared street in her drunken state. And when he had declined the offer for a nightcap, she had pushed into his personal space to crush her lips to his.  Of running smack into you when he had tried to put distance between them, his back colliding with your front and crushing the wrapped gift in your hand. The sound of it thudding to the ground and your surprised shout warbling off into a deep breath of realization.

But the woman before him now was the same one who had taken the time to wrap the gift labeled with his name on it. Had taken the time to hand write recipes on a long-forgotten pack of index cards. Step by step instructions for things easy to combine and make nutritious means from. Had taken the time to include little, silly names for the meals that had pulled a tearful chuckle from him as he read them through in his inebriated state.

“I just want to be left alone. I just want, for one measly second that someone doesn’t watch me and wait for me to screw up, to give them a reason to feel disappointed. I-I can take it from the others, but Joel…I can’t handle it if it’s from y-you. Please just go.”

He didn’t go. He moved closer, into your personal space and he was thankful for the way you didn’t shy away from him even as tears raced down your cheeks. For the way you allowed him to cup your face in his hands and press his lips to yours, thumbs brushing away the tears. For the way your own moved against his as he tilted his head and really kissed you. There was no heat behind it like that last time, just adoration and reverence.

Pulling back, he whispered, “I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

He kisses the fear from you, pleading with you to understand that he's not going to turn his back on you.

He only hopes you can feel it. But your hands don’t rise to caress or cup his face, they don’t rise to rest on his chest, they don’t rise to run through his snow dampened hair. Your lips are barely moving against his and his heart sinks. It chips and shatters on the floor to settle with the pieces of broken olive wood.

But it wasn’t enough. It hurt that his attention wasn’t enough when you thought it would be. It was about his actions. How they had made you feel the last couple of months, since summer. The back and forth, the constant miscommunication, the humiliation of wanting a man who had so much more in his life, who was pulled in so many directions. The respect he had from the people within the settlement for the things he could do, for the things he provided to them. The issue of your reception, the possibility of it affecting his own if he were to be seen with you or you seeking out more of him. All of it was too much, the constant internal turmoil, it was heavy.

It was so heavy and you had to put it down.

“Joel,” Gently pushing him back, but not away, his body willingly moving with the motion. “Why didn’t you make me one, a cutting board?”

He froze.

When he sputtered on a few words before falling silent, you detangled from him. Crossing your arms as shield to your heart.

“This is why I keep to myself. It doesn't hurt when there's no one else involved.” Your voice was a low rasp, giving away the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill, the hot throb of them in your throat. “And even if you did try to be my friend, it's okay that you really don't want to be. You share things with people, you're a giver Joel, but I've had to ask for everything you've given to me.”

He could only watch as you closed yourself off, and you hoped he noticed the dark circles under your eyes. That he noticed just how much his attention had ruined you, because it had. You had been okay with how things were before he came along, content to keep to yourself, to spend patrols with Tommy and Maria. You hadn’t longed for companionship before he showed up and rode alongside you and asked simple questions about the town that developed into questions about yourself. Offering answers of his own in return. You hadn’t wanted before him.

“And that's not who i am, someone who asks for things she deserves. So…you standing there with no answer is you telling me that I don't mean anything to you. You don’t get to make me feel like I mean something and then not follow it with actions. I didn't take you for a cruel man. You say you’ve done things to stay alive, to fight for yourself and those in your care. And I wanted to believe that you changed, that you turned over a new leaf here. But you hurt me, Joel. You hurt me in a way that really…was so unfair.”

Once you let the words flow from within you it was hard to stop, they were a flood being released. Voice not stuttering or scrambling over them like you know you tended to do. Mostly from lack of interaction, of not using your voice most days as you spent it alone in the kitchen, home, or garden. The stuttering an anxious thing born of fear of interacting and it turning sour like it quickly tended to do. Words and sentiments always more ammo for those to use against you. And you could see it, in the man across from you, that he had things to say in response to the many words you were giving him. But you couldn’t, you were tired.

“I deserved better than the treatment I received by the people of this community, of this safe haven for those willing to contribute and who wanted something better for themselves. But the truth is…I’m better off alone.”

His voice cracked on the shape of your name on his lips.

But you shook your head, tears flowing freely and breathing labored.

“Just go, please.”

“Well hey there.” A figure approached you, where you were seated on the same stool at the long bar in the Tipsy Bison for the second night in a row. It was the man of the brother and sister duo you had convinced Joel to trust and bring back to the settlement. They had settled in well, Millie taking to the pregnant woman with a swiftness that had surprised you. But they were both close in age, something rare these days, to find friends you could relate to easily.

“Oh, h-hello.” You looked up from the book you had been reading, hearty sandwich on a plate beside your drink. Only a few bites taken out of it. The book holding your attention far more than the simpering hunger in your stomach. You hadn’t eaten all day, stewing in forlorn silence on the couch until your stomach rumbled. Only to find you didn’t have anything that would make a meal in your home, prompting you to brave the calmer but still whipping winds and intermittent snow fall.

“I just saw you from across the room, Tommy Miller said we could grab a bite here since the mess hall was closed for the day with the bad weather from this morning.” Nolan, you recalled his name. Nolan was nice, polite. You didn’t fault him for pointing a gun at you or Callie for managing to injure you. It was a sick, twisted world out in the wasteland of what was, especially if there was an unborn baby to worry about. They had just been doing what they needed to survive another day. “Guess no one wanted to risk working and getting stuck. I’m grabbing something to go I just wanted to thank you again, for helping us.”

“It’s no big deal. Everyone deserves a chance at something more.” You tried to smile, but you felt drained. From the early morning of cooking and delivering meals to front doors for people. Maria had enlisted the help of a handful of people, but it had been time-consuming to prep and make everything yourself. To bundle it all up into packs that would be appropriate servings.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” He moved to sit beside you, startling you at his forwardness. There was a wry glint to his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was fighting off a smile. “While I waited, that is.”

“Oh, t-that’s probably not a good idea. I’m not the most popular here, you’d have better luck integrating with-“

“Whore.” A female voice whispered as someone walked by behind you.

“Excuse me?” You whipped around, shocked at such a blatant display of behavior. You were used to whispers, to errant rumors springing up once you had left a store or a gathering, asked an impertinent question during patrol and general meetings. But this? A direct confrontation was a new level and you were far too tired to handle it. Especially with the day being what it was.

“You heard me, praying on the newcomers to try and sway them on your side.” It was Millie. She was sans coat, having removed it to enjoy her evening in the toasty bar with her gaggle of friends you could see gathered in a booth on the other side of the room. She must’ve come up to the bar for a refill when she decided to imitate her mother and impinge on your rare interactions with people. “I’d be careful if I was you, she tends to get people killed. Don’t want to find yourself the latest victim.”

“The council said that they’re selective of who they let in. Surely they-“ Nolan was trying to be polite, to not overstep his place being so new in such a large community. But you could see the anger in the furrowing of his brow, the frown pulling his lips down, the way his hands were twitching. It was sweet of him to feel the need to try and protect you but this is exactly what you had been worried about. That the two most instigating occupants would try and ostracize him and his sister for associating with you.

“They do, but in her case they should’ve left her out in the woods and let the Infected get her. Be better for everyone if they had.”

You had moved without even thinking. The force of your hand hitting the woman’s cheek loud across the room. The hush of conversation lulling, a tense silence following.

Scrambling to correct the huge mistake you just made, to save face, your words were a breath of stuttered apologies. Your stomach had dropped, no longer a part of your body as your mind moved through the outcomes and ramifications of your thoughtless actions. You had never been one to needlessly lay hands on someone. But…the time you had spent fighting to survive had changed you, altered you beyond what you had been. Your instincts honed and deadly, and you silently thanked whatever force of the universe that was still alive that you had left your knife at home. Otherwise, it would be hilt deep in her chest right now.

It was ugly and it was cruel, but someone could only take so much.

“Millie, oh-oh my god, I’m so sorry. I-“

You didn’t even get to finish your rushed words before she returned the slap, her hand connecting hard with your own cheek.

The sting of it hot, skin throbbing.

And it was like a damn broke. Filling the tunnel and making you desperate for a chance to crawl out.

But instead of breaking out of it into the town, you were transported outside the walls. Relying on your instincts, relying on fighting with everything you had to survive.

You were on her in a flash, not even a second had passed. Both of your knees knocking into the ground around her body. Your hands making contact with any part of her you could. Sounds of her struggling underneath you fly into the air with every punch, every pull of her hair, every push of your body against her. You didn’t care about her nails digging and tearing into your arms, her knees kicking up and colliding hard with your back, her elbows jutting into your ribs. The searing pain of your stitches popping loose.

You didn’t care. You didn’t care. You didn’t care.

Strong arms wrapped around you and pulled, while another held your legs down. Restraining you as you realized you were shouting out that same set of three words over and over again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, calm down.” Soft words, not harsh. And you shouted at them, forced the words from your aching throat, demanding that they let you go. That they leave you alone. Fighting against the people trying to hold you down. You felt your elbow connect with something hard, your knee with something soft and suddenly you were able to stagger to your feet.

Eyes not seeing details, just blurred faces and people standing all around you. Watching. Always just watching. Whispering things behind your back, not interacting with you, ignoring you. And you were done, you didn’t care.  And you shouted it for everyone to hear as you took in the sight of Millie crumpled on the ground. Having turned on her side to try and make herself smaller. Bruises were already blooming along her pretty face, her loose hair a tangled mess. Her nails were chipped and broken from digging them into your skin, the faint sting of them long lines down your arms. Her clothes were rumpled, the exposed skin of her stomach showing signs of bruising as well.

You just stared, unable to draw your gaze away from the whimpering woman. She wasn’t even trying to get up, she wasn’t even trying to fight back anymore. She was just laying there, bellowing out her hurt and looking so pathetic. And it made you feel bad, because she was nothing, would be nothing without the settlement of Jackson. She and her family had been here since the outbreak, safe in their secluded location, safe in the quick thinking of others, safe because of sheer, dumb luck that allowed her to continue being who she had always been.

But even despite the glitter of remorse beginning to shine through, you needed her to understand that you were done. That she had crossed a line she shouldn’t have. That for all the things she said and all the hurt she caused, you were the reason she was allowed to strut around town and act that way. You were the reason she was safe behind these walls and had an abundance of food. You were the god damn reason.

“Don’t you ever lay another hand on me, you understand? I will put up with your words, with your gossip, with you stealing every chance for me to have something good. But you will regret ever thinking of putting your hands on me, you hear me? I will fucking end you and make all your rumors true if you do it again.”

Her shuddering breath was the only response you got from her, but it was enough. You turned your back on her, grabbing your coat from the back of the stool you had been occupying, and walked out into the still falling snow.

“JOEL!” The bellow of his name, loud and alarming, startling him from where he had fallen asleep on the couch. He had collapsed there after returning from your place. He had frozen, all the sentiments he had planned to share with you died on his tongue the second you shared with him how much he had hurt you. It seemed it’s all you had experienced since coming here long before he and Ellie did. He hadn’t wanted to argue with you or belittle the things you had said, so he hadn’t. No words or feelings he had would have righted the wrongs done to you.

He felt unworthy of you, having played a part in it. He felt like he failed you, tricked you into an easy camaraderie when he knew after that first smile it would never be enough for him. He should’ve been honest from the beginning, told you he wanted to be someone to you. But instead, he had botched it, he had fucked up.

“Holy shit, dude, you need to come quick!” Ellie hollered as she barged through the front door, the handle slamming into the wall of the entry way and he had the errant through to put a piece of wood there to prevent it from happening again before it tore through the drywall.

“What’s wrong, baby girl?” He was hurtling up, hands reaching for the panting teenager as she came into the living room. Her eyes bright and shining, her hands trembling. She allowed him to pull her into his chest, his heart thudding, anxiety humming through him harsh and hot.

“It’s not me, it’s Olive.”

His heart stopped, his heart stopped because it was no longer in his chest. It was on the floor, bleeding and immobile between their feet.

“Is she…?” He didn’t even know how to finish his sentence. Gone? Hurt? Injured? Stood in front of Marsha or Millie just taking their words directly? The worst thought of all being shaken from his head because he couldn’t bear to give it life.

“She freakin’ lost it. She went ballistic on Millie at the bar. It took two people to pull her off and then she hurt them too. She was shouting all this stuff about how shit people treat her and then she took off.”

“Took off, Ellie, where?” He pushed her back to duck his head and caught her eyes. Worry spiking and making his mind run through all the possibilities. He needed to know where you went, even if you had sent him from your home with a hollow and broken heart.

“I-I don’t know, she just ran out the door and was gone by the time I tried to follow her.” Ellie reached up and held onto his wrists, her fingers wrapping around them and he realized for the thousandth time how small she was. How much things affected her, how her own trauma showed in ways they could both anticipate and in ways they could not. Seeing violence first hand since settling here seemed to have triggered her and he didn’t like it for either of you.

“It’s okay, baby girl. I got you, you’re okay.” He hushed, his words pressed into her forehead. She was trembling and he hated that he couldn’t do anything to help her. She clung to him, the winter already a harder time for her than the rest of the year. Awful memories associated with it that no matter how hard she tried to tamp them down, rose to the surface. He held her, offering his built up warmth to sooth her and when the sniffles stopped he lowered them both to the couch.

“Y-you should go find her, Millie tore her stitches open. They took that ungrateful dumbass to the infirmary. But Olive took off.”  

“Okay, but we’re taking you to Tommy’s okay?”

Minutes later they were across the street and knocking on the front door.

“Tommy, listen, I know it’s late. Believe me I know but Ellie needs to take your guest room and I need to know where Olive would go if she’s upset?” Joel didn’t waste any time, speaking as soon as the door began to open. Tommy just looked at him for a second, eyes taking in the thinly veiled panic on his normally calm and collected brother.

“Joel, what in the hell, what’s going on, what are you talking about?” His eyes snapped into focus, lack of sleep vanishing as he realized something happened.

“Olive, she snapped. Something about Millie starting something with some insults that turned into the two of ‘em going off on each other at the bar. Word is she took off, but she’s not at home and she didn’t come to me. Tommy, where would she go?” Joel ambled into the house, his hands soft on his brother’s shoulders as he tried to get the man to focus.

“She, uh, she’s never done anything like this before. She, um, she could have…” Joel could see that his brother was trying to focus on the situation at hand brought to him in the middle of the night, trying to think on so little sleep and energy.

“Tommy!”

“Maybe the cemetery?”

“The council needs to hold thar girl responsible. She should have to go on Olive’s patrols until she’s healed. I mean it, Tommy. I want it done.” Joel gently guided Ellie to the couch, urging her to sit down so he could wrap the throw blanket on the back of it over her. He moved into the kitchen and started a kettle for a cup of tea. Something soothing for her to find sleep easier.

“Joel, I know you’re upset. But Millie’s never been beyond the gates. Her entire family has been here since the walls went up.”

“And that’s why she feels entitled to act the way she does. Slinging insults and making fun of Olive, holding things against the woman like it’s her fault that despite the walls there are still very real threats out there. Not every one of them is avoidable. She needs to learn somethin’ and she needs to do it quick.”

“I can talk to Maria about it, but yeah, you have my word she’ll be put on patrol. Are they okay though?”

“I can’t say much for Millie, but Ellie said Olive pulled her stitches ‘n I gotta go out and find her.” The kettle began to whistle, and Tommy took over on making tea for himself and his niece.

“Then go find her, make sure she’s alright.”

Joel tried to tamp down his anger as he knocked on the front door. It was a momentary stop on his way to where Tommy suggested. The weather had calmed down, but not enough to make it an easy trek. The winds were still howling, though they weren’t nearly as devastating as earlier, snow floating down in soft waves.

“Joel? Oh, it’s so late, is everything okay?”

“I told you I wasn’t playin’ games with you.” He didn’t try and tamp down the frustration in his voice, it needed an outlet and the woman in front of him was a worthy for it. He cut off her startled question.

“Your daughter instigated a fight with Olive tonight. Called her names for the whole town to hear. Raised her hand and physically accosted her. That your best attempt at helping to ease the tension you’ve caused? That how you think people should be treated after spending hours to ensure everyone in town got breakfast in the midst of a blizzard?”

“Joel, Olive hit first. I’m sure of it.” She moved away from the door, from the bulk of him to shove her hands into a thick jacket and her feet into a pair of boots. Joel slammed his hand on the door frame, anger flaring at the woman’s nonchalance toward you.

“It doesn’t matter! Do you have any idea the torment you’ve caused her over the years? Millie is lucky Olive walked off. Talking to her and approaching her like that unprovoked. Olive was just defending herself. She was minding her own damn business like she always does!”

“Joel, do not raise your-“

“I’ll raise my voice when I damn well want to! You need to hear me and listen: both of your little stunts resulted in Millie going on the roster. She’s Olive’s replacement on my morning patrols now. To ensure she learns just how much of a responsibility it is to protect the settlement and deter her from further disrespect to those that go outside the gates every single day to protect this town.”

“No, no she can’t go outside the walls. She-“ The woman’s hands grappled his arm, desperation making her forget everything else in that moment.

“She will learn that there is more to living in a broken world than hurtful gossip and petty vendettas. Take it up with the council, but they’ve made their decision. Olive is missing. Your daughter is at the infirmary.”

He stalked off, not willing to wait around to hear what other nonsense the woman had to say. He had to find you, You hadn’t gone to his brother’s, which he would’ve thought to be the obvious answer. You hadn’t gone to his, of course maybe you would’ve before this morning. His body aching from sitting on your small stoop waiting for your return only to go there for a moment to find it dark and empty. The winds whipped around him, snow blinding and chilling when flakes got stuck on his eyelashes and in his scruff.  

He needed to tell you. He needed to tell you that he’d pick you over everyone in the whole damn settlement if you’d have him. But first he needed to make sure you were okay in order to do that.

Everything was so fuzzy, the edges of your vision fading. The bright snow all around the streets, falling from the sky, it hurt to look at. It hurt to keep your eyes open, but you did as best you could as you clutched to your bleeding middle and stumbled down empty streets. Blood was warm between your fingers, against your palm. The stitches put in place a few days ago now pulled from your skin and tearing even more damage across the wound there.

It wasn’t cold anymore, not by the time you had made it through the creaking iron gate and settled in front of a headstone. Everything was numb and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up as you realized.

The look of shock on Millie’s face shouldn’t be funny, it was sad. That no one had ever given her a taste of her own medicine. You didn’t hold anything against her, it wasn’t in your nature. But you wouldn’t say you liked her, that part of you had died along with Aiden. You had tried to continue to be her friend after everything, that fateful patrol. But she had pushed you away, had been quiet and reserved in her grief.

Until she hadn’t. She had shifted to harsh glares and sharp words. Basically heading the town to lay the blame on you. Her mother dutifully at her side. But you didn’t fault them. You knew loss was hard long before they had. You knew that it twisted people up inside and made it hard to feel okay. But you had never taken it out on anyone, instead closing in on yourself. But that had backfired, turned into a spectacle at the bar amid most of the town’s older occupants. Entertainment for them. More ammo for gossip and hurtful words.

In trying to ignore them, you had made it worse. Of course you had.

You lay slumped against the headstone, consciousness wavering as the wind pressed you into it. The snow began to settle over your legs and in your loose hair. Hat and scarf left behind in your rush to get out of that damn bar. You don’t know how long you laid there, pressing your face into the headstone, tears falling from your eyes and stinging as they froze on your cheeks, on your lashes, around your puffy eyes. Coughing, you felt the warmth of a thick liquid and taste of metal as blood splattered over the name etched into the stone.

You were tired, exhausted. Your body no longer hurt and it was a relief to be without the low thrum of anxiety, the smoldering heartbreak in the shape of broad man weighing down your chest, the ache in your hands from hours of chopping and stirring and mixing, the swelling in your legs from standing for hours everyday to prepare meals for people who couldn’t care less about you. It was all gone and it was a relief.

You tried to peel your eyes open, but they were so heavy. Unseeing when you managed to, it was so dark around you. There was no way it should be that dark in the late hour with the snow blanketing the town and the sky swathed in snow clouds. But it was and it didn’t bother you. You didn’t want to see anything anyway. Not when you closed your eyes against the darkness, you saw a soft smile tugging at plush lips that had felt good against your own below a pair of sparkling brown eyes. You saw Joel Miller and that was good enough.

You weren’t aware of the darkness being a shadow falling over you, a body dropping to its knees as it spotted you on the ground. You weren’t aware of the shout of your name, your actual name, nothing breaking the unconsciousness you had succumbed to. Joel was frantic, his hands hovering over you as he worried touching you would cause more damage. The blood shining on dark on your lips, the sallow complexion of your skin, the hand that had been pressing to your stained and wet middle limp in your lap. All of it was too much and his heart felt like it was humming in his chest as it beat in time with memories of loss and pain flashing before his eyes.

He couldn’t, he couldn’t lose you too. Not now, not like this.

Ignoring his worry, pushing it down, he scooped you up into his arms. The fact that you didn’t startle awake or shout out in pain at the movement didn’t sit well with him, his stomach dropped and his head pounded as he realized how cold you were to the touch, how limp you were. He gritted his teeth against the biting wind, the snow flying all around and began to move through the headstones.

“I made you one.” He croaked. “I made them all for you. All of them, every single one” His hands were warm, cradling you close, trying to tamp down the bleeding from your middle as he walked. “C’mon, sweetheart. You gotta let me save you so you’ll have one. I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything. Olive, please.”

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[mikaelsonharem7]

Best Birthday Ever

🔞NSFW🔞 dominant themes, smut.

This is a birthday gift for my wrestling bestie and sis! Hope you have a wonderful birthday 🎉

@thetribalqueen 🤎

It was your birthday today and all morning you had a feeling that this one would be for the books. You didn't have anything planned besides going to a Smackdown taping and that you won through a contest. They were in Buffalo, NY, tonight, and WWE had flown you in style for the show. As you arrived, you were greeted by Paul “HHH” and Stephanie McMahon, who were excited to make your birthday a special one. They had a lot of cool backstage activities planned for you. Meeting some of the superstars and getting merch goodie bags, photo ops, and more. You were so excited because there was one superstar you were dying to meet, and that was the Tribal Chief himself, Roman Reigns. You thought that man was sex on legs, and the thought of meeting him and being in the same space as him made butterflies in your stomach.

As Stephanie and Paul walk you through the empty arena, you see some wrestlers going through last-minute moves, and as you get closer, you see that it’s Roman and the Usos. Nerves begin to bubble as you walk closer and closer. Seeing Roman on TV is a WHOLE different experience from seeing him in person right now. He’s wearing an all-black track suit with his hair pulled into his signature bun. His skin has the most beautiful sun-kissed tan. Walking up to the edge, they all stop, and all the attention is on you.

 

“Who’s this?” You hear Jey ask.

“This is Kristi. She won our giveaway and is here for the taping tonight. It’s also her birthday!” Stephanie expels joyfully.

 

“Oh snap Happy Birthday, girl!” You hear Jimmy say it from inside the ring.

 

Shyly saying thank you, you can’t help but notice that Roman is staring directly at you. His gaze is so intense that you feel heat rise in your body. You were so focused on Roman that you didn't hear Paul and Steph say that you were going to meet some other wrestlers. Coming out of your trance, you feel your cheeks heat up because you had been staring. Not wanting to be embarrassed further, you say bye and follow behind Paul. For some reason you could feel someone staring at you walking away, and you look back quickly to see that Roman’s eyes are still on you, watching you figure walk away.

 

Hours have passed, and it’s showtime, and they really rolled out the VIP treatment. Front row seats were right in front of the ring, so you were up close to the action. Of course Roman opens the show, and he looked so majestic coming down to the ring. His aura was like no other. The atmosphere in the arena was electric, and you knew it was going to be a great show.

The show was great; the Temu Bloodline would never take the place of the OG Bloodline, and Solo could never be the OTC!

 

After the show was over and you were backstage talking to your favorite superstars, you suddenly get a tap on your shoulder, and it’s none other than Paul Hayman. You had seen that he was at the arena from social media, but you hadn’t seen him all night.

 

“If you could come with me, there’s someone who would like to see you," he says in a low voice.

 

Confused but intrigued, you follow him to the locker rooms. Your mind is going a million miles a minute as to who could want to talk to you; you didn’t know anyone. As Paul knocked on the door, you heard a deep voice say, “Come in,” and you knew that voice. Panic and nerves began to swell as Paul opened the door and was told to go walk inside. Once in, you see Roman sitting on the couch on his phone. Once he sees you enter, his attention is fully on you. You couldn’t believe it. THE ROMAN REIGNS was right in front of you, and you looked like a deer in headlights. Hi gaze never leaves you; he tells you to come in and relax.

 

Walking to the couch, you sit down a little ways from him, not knowing why you were here. His eyes never left your form as you walked towards him.

 

“Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, his voice echoing in the room.

 

With a big smile, you say, “Yes! I am getting tired of Solo, so you need to handle business and get your spot back. He’s very annoying.”

 

Laughing at your comment, Roman says, “Trust me, I’m working on it, but enough about that. Was your birthday fun for you today?”

 

Nodding excitedly, you gush on how much you’ve always wanted to go to a live show and see the action. While rambling, you let it slip that he was your favorite and that you were most excited about seeing him.

 

“I’m your favorite?" he asks with a slight smirk. That smirk made you weak when you saw it on TV, but seeing it right in front of your face made your stomach do backflips. You nod again, unable to form a sentence, and he chuckles lowly.

 

"Well, I knew that you were about to leave, but I wanted to make sure that I gave you a special birthday present that you could remember.”

 

His voice was low and gruff. It sent sparks down your spine with how he was looking at you. His gaze made you squirm in your seat and even more so as he made his way closer to you. With him right next to you now, you can smell his cologne. The scent was intoxicating, making you feel almost drunk.

 

“What kind of gift?” You ask in an almost whisper.

 

His hand slowly starts to trail up your thigh to your waist and finally lands on the side of your face, where he slowly brings his lips to meet yours. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, as if he were testing the waters of your reaction. When he felt the same energy was received, he deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. A moan that you couldn’t hold sounded in the room, and you felt his hand squeeze your neck, creating fire down below. As the kiss was getting more intense, you felt him pull away and stand from the couch. He pulls you up and begins to slowly take off your coat. You were wearing a dress, and you thank God because the faster you felt his hands on your skin, the better. Lifting your dress, he sees that you’re wearing a black lace thong that hugs your ass just right.

 

“Why did I guess you were a thong, girl?" Roman asks with a gleeful smirk. While keeping eye contact, he delivers a slap to your right cheek while cupping the other. The sting and sound take you by surprise and make a moan fall from your lips. Roman trials kisses down the side of your face and neck. Surely you’ll have a hickey once he’s done. Lifting the dress off so you’re only in your thong, Roman takes a step back and admires your body. Licking his lips in appreciation. Watching his tongue sends a chill down your spine.

 

“Get on the couch and lay back for me.” He orders.

 

Not wanting to disobey him, you move back to the couch and lay back watching and waiting for him. He slowly walks to the couch, and his big hands trail your legs, slowly spreading them. He looks down and sees that you’re soaked. Chuckling, he slowly dips down and licks a stripe from the center of your panties to your clothed clit. The sensation makes you jump, and you bring your hands to his head. He pulls your pants to the side and sees your pussy glisten with your arousal. Going in again, he flattens his tongue, licks again, and slowly pulls your clit in his mouth. Sucking, he slowly inserts one of his thick fingers. Feeling you clench around him makes him moan, and the vibration jolts you. Adding a second finger, you clench tighter, slowly feeling your release coming. Grabbing his head tighter, you slowly fuck yourself on his mouth, cumming hard.

 

As he pulls away, you can see yourself drip from his beard. The site almost makes you cum again. He sits up and takes off his shirt. His muscles are flexing as he does. He then pulls down his pants, his thick dick springing up at attention. The head is leaking as he slowly strokes himself. Kneeling back down, he settles himself in between your thighs and rubs his cock up and down your pussy, creating more wetness. Slowly he pushes in, stretching you in the most pleasurable way. He lets out a moan or breath when he feels how tight and wet you are for him. Pulling out and stroking you till he’s buried to the hilt you release a high-pitched moan, he felt so good.

 

“You like how I’m stretching that pussy baby girl?" he asks in a low voice.

 

Unable to answer, you nod your head, trying to bask in the pleasure he’s giving you. He was hitting your spot with such precision.

 

Not liking the answer, you feel a firm hand wrap around your neck, and he squeezes, "Nah, let me hear you say it. Use your words.”

 

Gasping, you let say, “Yes, yes, I like the way you’re stretching my pussy.”

 

You could feel your orgasm coming, and Roman could feel you clench around him. With his hand still around your neck, he trails his other hand down your stomach until his thumb reaches your swollen clit and he begins to rub. Feeling him stroke you deeper while rubbing your throbbing clit makes your brain shut off, and you feel white hot pleasure radiate throughout your body as you cum on his dick.

 

“There you go, cum for me like a good girl," you hear him say as he chases his own release. You feel his hips begin to falter, and with a deep groan, he shoots rope after rope of cum deep inside of you. You feel his dick twitch and pulsate before he pulls out. Both breathing heavily, you both lay down and try to calm your bodies down from the intense session you both just did.

 

After catching a much-needed breath, you both begin to redress, and once fully clothed, you see Roman go and get a duffle bag, and he hands it to you. Confused, you take it and begin to rummage through seeing all different types of his merchandise, and he even snuck his signed, sold-out championship belt. Smiling ear from ear, you thank him, and he says that he would like to walk you to the car that would take you to the airport for your flight. As you approach the car, he gives you a hug and says that he hopes this birthday was one for the books and that he hopes you have a safe flight home. Getting in and driving off, you can’t help but think that this was the best birthday ever!

[damiansgoodgirll]

Hey🤭🖤💖

can you please write reader being punk protege and drew using reader against him please?💖💖

cm punk x reader (platonic) + drew mcintyre x reader (platonic)

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️just wwe typical violence

happy face

way before punk rejoined wwe, mcintyre was your mentor. he was the one who helped you gain the confidence you had now. he taught you how to act in and out of the ring. he helped you improve your speech skills and if now you were one of the most successful and loved female wrestler in the company was mostly thanks for drew.

you never meant to turn on him. in your mind, he was still the caring and kind mentor that helped you all of these years.

you didn’t even care about cm punk rejoining the company. it was none of your business.

but you and rhea were best friends and rhea and punk were good friends so the more you hung out with her, the more you hung out him punk too. at the time there wasn’t any beef going on between the two of them so drew didn’t really care about the people you used to hang out with.

but after drew costed punk’s wrestlemania, things started to change.

you had your own match at wrestlemania for the wwe women’s world title and you wanted to be ready. so when drew got booked the same night as you he knew he couldn’t help you train. he was too focus on winning his own championship and you completely understood.

when you told rhea you needed someone that would train with you for wrestlemania, punk saw that as an opportunity and he offered to help you. you were reluctant at first, knowing the beef going on with drew but you couldn’t say no to someone who had so many years of experience and hard work in wrestling.

so you agreed and you let him train you. he saw the big potential you had and he was sure you were going to get that title at mania.

you were backstage watching how punk screwed drew’s victory and how damian cashed in on him the same night. you knew drew was going to be devastated but you didn’t have time to think about that, you needed to focus on your own match.

to say that drew was shocked when he saw punk ringside during your match was an understatement. he was hurt, furious and angry. what was punk doing ringside with you? but he was hurt the most when he saw punk celebrating your victory. he saw how you hugged him and how happy you were when you won and somehow he felt like you were betraying him.

drew left the stadium and never answered none of your calls when you tried to talk to him. you imagined he was upset but you couldn’t imagine he was that angry.

months passed and you were thankful that you were drafted in smackdown, you knew you couldn’t have handled working with an angry drew every week.

till this day he never answered your calls, or your texts. not even when you tried to explain to him what was going on. on the other hand, punk understood your frustration. he knew you and drew had an incredible bond and he was sorry for how the scotsman was treating you.

one night, you were asked to do a segment on monday night raw and you knew you couldn’t say no.

but when backstage your eyes met drew, you probably realised that it wasn’t a good idea. he was still pissed and you didn’t have the energy to fight with him, not tonight at least.

“y/n…” he called your name, knowing that you were able to hear him loud and clear.

you slowly turned and faced him “drew…”

“congratulation on the belt” he said before leaving the room.

the air was thick. you knew he was going to cause pure chaos tonight and even if you wanted to avoid that, you knew you couldn’t.

you opened the show and everyone was shocked to see you there. your promo did not disappointed and everyone, your colleagues included, were so happy to see you there at least for one night.

punk was on the ring now and you were happily watching backstage.

before you could do anything, drew moved to open up the door of your changing room and he took you out.

“drew what the hell?” you almost screamed. his hand grabbed your arm and he was dragging you into the arena. he wasn’t hurting you but he wanted to let punk know how much pissed and hurt he was when you sided with him.

“i’m not gonna hurt you” he whisper and you trusted him. you knew he wasn’t going to do anything on you but drew was a very unpredictable man.

punk stopped his speech the moment he saw you being dragged into the arena by drew’s hands.

“let her go drew!” he almost screamed.

“no…no, i’m not letting her go” he screamed back into the mic. you definitely weren’t expecting to be thrown into this mess, maybe that was the reason the producers wanted you in raw in the first place “i’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen” his hand squeezed you a little, not hurting you but making you jump from the sudden sensation.

“let her go drew! this is about me and you” punk was beyond mad.

“you fucked me up in front of my friends and family at wrestlemania, you did the same during clash at the castle, in front of all my family, in my hometown…but you took from me the only person who cared about me in this business and i can’t forgive you for doing this” he said, faking a laugh into the mic.

“let her go drew” punk repeated himself but it was like drew wasn’t listening to him.

he slowly dragged you into the ring with him. the two of you facing a worried punk “no no no, i don’t think you understand what’s going on here” he chuckled again “i’m gonna take back what’s mine, from the title you screwed me over at mania! from the glory and the respect i deserve! and lastly i’ll take y/n’s back, because i trained her to be the woman she is today, i did all of the hard work and you’re stupid if you think i’ll let you take credit for all of that”

punk and you met with worried eyes. you wanted to talk with drew and explain to him the whole situation but the way he was overreacting was out of control.

“and you’re right” drew laughed “this is about me and you” he said before shoving you to the ground and letting you watch as he started punching cm punk.

you realised that you were just a distraction. he probably never meant what he said about caring about you. he just wanted to use you to hit punk.

“c’mon punk” drew laughed “show the world your happy face” he kept laughing. this version of drew was honestly scaring you and didn’t know what to do to stop him.

you tried to shove him off of punk but he was stronger and more powerful than you so it took him two seconds to push you on the ground.

“why are you defending him y/n?” drew spat back at you.

“this is not the way to handle things!” you put yourself between a tired punk and an angry mcintyre “don’t put me into this mess because you were the one to never reply to me!”

“you were so busy being friendly with the enemy!” he screamed back but before you could even speak back, punk stood up and punched him right into the face, making the big man on his knees.

“i told you to not bring her into this mess! but you never listen!” punk shouted at the scotsman “she’s able to make her own decisions and she’s able to understand what kind of sick man you are!” the two men continued hitting each others and you had to wait for security to stop because you couldn’t do anything.

security came and they were able to separate the two men, dragging drew out of the arena and leaving you and punk inside the ring.

you immediately went to check on him. his face had some deep cuts and his nose was bleeding “oh my goodness…are you okay?” your delicate hands touched his face, looking for some other injuries but he reassured you saying that he was doing fine.

drew watched from afar that interaction between the two of you, promising that he would get revenge on punk for everything he caused him.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.