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joelsgreys · 1 year

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a safe haven | three

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter l next chapter

summary: You and Joel get to know each other better and the two of you share a private moment out behind the barn under the stars; an unexpected guest shows up to the party; Tommy gives Joel a second and final warning about you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) MENTIONS AND IMPLICATIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE/ABUSE. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. alcohol consumption, mutual pining and yearning, Joel sings to reader a bit (that is its own warning), soft Joel, overprotective Joel, and a slight hint of jealous Joel. Tommy seems like kind of an asshole but he’s just trying to look out for his brother, okay?

word count 6.6k

About an hour later, after tossing back about three or four bottles of Seth’s crappy beer, you’d started feeling a lot livelier and a lot more like yourself. It was a glass of his delicious, oak-barrel aged whiskey that you had wanted more than anything, but with Esther over at the bar openly flirting up a storm with Joel Miller, you pushed down the desire for scotch and settled for the bitter lager instead.

It tasted awful, but it did the job well enough. The best part was that the bottles of beer were all readily available in coolers all around the barn, and you didn’t need to go up to the bar to get one.

The last thing you’d wanted was to find out what was going on between Esther and Joel.

“And the next thing you know, poor John is being chased all around the chicken coop by a bunch of broody hens!” Martha finishes her story, throwing her hands up in the air. “God, I wish I would’ve had a camcorder in hand. It was the funniest thing I ever did see in almost two damn decades.”

Everyone sitting around the table bursts into a fit of loud, hearty laughter.

“Oh okay, so then that would probably explain why there weren’t many eggs in stock at the market the other morning,” you tease, only fueling the commotion.

John glares at you, and you shrug innocently, fighting back another laugh. Six foot two with big, broad shoulders and arms, you found it both very difficult and very amusing to picture the bulky blond man being chased around by a flock of pissed off chickens.

“I’d really like to see any of you guys try and take a broody hen’s eggs away from her with ease!” John huffs out before taking a gulp of his beer. He’s red in the face, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the alcohol or the embarrassment. “Assholes.”

Martha leans over, whispering, “See? I told you it would make him mad.”

You giggle, lightly shaking your head at her. “Talk about ruffling some feathers, huh?”

She snorts into her plate of potatoes, jabbing her elbow into your side. “Let’s stop before he really gets all riled up, or else we’re going to get an earful.”

“Oh come on, John. Lighten up,” you grin over at him from across the table. “I know what’ll make you feel better. You guys want to hear a really, and I mean really embarrassing story?” You pause for a second or two, just long enough for everyone to nod eagerly. “Let me tell you about what Stella did to me the other day in her stall when I tried to take her temperature, it was absolutely awful. Okay, so there I am about to—”

“Sorry to interrupt you folks, but do you all mind if we steal this sweet little lady here for just a minute or two?” The sound of Tommy Miller’s smooth, deep voice causes you to stop abruptly mid-sentence. You glance over your shoulder only to see him approaching the table. He’s closely followed by Maria, who had traded her usual patrol duty attire for a light blue denim dress that sat off of her shoulders, the flowing skirt falling just above knees. Her white cowboy hat matches her husband’s.

“Aw c’mon, Miller! She was just about to tell us a story!” Peter, Martha’s husband, exclaims as he drapes his arm around his wife’s shoulders

Tommy chuckles, shaking his head. “I promise we won’t keep her too long, alright?”

You immediately notice that he’s holding a drink in each hand, each glass filled almost to the rim with a bold, rich amber liquor over ice. The only reason that you’d immediately known one of the two drinks was meant for you was because Maria had just discovered that she was pregnant. It was still a secret that very few people knew about, but the minute she confirmed it with a pregnancy test earlier that month, she’d come running to your door to tell you. It’s the reason she’s been avoiding booze all evening—she’s been sipping on lemonade all night instead.

“Excuse me,” you nod politely to the group of friends you’d been sitting with and stand up from the table. You follow Tommy and Maria over to a far corner of the barn where the three of you could talk somewhat privately. Accepting the glass from Tommy, you offer him a grateful smile, pleased that you’d gotten the drink you had wanted after all. “Thank you.”

“‘Course.” He nods and tips the brim of his cowboy hat to you in his typical, gentleman-like manner. He’d never lost an ounce of those Texas manners.

Maria loops her arm through his. “Well, it looks like tonight was a real success,” she states as she glances around the room, her pride written clearly across her face. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

“Absolutely,” you agree, enthusiastically. You smile again and lift your glass to the couple as you toast, “Another year and another success. Here’s to many, many more to come.”

“Cheers to that, little lady,” Tommy grins and lifts up his glass, clinking the rim of it to yours before taking a generous drink, nearly draining it in one single gulp. “Thanks for stoppin’ by earlier and helpin’ set the place up, by the way. We really appreciate it.”

You wave your free hand at him. “Oh, no need to thank me at all. You already know that I was more than happy to help out,” you tell him as you take a careful sip of whiskey. The hard liquor burns its way down your throat in the sweetest way. Taking another sip, you turn to look at Maria, unable to help yourself from admiring her gorgeous, natural glow. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad,” Maria replies with a smile, placing her free hand over her flat stomach. At only a few weeks along, she still had quite a long way to go before she began to show. “Just a little bit of morning sickness here and there, but so far, so good.” She pauses and leans her body into Tommy’s side. “I never thought I’d be having a baby in my forties,” she muses with a laugh. “I thought that train had left the station a long time ago. But I guess life had something else planned for me.”

“For us,” Tommy corrects, playfully nudging her.

“For us,” Maria echoes, giving him a loving kiss on his cheek. “Luke calls it a geriatric pregnancy. He told me I’m automatically considered high risk, due to my age and all. But we’re hoping it’ll go smoothly.”

You detect the genuine concern behind her optimistic smile and reach out, gently touching her arm. “I’m sure it will all turn out fine. You just have to make sure that you’re taking good care of yourself and getting plenty of rest.” You point a finger at her, wagging it back and forth. “So, that means no more patrol duties for you, Mrs. Miller.”

“Oh I know,” she laughs again. “I’m on light work duties starting next week and in a few months, it’ll be strict bed rest for me. At least, that’s what Luke recommended, but I’m hoping to stay on my feet for a little bit longer than that.” She tilts her head curiously to the side as she looks at you. “Speaking of Luke, is he around? We haven’t seen him at all tonight.”

Throat bobbing, you grip your glass tightly in your hand. The corners of your mouth threaten to turn downward, but you manage to hold your smile well enough.

At this point, you had pretty much lost track of the number times you’d been asked about Luke.

Where is he? Why isn’t he here with you? Do you think there’s a chance he’ll show up tonight? Can’t you go home and convince him to join us?

You just about loathed the way he was considered to be a hero in Jackson. The way that every single person in the community adored the man to pieces made you sick to your stomach—Luke was anything but a hero, but nobody knew that. Not a single soul knew the real him, the monster that emerged behind closed doors, the terrible things he did when no one was around.

There had been an occasion or two where you had considered going to Tommy and Maria about it, to tell them all about the horrors that went on within the walls of your home. But even when they’d point out a bruise on your arm or a scrape on your cheek, you would lose the courage and chalk it up to a clumsy accident or injuries sustained while on the job—hell, just a few months ago, you’d blamed an injured shoulder on Ranger, telling Tommy that his beloved stallion had accidentally kicked you during one of your routine examinations. You wanted nothing more than to tell him that it hadn’t been his horse who put you in a sling for three weeks, it had been Luke. But how the hell could you do that?

Luke is the commune’s physician. The commune’s only physician.

Besides the two older nurses who worked in the clinic along with him, he was the only medically trained professional who knew how to treat severe injuries, perform minor surgeries, and diagnose illnesses—as much as you hated to admit it, Jackson needed him. If you told Tommy and Maria about everything that he’d done to you over the last two years, then you’d risk getting Luke locked up in the town jail, or possibly even thrown out and exiled from the settlement. What would that mean for the people in the community who fell ill or became injured and needed a doctor?

Maybe he wasn’t a hero to you, but to everybody else, he was. People could die without him and his medical knowledge. Hell, Maria would need Luke now more than ever now that she was pregnant.

For as much as you wanted to tell them the truth about him, you just couldn’t find the guts to do it, not when the decision would impact every single person in Jackson.It would be too selfish.

So, you kept quiet and continued to let it happen because what else could you do?

Nothing.

There wasn’t a goddamn thing you could do about it.

Tommy says your name, snapping you back out of your thoughts. “Hey, you alright?” he asks you as he gingerly touches your shoulder. “You zoned out on us for a minute there.”

You blink. “Yeah sorry, I’m alright. Um, Luke decided to stay at home and get some rest,” you reply as you shift awkwardly from boot to boot, feeling a sudden heat flood your face. “He’s been working a lot of hours at the clinic and making house calls as well, so he’s just been really tired, you know?”

“Oh, well that’s too bad,” Maria frowns. “Tommy and I were hoping we could say this to the both of you together, but I suppose you’ll have to give him the message on our behalf when you get home to him later tonight.”

You shoot her a puzzled look. “What is it?”

“We know we don’t say this as often as we should, but you and Luke do so much for us. So much for Jackson,” Tommy says, sincere gratitude dripping from his tone. “We’re damn lucky to have the two of you here. Me and Maria, and everyone in this community, we’re all deeply indebted to both of you for all you do.”

You stare at him. “Everyone here works very hard, Tommy—”

“Now, I ain’t saying they don’t,” he interrupts you by holding up his hand. “But let’s be honest here. Luke, he takes good care of all of our people, you take good care of all of our horses—people and horses, that’s what keeps this place runnin’ like a well oiled machine and you know it just as well as we do. Without the both of you lookin’ after our two most important resources, I ain’t all too sure where the hell this place would be.”

Maria nods in agreement with her husband and squeezes his arm. “Oh, don’t be so modest,” she remarks upon seeing the bewildered expression on your face. “He’s right. And we need you to know how much we appreciate everything the two of you do for this community.”

Tommy grins, raising his glass in a toast. “To you and Luke.”

Stomach churning, you flash them your very best smile and lift your own glass, clinking it against his and then to Maria’s bottle of lemonade. “Well, I will certainly give him the kind message when I get home tonight. Thank you.” You take a quick sip of your drink, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. The room feels hot, like it had been lit on fire and you were standing too close to the flames. “It’s starting to feel a bit warm in here. I’m going to go outside for a minute to get some fresh air. Excuse me.”

Before either of them can utter another word, you spin around on your heel and hastily make your way across the barn towards the exit, being careful not to bump into the dancing couples on the dance floor along the way. Even as you hurried out, you’d caught sight of Ellie sitting with Dina at one of the tables, digging into her plate full of barbecue. Dina had leaned over and whispered something into Ellie’s ear and Ellie let out a loud, obnoxious cackle through a mouthful of food.

Despite the circumstances, you can’t help but smile—an actual, genuine smile this time around.

At least Ellie seemed to be having a good time.

That’s more than enough for you.

Joel glimpses over Esther’s shoulder.

His eyebrows pull together in a mixture of confusion and concern as he watches you practically run out of the barn alone with a drink clutched in your hand and a strange expression on your face—you appear to be upset over something.

The blonde in front of him had been going on and on about where she was from, although he hadn’t quite been listening to her the entire time she had been talking—or at all.

Had Esther said Vermont? Or maybe it had been Virginia?

Joel wasn’t all too sure, but he didn’t care enough to ask her to clarify. Besides, his thoughts were far too busy preoccupied with someone else. Someone he needed to make sure was alright.

“Listen Esther, s’been real nice talkin’ to you,” he states as he offers the woman the most polite smile he can possibly muster up for her. He tries to ignore the awkward way she’d pouted her lips at him, a sad, disappointed look flashing in her eyes. “But I’ve gotta go and take care of somethin’ for a minute. Will you excuse me?”

He doesn’t even give Esther the chance to respond. Setting his drink down on the counter, he gives her a quick nod goodbye and steps around her. He starts towards the barn’s exit, but before leaving, he tosses a quick glance in Ellie’s direction just to make sure she’s still doing okay without him. He had been keeping a close and watchful eye on her from the bar the entire time. After a while, it soon became apparent to Joel that Ellie had been doing just fine. She’s scarfing down another heaping helping of bison and potatoes, grinning from ear to ear as she talks with Dina, who seems to be enjoying her company despite her poor table manners.

Joel steps outside into the night and he takes a look around, searching for you among the small, scattered groups of people who stood mingling with one another. Gossiping women, drunk and rowdy patrolmen, children running around—he jumps slightly as a giggling little redheaded girl who can’t be older than five circles around his legs with a curly haired boy who is about the same age chasing after her. He lightly shoos them away from him and they take off running in another direction.

He scans his surroundings once more.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Humming, Joel glances down.

He notices a long trail of footprints left behind by what had to be a pair of cowboy boots, similar to the ones you’d been wearing. The strange way in which they veered off in a random direction away from the rest of the crowd tips him off almost a bit too easily—he knows they belong to you. Without giving it a second thought, he starts to follow your tracks and they lead him all the way around to the back of the barn.

That’s where Joel finds you, leaning against the wooden paddock fence. You’re back is to him, your head tilted upwards. Your gaze seems to be lost somewhere up in the velvet, purple night sky and you’re swaying along to the pretty country melody that, even outside, can still be heard coming from inside the barn.

Turn around, a sound voice in the back of his mind tries to reason with him. Go go back inside.

He ignores it, his legs moving forward, eager to close the distance between the two of you.

The sound of his heavy boots crunching on the rocks in the dirt as he draws closer to you causes you to jump. Whirling around, you gasp and your free hand flies to your chest.

“M’sorry,” Joel quickly apologizes, holding up both his hands to show you he’s not a threat. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Joel?” You’re surprised to see him. “What are you doing out here?”

The area out behind the barn is just as dark as it is secluded, however, the moon is full, big, and bright, its silvery glow illuminating each and every single one of your features in such a beautiful way that it makes his throat go dry, just like it had earlier that evening when he’d first seen you in that dress.

“Well ain’t that funny. I was actually just ‘bout to ask you the same exact question, darlin’.” He falls into step beside you, leaning back against the fence. “What are you doin’ out here all by your lonesome?”

“Oh, I just needed some fresh air, that’s all,” you reply with a small, light shrug of your shoulders. You turn back around, leaning your forearms on top of the wooden fence, both hands wrapped firmly around your glass of whiskey. You’re standing so close to Joel that your shoulder touches his, though neither of you make a move to put space in between your bodies. “What’s your excuse?”

“Needed a breather from Esther,” he confesses.

It was partially the truth.

He couldn’t tell you he’d really come outside to check on you.

“What do you mean? Didn’t you like her?”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all,” Joel says, letting out a chuckle. He shakes his head. “She just ain’t the kind of company I’m lookin’ for tonight, y’know?” He pauses for just a brief second and crosses his arms over his chest, his sudden change in position causing his shoulder to press even closer against your own. “Tommy mentioned her to me when we were havin’ lunch together yesterday. Said he’d be willin’ to set us up, but I didn’t think his dumbass would actually follow through with it.”

Confused, you shoot him a strange look.

“I’d told him I wasn’t interested in meetin’ her, but Tommy’s always had a real habit of not listenin’ to me,” he remarks, shaking his head once again.

The question falls from your lips before you can even think about trying to stop it. “Why aren’t you interested in her?” you blurt. Awkwardly, you clear your throat and add in a nonchalant tone, “Esther’s gorgeous, Joel. Most guys around here would jump at the chance to be with her.”

“S’like I told you. She just ain’t the kind of company I’m lookin’ for tonight.”

“So then, what kind of company are you looking for?”

Joel hesitates, then answers honestly. “Yours.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, your heart skipping a nervous beat.

He tests the waters. “That alright to say?”

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to utter.

Fighting to take a steady, even breath, you clutch at your glass even harder.

“Y’know, when I was on my way out here, I saw Ellie and Dina still sittin’ together,” Joel finally says after a minute or two, breaking the silence. “She honestly seems to be havin’ a real good time with her.” He nudges your shoulder with his own, a hint of amusement in his voice as he turns to you and asks, “Now tell me why I’ve got this strange little feelin’ that you had somethin’ to do with that?”

Your immediate expression of guilt prompts his grin.

You’d been caught red handed.

“Okay, so I may or may not have talked to Dina earlier today while we were setting up the barn for the party. I asked if she could do me a favor and at least try and talk to Ellie tonight,” you admit, sheepishly. “I told her about how much Ellie reminds me of her, and how I thought they would get along.” You feel his dark eyes fix themselves intently on you and the heat creeps to your cheeks as you continue to explain yourself to him. It’s only just now occurred to you that perhaps you should have ran the idea by Joel—he’s her guardian and the last thing you want to do is cross his boundaries. “It took a little convincing, but she agreed. Dina can still be quite shy sometimes, but she’s a really good girl, Joel. I promise.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you, letting his arms fall down to his sides. “Really? You did that?”

“Yeah. I did.” Anxiously, you take a long sip of liquor before adding, “I hope that’s okay.”

“‘Course it is, darlin’. I really appreciate you doin’ that for Ellie.” Joel’s gaze softens and meets yours with genuine sincerity. “I appreciate everythin’ that you’ve done for her. It means a lot to me. More than I can probably even explain.”

“I can tell how important she is to you.”

Joel nods. “Ellie’s the most important thing in the world to me.” He stops, exhaling a long, heavy sigh. “She’s been through a whole lot—a hell of a lot more than anyone her age should have to go through.” Once again, he pauses momentarily, trying to keep his emotions in check. He swallows harshly and subconsciously leans closer towards you without realizing it. “Ellie, she ain’t my blood, but she’s my daughter. For a long time, I thought I couldn’t take care of her. I thought that I didn’t have what it takes to protect her.”

“And what about now?”

“Now that we’re here, I feel real different ‘bout it all. I finally feel like I can keep Ellie safe, y’know? Give her the life she deserves,” Joel states, sounding a bit relieved, almost like he’s only just now made the realization that things are different now—it’s not like it was while they’d been out on the road. Each day isn’t a fight for survival, a game of trying to stay alive long enough just to see the next. Sleeping in the dirt, watching her go hungry, seeing her have to wear the same dirty clothes for weeks at a time, those were all now things of the past.

Pulling yourself back from the fence, you glance up at him with a curious expression.

“Ellie hasn’t told me all that much about what she’s gone through—about what either of you have gone through.” You catch sight of the worry that flashes in his eyes and reassure him, “And I don’t plan on asking because it isn’t any of my business. But in the short time I’ve gotten to know Ellie, I’ve already seen it in her eyes, Joel. It’s all there.”

“What’s there?”

“Every bad thing that’s ever happened to her.”

Joel hangs his head. “Jesus.”

And just like that, he somehow feels like a fucking failure all over again.

“I know that you’re worried about her, Joel. I don’t blame you, but you’re doing all that you can do,” you remind him, the kindness in your voice bringing him the warmth and comfort he’s been needing for far too long. “You’re here in the community now and she’s safe. That’s what matters—all the rest is going to fall right into place soon enough. Just give her a bit of time and don’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

Joel sighs. “I just want what’s best for her, y’know? Just like any normal parent would want for their kid.”

“And you are doing the best that you can, just like any normal parent would.” You reach out, gently placing your hand on his bare forearm, your thumb brushing his warm skin. Your mere touch sends a tingle up his spine, and he can’t help but wonder if the connection had done the same for you. “It’s easy to see how much you care about her. How much you love her.”

“I do love her,” he murmurs. It feels odd, almost foreign for him to say it out loud. Of course he loves Ellie, and although he’s fairly certain she knew that and she loved him too, those three specific words had never been exchanged between them, and he had a hunch they never would be. “All I want is to do right by her. After everythin’ she’s been through—I just want her to finally be happy.”

“That says a lot about the kind of man you are.”

Biting back a scoff, Joel shakes his head. He doesn’t want you thinking he’s a good person—you’d be horrified if you knew about all the blood that stained his hands, about all of the things he’d done in the last two decades to survive. He’d stolen, he’d destroyed, he’d murdered. He’d lied.

He was not a good man.

Your hand drops away from his arm, a lot sooner than either of you would have liked.

“So, what’s your story?” he asks, deciding to switch the focus of the conversation onto you. “How’d you end up in good ol’ Jackson, Wyoming?”

“You take another sip of your drink, which is now completely watered down by the melted ice in your glass. “Well, like I told you, I grew up in New Mexico on a horse ranch. It was me, my parents, and my little brother,” you start to explain. “After the outbreak happened, me and my family ended up in the Albuquerque QZ. We were there for quite some time, until there was a breach at one of the gates and the zone was overrun with infected.” You pause briefly as the memories of that night come flooding back. By now, you’ve repressed them enough that they don’t bring you to your knees the way they used to when you had been younger. “Me and my dad made it out alive, but my mom and my brother didn’t.”

Joel frowns. “Shit. M’real sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have asked—”

“It’s okay,” you assure him with a tiny nod. “After me and my dad made it out of the zone, we found this group of people who were heading east, trying to get to Boston. It wasn’t long before everyone started to get picked off one by one—by infected, raiders, and even slavers. Somehow, me and my dad survived all that, but we found ourselves alone again. We were starving, had no shelter, and winter was just around the corner. We honestly didn’t know what we were going to do, and even though neither of us ever said it to each other, we were both so sure we were going to die. But then Tommy and his patrol group came across us one night. Once we proved that neither of us were infected, he brought us in.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Joel states. He never would have even guessed.

You just seemed so well put together.

“Haven’t we all?” You let out a humorless laugh.

A silence falls like a curtain over both of you, but it’s comfortable.

Tranquil.

Although it had been a warmer night, it was now much later into the evening, and a chilly breeze whips its way through the settlement, whisking its cool and crisp fingers through your hair. It causes the white daisy you’d been wearing to fall, and the flower flutters to the ground, landing right in between Joel’s boots. Without giving it a second thought, he reaches down and picks it up, being careful as he gingerly dusts the dirt off of the delicate petals. He turns to you, tucking the flower back behind your ear. As his hand falls away from you, his index finger accidentally grazes the soft skin of your cheek, and every part of him floods with the burning desire to feel more of you.

“M’sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“It’s quite alright,” you say—and you mean it. You can’t even remember the last time someone’s touch set you on fire like this. You’d been feeling cold and empty and numb for so long, and while all of the things that Joel’s making you feel had become almost foreign to you, they’re starting to reignite that spark of life inside of you that you thought you’d lost a long time ago.

From the inside of the barn, you and Joel hear the band begin to play their cover of Can’t Help Falling in Love.

“Elvis, huh?” Joel muses with a hum. He sounds impressed.

You’re not sure if all the alcohol you’d been consuming throughout the evening has only now just decided to kick into full gear in your system or whether you really do just lack any kind of common sense, but you find yourself looking up at him shyly through your eyelashes. “How about another dance?”

His lips part slightly in surprise. “To this song?”

Every inch of your skin burns hot with embarrassment and your fingers curl tighter around your glass. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that I really love to dance,” you sputter out nervously, wishing you had kept your mouth shut. You only dig yourself further into the hole as you continue to ramble. “Luke doesn’t like to dance. He never wants to dance with me—”

That’s all Joel had needed to hear.

He reaches for your glass, prying it out of your grasp. He sets it down on top of the fence and holds his hand out to you. “I’ll dance with you, darlin’.”

Looking up at him in surprise, you accept and place your hand in his. His other hand finds your waist and the two of you begin swaying along to the music—a smile that could light up the entire town breaks out across your face.

Joel didn’t know Luke, but he couldn’t fathom how the man you were married to wouldn’t do just about anything to see that smile.

“Wait, I thought you couldn’t dance,” you tease, noticing that he’s leading you.

Flashing you a cocky grin, he shrugs. “Guess the kid was right. I ain’t so bad for fifty six with creakin’ knees.”

Remembering Ellie’s words from earlier, you throw your head back and laugh.

His stomach turns, twisting in a tangle of desire and nerves.

You’re married.

But that does nothing to stop the want, the need.

For either of you.

Being in his arms, it’s wrong.

It’s more than an innocent dance—it’s the beginning of something that’s bound to lead to nothing but trouble and you both know it.

Joel continues to lead you and begins singing along to the familiar lyrics, quietly, but just loud enough for you to hear the sultry richness of his voice. “Like a river flows, surely to the sea,” he sings, subconsciously giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Darlin’ so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

Impressed, you raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got a nice voice, Joel.”

“Y’think so?”

You nod. “I do. What, were you a singer in your first life or something?”

“Close.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“I was a contractor,” Joel replies, grinning as he elicits another sweet laugh from you. “Owned my own construction business with Tommy. I did enjoy singin’ though—and playin’ the guitar too. But it was a hobby more than anythin’ since I don’t think music would’ve paid the bills.”

You smile up at him. “Oh, well now you’re going to have to play the guitar for me sometime. Maybe even treat me to a whole song?”

“I still owe Ellie a song,” he remembers, shaking his head. “But I don’t have a guitar, so it gets me out of it.”

“Well then, we’re going to have to find you one and when we do, you’ll have to play something for us,” you tell him. “Deal?”

“Deal.” Joel agrees without thinking. He starts singing along to the lyrics again. “Take my hand, take my whole life too—”

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.” You try not to laugh again at the shock on his face as you finished the lyric for him.

“Hey now, you’ve got a real nice voice yourself, darlin’.”

Darlin’.

You shouldn’t let him call you that.

Out of respect for your husband, you should tell him it’s not okay. None of this is okay.

But it is okay.

“Oh, now you’re just trying to flatter me, Miller,” you accuse him, playfully.

The song ends and neither of you make a move to let go of one another.

Joel’s eyes fall to your pretty, plush lips and it takes every ounce of strength he has inside of him not to lean down and press his own lips against them.

Finally, he forces himself to let you go and takes a step backward, clearing his throat. “I should, uh—I should go and find Ellie so I can get her home. S’gettin’ kinda late.”

You nod, your heart slamming painfully against your sternum. “Of course,” you say, slightly breathless. “I’ll come along with you so I can say goodnight to her.”

As the two of you make your way around the barn and back towards the entrance, Joel sees a tall, slender man with short dark hair approaching. He’d called out your name and something inside Joel’s mind just clicks together—he knows exactly who the man is before you’ve even had a chance to open your mouth and say his name.

“Luke?” Stopping abruptly in your tracks, you stiffen and squeak out his name. “What—what are you doing here?”

“There you are, honey.” He comes up to you and immediately takes your arm, pulling you from Joel’s side and over to his. “Tommy told me you might be out here. I was just coming to look for you.”

It takes thirty seconds for Joel to size him up. Luke’s younger than himself, definitely closer in age to Tommy—somewhere around his mid to late forties. He’s a lot more clean cut than most of the other rugged men in the commune with his short, neatly kept dark hair and a clean shaven face. Though he’s on the thinner side, he’s in decent shape, but Joel’s wider, broader and far, far more intimidating.

“What are you doing here?” you ask again.

“Now, is that really how a loving wife should greet her husband?” Luke laughs, pulling you even closer into his side.

Joel isn’t all too fond of the way he’s holding you.

He’s rough, harsh.

“I decided to come and check it out. See what all the fuss is about,” Luke says. He glances at Joel, his green eyes giving him a once over—sizing him up, just like Joel had done to him. “Don’t be rude, honey. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

You speak softly, almost too softly.

“Luke, this is Joel Miller.”

“Ah. You’re Tommy’s brother, right?”

Joel tries not to sound too curt, but fails. “That’s right.”

“Joel, this is Luke.” You can’t even look him in the eye as you introduce your spouse. “He’s my husband.”

Luke extends a courteous hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Joel.” His other hand finds and takes yours. “I do hope that my wife here hasn’t been bothering you tonight. She can be quite the little chatterbox. Makes me wish she came with a mute button sometimes.”

Joel’s dark eyes briefly flit to Luke’s hand holding yours, taking note of the way he’s gripping it so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Between that and the comment he’d just made about you, Joel had every fucking desire to connect his fist to the side of Luke’s face.

“Luke, please,” you whisper, throwing him a tiny glare.

“Oh come on now, honey. Where did your sense of humor go? You know I’m only joking,” Luke states, squeezing your hand a little harder, causing you to squirm.

Something tells Joel he’s not kidding around.

He’d meant what he had said.

“She hasn’t been a bother at all,” Joel speaks in your defense. “Actually, I came out here to talk to her and to thank her for bein’ so kind to my kid, Ellie. Your wife here, she’s been nothin’ but good to her since we arrived.”

“Well, as long as she wasn’t being a bother.” Luke glances down at you. “If you’ll excuse us, there’s a few people that I still need to see and say hello to inside. Come along, honey.” He glances at Joel, a strange glint in his eye as he tells him, “Welcome to Jackson, Joel.”

His jaw clenches as he watches him drag you into the barn.

Nothing about Luke sat right with him.

The way he’d spoken to you, touched you, treated you.

And then there was you.

The light had instantly left your eyes the second he’d come around.

Something wasn’t right.

A rough hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts.

“Really, Joel? Really? Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tommy hisses, yanking him over to the side of the barn where nobody would overhear him. “What the fuck did I tell you yesterday in the mess hall?”

“The hell are you fuckin’ talkin’ ‘bout?”

His brother glares at him. “I know that you ain’t as fuckin’ dumb as you look, Joel. What the fuck were you doin’ out here alone with her? Huh?”

Joel purses his lips together tightly in silence.

What had he seen?

Having read his mind, Tommy shoves his shoulder. “You were dancin’ with her you fuckin’ asshole? Did you fuckin’ forget that she’s a married woman?”

Joel rolls his eyes at him and aggressively shoves his hand off of his shoulder. “We were just dancin’ together, alright? Ain’t like we were makin’ out, Tommy. Can you fuckin’ relax?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Joel! If I saw any man that wasn’t me dancin’ with Maria like that, I’d be fuckin’ pissed. I’d kick his fuckin’ ass,” he spits. “Her husband just showed up to the goddamn party. You’re fuckin’ lucky that it was me who saw you out there with her and not him. What if he’d seen you two? Then what?”

“Christ, Tommy. Relax,” Joel tries again to calm him. “It was just a dance, alright? It was nothin’ more than that. Okay?”

“You listen to me and you listen to me good, ‘cause I ain’t fuckin’ gonna say it again, big brother. Don’t go gettin’ any ideas ‘bout her. I don’t need you to go around stirrin’ up any kind of trouble,” Tommy says, his voice firm. “We can’t have that kinda shit here. Maria won’t tolerate it, and y’know what, I won’t either. Don’t fuckin’ cause problems. Got it?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” Joel mutters, bitterly.

Tommy narrows his eyes at him.

“Just fuckin’ watch yourself, Joel,” he warns. “I fuckin’ mean it.”

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

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The Nurse (Part Four) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, angst, angsty!Rick, hallucinations, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Thank you all so much for the outpour of support :))), I hope I can do right by you guys and this story. I kind of have a plan, but we'll see where it goes. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! This one is based loosely off Rick's hallucinations of Lori, etc. A short update for the girlies (gn). Expect some slowburn soon :)]]

"Y/N?" Beth spoke as you shifted around -Judith tied tight to your chest in a makeshift carrier (out of sheets for a few of the extra cells) so you could still do the rounds. She was under your care until further notice because of a cough she'd seemed to gather from someone.

"Beth, hey," you answered, relaxing slightly at the unrushed tone of her voice -you'd been waiting for the emergency to come. The one where your hands would shake and your breath would quicken, but you'd still remember exactly what to do.

It was a relaxing feeling, your body knowing better than your head -the stress of a life on your hands would make them shake, but your brain wouldn't stop the function.

Then, you looked at her.

"Beth? What's wrong?"

She frowned, biting at her bottom lip and you could see the shine of tears in her eyes, "Daryl saw Rick standing aimlessly in the yard. He said he was crying-"

"Okay, okay," you spoke, placing your hands on her shoulders, "-calm down. Did he seem lucid?"

"I don't- I don't know," she stuttered out, her tone shaky and just... scared, "-Daryl said he was getting too close to the fence. I mean, he can't be-"

"Alright," you took a deep breath, hoping to get her to match it, "-let's get you and Judith to Maggie, okay? And I'll go check on Rick."

Your steps were quick with a purpose, and it felt distantly like your life before. Instead of concrete and barbed wire fences, it was white hallways and the squeak of tennis shoes. It was nostalgic, almost, but it was short-lived.

"Maggie," you spoke, hushed, "-can you keep an eye on these two? I've got to-"

"I know," she answered, hugging Judith to her chest - eyes a bit fallen and a shine of fear as bright as you'd seen it. Your eyes flickered to behind her, where the big blue eyes you'd found familiar looked at you - Carl.

You nodded with your lips sealed, knowing Rick would've rather this be private. No one wanted their issues so plastered as his were. With a sensitive structure as the apocalypse could only create, seeing their leader in this state could only do harm.

Your steps echoed through the halls along the concrete as you made your way to the courtyard - which was still fenced in, but if you got too close...

Your feet sped up.

Daryl was along the outskirts of the fence, and probably the least composed you'd ever seen him, hands messing through his hair and fidgeting along his clothes.

"He's just-" his voice faltered, just slightly, "-just starin'."

Sure enough, Rick was in the courtyard -eyes distant as he faced away from you to, into an empty corner. He looked purposeful, though; his stance curved forward as his head hung ever so slightly -like it was resting against something but there was thin air in front of him.

"No," you spoke, focusing on the hum you could hear, "-he's speaking too. Whispers."

"Whose he talkin' too?"

You started at the man, his open defeat, vulnerability, and the gentle whisper of his tone. He could trust them, or at least he had once. Just then, in the way the sun landed across the field, his wedding band glimmered.

"I think I know."

Daryl didn't say anything else as you stepped forward into the area, slow and precise. You carefully stepped among the grass -just to avoid startling him. It could only worsen what he'd been experiencing or what you assumed he was.

"Rick?" You questioned, so soft it was almost a whisper. The man didn't move an inch, head still tilted forward, and eyes trained ahead of himself. He stood a fair bit away from any oncoming walkers, so the danger wasn't immense. You could take this as slow as you needed.

"Rick?" You hummed again, gentle and barely a tone above the first one.

You were close enough to hear him now, his tone was quiet, but you could hear it -a desperate plea, "I'm sorry."

"Rick..." you whispered, as close as you felt he'd be comfortable with at the moment, "Rick, can you hear me?"

He didn't move toward you or move his head at the sound, yet he responded -tone just a hair above a whisper, gravelly and distraught, "Yes."

"Okay, good," you spoke in response, "-who are you talking to, Rick?"

You had an idea, but confirming it could only help. Assessing the situation calmly was the main key to talking someone down in any sort of situation -other than comfort and making sure no one was getting hurt.

"Lori," he spoke, not necessarily in response, but more so pleading, "-god, Lori, I'm so sorry. I couldn't- I didn't protect you and Carl."

He was gulping through air, breaths becoming shallower and the tears falling faster. Now, was the time to intervene, as the walkers stirred against the fences -thrashing and hopeless.

"Rick," you spoke, tone calm and settled, "-what's going on with Lori?"

"I just," he spoke, so quick after your question, you weren't sure it was an answer, "I just wanted to apologize. I could've-"

"Rick," you hummed, "-just breathe. Lori's not..."

"I know," he spoke, gravelly and direct. His tone was cold, and you felt a sort of unsettled chill down your spine, "-I know, she's not..."

He faltered off, eyes more lucid now -the fog you'd once seen not quite there now, but not exactly looking at you. His hands fidgeting at his sides, and his eyes stayed focused on the ground below him.

You didn't want to overstay or cross a boundary, so you stayed put. There was still an intimacy there, as you watched Rick curl into himself -hands moving at his eyes as if to wipe away tears that weren't there yet.

"Has Carl..." he started up, the whispery drawl low and almost... desperate, "-did he see me like this?"

"No," you answered, soft and reassured.

He laughed, a little bitterly, as he placed his head in his hands. His posture sinking, and his breaths becoming deeper -you stayed still, "Good."

You hummed, and your brain was distant with its constant worries, you felt your heart speak for a moment, "Rick?"

He spoke then, soft and quiet, barely a word. You took this as a notion to continue.

"I'm sorry. No one... no one deserves to have that pain. Especially you and Carl. You're-" you faltered, losing your words, "It's not your fault."

Rick stayed still, the hollow hum of his breaths being the only thing that really gave you the clue he was breathing. And you didn't even really know if he was listening, but you decided to take a chance on it.

"It'll be easier," you spoke, voice a little unsteady, "-eventually. I... I know."

He stayed quiet there, for a few more moments. The only noise was the distant wails of walkers, and the buzzing of some bugs around you. As you pushed on your heart, letting it seap through just to give someone comfort. You'd lost a lot, and you didn't think you'd ever talk about it. Not now, at least.

In your urge to comfort him, you'd joined him in the grass -almost unintentionally, you navigated to him. It was natural to you, comforting someone in a tough situation. Soft words, well wishes, hopeful promises.

Then, as your heart clenched in your chest and your eyes fogged up in just... grief, your hand was suddenly warmer than it had once been. Your eyes flicked to your hand in alarm, dispelling what had come on just before and-

There it was, he was holding your hand.

The gesture was innocent, really, a rock between the two of you -a sort of solidarity. The blades of grass under your fingertips just as grounding, but this was personal. An acknowledgement that despite not knowing each other that well... there was support there between the two of you.

With the shakiness of an inhaling breath, you murmured -just as low as the buzzing of the bugs, "Thank you."

Rick didn't respond, and he didn't really need to then. You understood enough.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader

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archiveof22048 · 4 months

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13:34 - asakura shin sfw | fem!reader, she/her pronouns used 1.3k words

there she is again.

shin watches you enter the convenience store, grocery list floating around in your thoughts. cooking oil that your mother has requested that you buy (she's the reason you're out on this inconvenient convenience store trip, you were hoping to spend the day lounging around at home). your favorite brand of strawberry milk that you might as well get since you're out. your sister's favorite brand of potato chips that she texted you to get for her.

just like the past few times since he had first seen you in the store, you're just as pretty as ever. you've got this bored look on your face, one riddled with annoyance due to your mother, but shin finds it cute.

he smiles when the two of you make brief eye contact, one that lasts just barely over a second, a smile not only at you but also the fact that you looked his way in the first place.

sakamoto, adept as ever at reading facial expressions, doesn't need clairvoyance to understand that shin's taken an interest in the girl perusing the store. sakamoto watches shin's lovestruck face, his eyes nearing the shape of hearts and his cheeks and ears dusted with pink all over.

'how cute,' sakamoto thinks. he reminisces of the time he first fell in love with aoi, a picturesque love at first sight, set in a convenience store just like this. his story seems to be the opposite of shin's, where the store clerk, now, is the one who's fallen for the customer.

immediately, shin turns to face sakamoto, who's got a blank stare as he slurps on his nissin ramen. "sakamoto...!! i heard that!"

again, sakamoto remains blank-faced.

then, shin sighs. "it's not like i can do anything about it. i'm a worker and she's a customer. it'd be weird for me to make a move, don't you think?"

'not exactly,' sakamoto thinks. he looks down at his watch. it's almost 2 pm. 'your shift is almost up anyways, shin. lu and heisuke should be arriving soon.'

"huh? i thought i don't get out 'til 5 pm, though."

in response, sakamoto just stares at shin until he understands. then, he blushes. "oh..."

then, some rustling occurs from the other side of the counter. "excuse me... i'm ready to pay."

it's you.

sakamoto takes a step back and lets shin be the one to ring up your items.

you lay all of your items out on the counter haphazardly, all over the place. it's sort of silly in shin's eyes, knowing your thoughts behind it. 'agh, my sister seriously wanted five bags of these chips... and mom, does she really need three bottles of cooking oil? they better both pay me back as soon as possible.'

you look down meekly. 'please don't judge me,' you think, 'i just want to go back home.'

shin is silent. is now the time to strike up a conversation? should he be 100% professional and remain quiet? he's getting more and more flustered, so much so that he can't focus and rings up four bags of chips instead of five. he's feeling the same amount of stress as he would during an assassination mission.

"um... i think you need to scan one more bag of chips," you say.

you spoke to him. your voice is cute. you're cute.

just as quiet as your thoughts, he responds with a simple "...oh, you're right. sorry."

then, he hears a blessing.

'he's cute...'

after keeping his eyes down for so long, he glances up at you, who's already staring back at him. you're a little shocked from how sudden he looked up. especially with after that one little thought of yours, you may as well think he could read your thoughts.

you swallow dryly, flustered with his brief yet intense glance.

'he's finally the one scanning my items. it's always the guy behind him,' you think. you look up at his apron to read his name tag. 'shin...'

shin blushes heavily. it takes a great amount of effort for him to ask, "do you need a bag?"

"yes, please."

then, you're carrying 4 bags out the door, saying a "thank you, have a good day!" over your shoulder. despite carrying mainly bags of potato chips, what you're carrying is quite heavy and is slowing down your walking. even if the walk is only ten minutes, you think you may need to stop halfway to give your hands a rest.

you hear a faint "wait!" from behind you. when you turn around, it's the cute store clerk jogging up towards you.

"hey," he says, not even out of breath. he hasn't gotten an apron on, but you remember his name-- shin. "do you need help carrying your bags?"

you don't answer his question, and instead you ask one yourself. "aren't you supposed to be working right now?" it's not a question out of annoyance or malice, but pure curiosity.

"oh," shin says nervously, "sakamoto let me end my shift early. business is slow today, anyways."

you silently cheer to yourself. shin can hear the fireworks go off in your mind, and he has to do the best he can from confessing right then and there.

you give him two of your bags, beaming at him. "okay, then. my place isn't far from here."

the two of you walk side by side, and it's a silent walk. you're both keeping silly little grins to yourselves. yours is due to the cute store clerk helping you out, and shin is smiling because he can hear all of your thoughts; his feelings are not unrequited.

you break the silence first. "you're shin, right? i saw it on your name tag."

"yep, that's me. and you are...?"

you give him your name, and it's a beautiful name. you're beautiful.

"it's nice to meet you, shin."

he blushes. "nice to meet you, too."

"y'know, my mom wanted me to get all these groceries, but she wanted me to go to the grocery store downtown. she insisted i didn't go to sakamoto's, even though it's closer, 'cause it's 'too dangerous.'" you laugh to yourself. "pfft, ridiculous, right? i decided to go to sakamoto's 'cause..."

'because of the cute store clerk i'm talking to right now,' you think. 'wait, that's a little too personal, especially since we just met.'

shin smiles slyly, turning to you. "because...?"

"ah, i forgot."

shin nudges your shoulder with his, laughing. "you were definitely gonna say something, say it!"

you laugh, too. "no, no! i actually forgot!"

he can hear you affirm to yourself, 'he's so easy to get along with. i want to keep talking to him, but we're almost home...'

you stop in your tracks and turn to him. "we're almost at my place, it's just a couple houses down. i can take the bags from here."

he silently gives you the bags, a pout forming on his face. it's almost as if shin is trying to tell you he doesn't want to go just yet. "can i at least walk you there?"

you giggle. "sure."

by the time you reach the gate to your house, the sun is setting. "well, here's my place. thank you so much for helping me out. i really appreciate it."

both you and shin lean against the gate. he huffs out a laugh, trying to play himself as nonchalant. "it was nothing. i'm glad i got to meet you."

as the two of you are beginning to say your farewells, there's a whisper that hushes all around the two of you, stemming from your thoughts. 'please, ask me out. please, ask me out.'

shoving his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky so as not to show you his flustered face, shin starts, "so, uh..."

you look up at him, a glistening hope in your eyes.

"would you want to get crepes some time?"

#sakamoto days x reader #shin asakura x reader #shin asakura #sakamoto days

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abiiors · 7 months

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sweet touches 🤍 // ross macdonald x reader

promptober '23 - day 11

a/n: a dad!ross fic within the same dad!ross au as all my other blurbs 🧡 cw: smut adjacent but very very soft smut. mentions of body insecurity and kinda body worship basically wc: 1k

the first ever autumn in april’s life she’s bundled up and ready to go spend the weekend at her grammy’s house. you stand at the threshold of your house, cuddling your three and half month old baby to your chest, kissing her pink cheeks and telling her how much you’re going to miss her even though all she does is babble in return.

ross and his mum wait patiently. he’s already done this all morning—held her and cuddled her close and sang her songs till she was smiling—and his mum knows how hard it is for a new mother to be away from her baby because well… she’s a mum and she just knows. but when ross gently touches your back, you know it’s time to let her go.

“call me if you need anything!” you tell his mum, anxiously wringing your hands. she just smiles kindly, nodding for the hundredth time after you’ve given her a million instructions.

“and she likes—”

“two bed time stories, i know darling,” she laughs gently, “enjoy your weekend off, i promise we’ll call you tonight.”

and with that they’re off, leaving you lingering at the threshold and biting your nails until the car is well and truly out of sight, until ross finally steers you inside.

the rest of the day you spend in a calm, quiet house, devoid of any baby cries and nappy changes and feeding times. just you and ross like it used to be before. you put on old records and dance in the kitchen while making food, almost burn the potatoes in the process too but you laugh, you’re happy. you feel like twenty year olds in love for the first time.

as promised, his mum facetimes at 7 pm on the dot and both of you huddle around his phone to watch your freshly-out-the-bath baby being put into a new onesie. you coo at her, cheering when she recognises your voices and makes grabby hands at the phone, tries to swallow the camera once or twice too. but once the call ends, you know what’s on his mind. ross makes it very clear, in fact, when he chucks the phone away and hugs you from behind.

“maybe we should also get in a bath…” he offers, voice absolutely dreamy and tender and he’s already taking you by the hand to lead you to the bathroom which you don’t much resist to despite the tiny storm of thoughts brewing in your head.

it’s so easy for him—to take off his t-shirt like he does every single time and to turn the tap on and gather the salts and bubble baths and everything else. it’s so easy for him to not second guess everything.

“ross…”

“hmm?”

you have a feeling he’s not exactly paying attention, much more focused on setting everything up. but you need to tell him this. it’s not… there’s no way you want to stay up in your head on the one day you get with him after almost four months.

“ross. i—” you voice cracks slightly. the absolute smallest bit but he freezes in place regardless, quickly stepping in front of you to look at your face.

“you alright? what’s wrong?”

the concern in his voice is sweet, much more than you expected but it’s the way his hands move over your body that gets to you more—they’re no longer on your waist, no longer stroking you in a seductive, sensual way. instead, his fingers run soothing circles on your back now while ross looks at you in confusion.

“i just… uh…” why is this so difficult to get out?! it’s just him. just ross! so you take a deep breath and muster up all your courage.

“my body isn’t… it’s not what it used to be before. things are a bit—” your breath catches in your throat, along with an inconvenient lump of emotions. and so you avert your gaze, looking at the light blue floor instead.

the only indication that he’s even heard you is his soft exhale. and then they way his fingers cradle your chin to tilt it up, forcing you to look at him despite how shy you feel.

“your body is perfect.” his voice drips with so much conviction that you find yourself speechlessly staring at him. “it was before and it is now and it always will be perfect, okay?”

a deep breath and you’re closing your eyes and letting his words, his caresses surround you. letting his knuckles move up your spine and spread electric tingles all over your body.

“you are so irresistible to me. do you have any idea?” another sentence spoken directly onto your skin—your jaw this time as his lips ghost over your face, placing phantom kisses all over.

“but you haven’t—”

it only takes him a second to cut you off with a kiss. just a soft one. “seen you naked? since the baby was born?”

once again, you have no idea how he managed to guess exactly what was on your mind but you don’t get to much time to dwell on that. the next thing you know, ross trails his kisses down until he’s kneeling in front of you and lifting your shirt up.

the mirror behind him reflects everything—the way your stomach still swells from the the excess baby weight and the love handles you haven’t had time to work on yet. but the caress of his fingers is enough to stave the thoughts away, to only focus on the way his lips trail across your stomach.

“your body gave me the best thing in my life,” he speaks so softly that you barely hear him at first. “and if i have to be on my knees every single day to make you love it again then so be it.”

the lump in your throat grows, choking you with emotions until you can’t stop the tears from the gathering on your lashline or the way your voice turns wobbly. “you mean that?”

“about you being irresistible? about being on my knees every day?” a few more kisses. a few more inches of skin exposed. “yes, yes i mean all of it.”

you smile at him, cradling his face in your hands. “okay… the bath–a bath with you sounds perfect.”

lemme know what you think <;33

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#promptober75 #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald smut #dad!ross #the 1975 fluff #the 1975 smut #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann

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scribblertown · 1 year

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Fates of the Fateless Ch. 6: New Faces New Places and a Horse

“The life at sea is a grand and hard. Harder than anything we’ve faced here on land.” Pearson was going off on one of his sailor tangents again. Every time he did you couldn’t help thinking of an old man desperate to relive his glory years. “The fear in your gut wondering if you’ll have enough to last you till next port is beyond imagining.” You’ve heard this story before, more than once actually. Next, he’s going to bring up eating seal meat. “The waters up north are absolutely teaming with seals.” Yep, here we go. “Their meat is real’ greasy you know, has a certain flavor to it. Like a mix of duck and veal.” As he reminisced on his voyages you were stuck cutting and peeling vegetables, nothing you haven’t done before. But the amount to be prepped today was more than usual. Like, an exceptionally larger amount. “I still get cravings for the stuff, can’t find it anywhere ‘round here.”

His droning tales began to fade away as your mind wondered. Your eyes drifting back and forth to the Juniper tree that sat just behind your tent. The fixation of your attention for the past couple of weeks.

Peel, peel, peel. A glance at the tree. Chop, chop, chop. A glance at the tree. Peel, peel. A glance. Chop, chop. A glance. It had become an obsession at this point. Every time someone would drift a little too close to the tree, you’d feel yourself tense up, unable to look away until they finally move onto another part of camp. You weren’t sure what would happen if anyone stumbled upon your little secret hidden away in the winding tangled roots of the grand and old juniper. But after witnessing Arthur’s more than adequate show of putting down a man three times your size, you couldn’t help but snatch up that precious pistol. It almost seemed like life had deliberately sent it in your direction, right there at your feet for the taking. At least, if it really came down to it, you had a chance at defending yourself.

“Once you’re done with those potatoes, throw them in that pot of water. Give the skins to the chickens.” Pearson had swung around with his freshly skinned and cleaved rabbits, the choice meat around these parts apparently. He then does a quick count on his fingers muttering softly under his breath. A gradual scowl crosses his face as his brow furrows, his mustache consumes his mouth in a frown. “Hmm… we’re not gonna have enough for the next week at this rate.” That didn’t seem right.

“This seems like a lot of food for just us.” Sure, you may be new to the ways of life in the 1800’s, but your pretty sure meal prepping wasn’t a concept of the time beyond canning.

“It ain’t, Dutch made some connections with some of the mining men up in Bingham. Should be here by nightfall.” Oh great, more strange men. “Rigorous work like that, tends to give one quite the appetite.” He’s quick to grab what carrots and onions you have done before tossing them into the cast iron with a big glob of some sort of animal fat. The smell of it was always a little gamey. “I’m hoping this means more money. More money means better eatin’.” Pearson was nice enough; he had a sweet face and a nice singing voice. You got the impression he was desperate to socialize. Which might work to your advantage.

“What kind of work does Dutch do?” Maybe you’d get a different piece to the puzzle. “I hear he does dangerous work.”

“All work is dangerous in this day and age.” Damn it.

“Have you been traveling long? No place to call home?”

“Dutch and couple of the others have been out on the road a lot longer than me. I only just joined up maybe… four years ago.”

“Four years?!” You gaped at him flabbergasted. Four years of this same boring routine of grueling work, of never having a roof over their head, and rarely socializing outside of the camp circle. Is that what your future would be with these people? “And you never left?”

“No, and I’m not sure I ever want to.” He collects another batch of vegetables from you. “I had made some desperate money decisions, borrowed from a few fellers thinking I’d manage to make up what I owed and some extra to get back on my feet. I didn’t, not even close and some real mean-spirited men were sent after me. Forced me to marry a woman and took everything I had to my name. I’m sure they would’ve taken my life as well had Dutch and Hosea not stepped in.” A smile began to slowly build on his lips, and his eyes became misty and soft. “They paid my debts. Some lowly, good for nothing-nobody they knew shit about. But they saved me anyway.” His eyes then drifted to yours, his brow was tightly furrowed and his gaze suddenly bold and serious. “Everyone here has a similar story, many of them worse than mine.” His voice is deep and breathy. “This world is a cruel and unforgivable place, one that don’t want folk like us. People will do what they have to for survival, but folk like Dutch. Like Hosea. They do what they have to for more than just themselves. They do what they have to for us.” He didn’t say much after that. Leaving you with a new worry in your gut.

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When the sun had begun to paint the sky a plethora of warm colors, the men came. Talking loudly and cheerfully. Lead by Dutch, Arthur, and William on horseback. Five new dark silhouettes grew closer before they dismounted their horses just outside of the camps main grounds. You tried to keep yourself from staring, pretending to be all too focused on redoing the seams on a jacket arm. Settled just a few feet from the cooking pot accompanied by Tilly with her own sewing project. The smell of the rabbit and vegetable stew you’d prepped drifting from its large confines of black iron as the two of you observed in silence.

“Mmmm! Something smells damn good!” The voice that cried out was an unfamiliar one, a bit shrill. His voice sounded quite young.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a decent meal…” An older man, rough and worn.

“Gentlemen, as the first day of our partnership, I would ask you eat to your hearts content knowing that your lives are now you’re own.” Dutch led the line of men towards the large pot, striking a match on his boot. The quick flicker of flame illuminating his face for a quick second before fluttering into a soft glow as he lit a pipe. The group hooping and hollering as they swarmed the area. Two straggled behind a bit. A man and a woman.

“I’ll getchu a bowl Agatha, you just take a seat and rest a spell.” The man donned bright red hair, swept to the side and styled with some sort of hair grease. His face was angular and skinny, with a decoration of freckles that covered his pale face. He cradled the woman in a gentle and intimate manner.

“Alright, but I want you to get yourself a bowl first.” The woman spoke in a broken and course voice. A dark bruise around her left eye, barely hidden behind her dark locks that draped freely down her back and shoulders. They bickered softly for a moment before she finally took a seat on a spare crate near the chicken coop as he joined the rest of the men. A deep sigh fell from her lips as she practically melted into her seat.

“I certainly hope that bruise isn’t from one of these boys…” Tilly commented under her breath, watching the new group like a hawk with critical eyes scanning every little exchange and movement. You replied with a hum. Out of the corner of your eye Arthur could be seen slipping away into the shadows with a fat saddle bag hefted over his shoulder with a rambunctious William at his tail. Your eyes curiously trailed them as they ventured towards the camps outskirts before your view was cut off by a large figure.

“Well well, I wasn’t expectin’ lovely ladies in your band of gunslingers Mr. Van der Linde.” This man was the tallest of the lot, taller than even Arthur or Dutch. Stocky in build with an equally round and stocky face, short salt and pepper hair without a single strand out of place parted down the middle, a thin pencil mustache sat upon his upper lip and sunken light brown eyes that had that familiar predatory stare. An all too happy smirk on his face as his eyes openly wandered your bodies. You unconsciously leaned towards Tilly to block her from his view, before sending him a death glare from under your lashes. “Oooo… Now you don’t wanna go ruinin’ that pretty little face of yours with such an ugly scowl hm?” He chuckled teasingly before bringing another scoop of stew to his mouth full of rotten and crooked teeth. You could just smell the infection on his breath. “Not very lady like.” Bits of food flung out as he spoke.

“Can’t you be a dumb hunk of shit somewhere else?” Tilly snapped at him brandishing an equally fiery scowl. The rest of the men let out an explosion of laughter. The man’s face quickly became red and tense. Gripping his spoon with enough force to almost bend it in his meaty sausage fingers.

“Stupid bitch I oughta-” He begins to swing his arm back preparing to strike, you tense spreading your body around Tilly as much as you can awaiting the blow but before he can get enough momentum Dutch is quick to slip between you and dickhead.

“Wow now Mr. Samson!” His hands are up and his posture relaxed in a mock surrender, “I’ve got rules in my camp, and that includes causin’ trouble for the girls.” His hand drifts to his hip, sweeping aside his jacket flaps exposing his lavish pistol. “You don’t wanna go ruinin’ a beautiful friendship before it even starts.” Samson stares at the pistol a moment before returning to Dutch’s face. “Do you, Mr. Samson?” His face twists before he let out an angry huff, marching off to no doubt sulk in the shadows.

Hosea then emerges seemingly out of nowhere with John, Arthur, Grimshaw, and William in tow. The saddle bag nowhere to be seen.

“Been awhile since we’ve had this many people.” Hosea’s eyes wonder over the group of newcomers, rubbing his chin with a small smile. “Guess I better go say hello.” In a matter of seconds of him entering the circle, the men fall under the sweet old man’s charming spell.

“Just more mouths to feed, and smaller shares for us.” John sulks with a scowl on his face, clearly not happy with the change in guard.

William has a similar distasteful look, “More like sheep dan men if ya ask me.”

Dutch comes up behind the two, his hands coming down onto their shoulders with a fierce grip, his pipe nestled between his teeth. “Ooh you boys were just like those poor souls once upon a time.” He spoke through his teeth with a smile. “In fact, I recall you two being a lot more pathetic.”

Grimshaw then steps forward, “Dutch I take it you still want us to be packing up to move soon?”

“Mmhm, after tonight’s haul I imagine word will get out sooner than later. Rather not be so close to town.”

“What? We’re moving already?” You were just beginning to settle in. “Why?”

The look of surprise on Dutch’s face made you wonder if he hadn’t realized you were still lingering. “Miss (y/n)! I almost forgot you could talk!”

“No kiddin’, she’s a real bore.” William shrugs Dutch off his shoulder. “All work ‘nd no play.” That puts a frown on your face knowing full well William’s idea of fun is hassling anyone and everyone he can. “Don’t even know how ta ride a horse. Can ya believe dat?” He’s still going on about that?!

“At least I don’t smell like one…” you mutter.

“Dat’s another ting! I know ya go down to the creek for your precious baths princess. Every day!” Your face immediately goes flush and hot. “No one should bathe dat much.”

“Have you been spying on me?!” You’re standing now, hands clenched in tight fists glaring him in his good eye. He just grins. Which is quickly wiped off his face as Grimshaw swoops in to tug at his ear with a harsh pull.

“Ooowowowow!” He cries out as she twists him downwards, casually turning to you.

“Why don’t you girls get yerself something to eat and call it a night. I’m going to have a word with Mr. O’brien.” She gives another hard tug, leading herself and William away. “Goodnight gentlemen.”

“Ow! What’re ya doin’ ya crazy old hag!” William’s cries of protest fading with each step. Dutch and the other boys simply laugh at his expense.

“C’mon (y/n) let’s grab some stew and sit by the fire.” Tilly tosses her fabric to the side, quick to jump on her feet and excitedly veer towards the pot.

Thankfully there was still a decent amount of stew left sticking to the bottom of the cast iron pot, bubbling on the brink of being caramelized and burnt. The two of you quickly found a spot around the main fire where the other men had collected, Uncle balancing a banjo on his knee as he laughs and plays a familiar tune. Out of the corner of your eye you spot John awkwardly standing a decent distance away from you before finally deciding to sit down in the spot to your right.

“Hi John.”

“Hi…” He’s not looking at you as he watches his spoon lazily push around a hunk of rabbit. Soon Arthur appears to take up the spot next to him with a hunk of bread in his mouth. “I-I could teach you.”

“Huh?” John was still staring down at his food, his eyes darting back and forth from his bowl to you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to speak his next words.

“To ride a horse.” He turns his head to make brief eye contact before they divert to anything but you. “I could teach you how.” You’ve only ever gotten a hello out of the guy and now he’s suddenly offering you free riding lessons.

“I don’t have a horse.”

“You can ride mine, or… one of the spare work horses.” He clears his throat before shoveling a large spoonful into his mouth. Just past him you can see Arthur giving him a strange side eye. “Y-yeah, I think… I think you should learn how to ride is all.” He takes another huge mouthful.

“Alright. That would be very helpful actually.” You sit up a little straighter, turning your body towards him with a small hint of a smile. He visibly freezes hunched over; eyes downcast before he quickly shovels the rest of his food down as fast as he can. He then bolts from his seat, walking almost fast enough to have to break out into a slight jog shouting over his shoulder.

“Alright I’ll see you later then!”

“Ok…” a bit baffled at the blunt and brief conversation.

Arthur scoffs out a slight chuckle, “I would find a different teacher if I were you.”

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You were grateful for the early bedtime rest as it seemed Grimshaw felt the need to wake you up earlier than usual.

“Up up up! It’s time we start packin’!” another swift, sharp kick to your shins only increasing your rising annoyance to such a rude awakening.

“Alright alright!” you take a second to rub the lingering sleep from your eyes. Blinking slowly to find it was still relatively dark out. Grimshaw who was somehow fully dressed, hair done, and with a pep in her step marched off to wake her next victim. “What time is it?”

“Is it gonna make you get up faster if I tell you?” Tilly is somehow already on her feet and messing with her hair pins. “I’d get going now if I were you, don’t want that pig from last night getting a glimpse at us in our undergarments.” She moves like lighting twisting and readjusting the pins in her hair before she’s rummaging in your shared chest for her skirt, she grabs yours as well and throws it in your face. “Well? Hurry up!”

“Hold on, I gotta wash my face first.” You crumble the bunch of clothes in your arms and unhappily get to your feet. Nights in the desert were surprisingly cold, only made getting up all the more difficult. It left any and all the water ice cold, a splash to the face was enough to finally bring you out of your groggy state. Shaking your hands to rid yourself of the lingering drops of chilled water you spotted the woman from last night timidly approaching you. “Good morning.” Your sleepy voice coming out deep and low.

“Good morning.” She gave a small smile, reaching for the ladle that hung off the lip of the barrels opening and taking a gracious drink. You stood there a little awkwardly unsure if it would be more rude to just leave or start some sort of petty small talk.

“I’m (y/n).” You seemed to have made the right decision as her eyes lit up with a smile.

“My name is Agatha.” She gave a brief pause, hands tucked neatly in front of her, “I’m happy to see there are other women here.”

“Oh, believe me, I thought the same thing when I first joined up.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Well…. Not really, only about 3ish months.” I think… “I wasn’t expecting a woman to come from Bingham mine. I figured we’d just be getting men.”

“Oh, I’d follow Joseph to the ends of the earth. But I’m happy to be away from that place. They were working him to death.” You couldn’t help but stare at the bruise on her eye, she seemed to notice. “This was a parting gift from my previous employer.” She touched the purpling skin delicately. “Joseph was sure to give him twice the beating.”

“Sounds like you picked a good one.” Just past Agatha you could see Grimshaw prowling about. You’ve been taking up too much time. “Uh, I gotta get to work but let’s chat some more later, ok?” You start to walk backwards as you spoke.

“Of course! It was nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” You shouted over your shoulder before bolting back to your tent. Tilly had already rolled up your sleeping pads, thankfully leaving the chest and tent up for you. You glance around to find no one else was nearby. You quickly slipped to the Juniper tree crouching down and delving into the roots, fiddling around blindly until the cold steel met your fingertips. Swiftly wrapping the pistol in the change of clothes you had engulfed in your arms. Acting nonchalant as you pretended you were simply packing away your belongings. Careful to bury it at the bottom of the chest where only your belongings laid. Quick to actually get dressed and begin the grueling process of carefully taking down the tent, folding it properly and playing a game of tetris fitting it all into the wagon. Next came everything else that wasn’t absolutely needed. Tables, clothes, personal belongings, most of Pearson’s dry goods and cooking ware. If it wasn’t nailed down or on a horse, it goes in the wagons.

“Careful vith my equipment! It’s very fragile!”

“Relax Strauss, I know how glass works.” The camp was bare and empty now with only remnants of footprints and the old campfire among the red sand. The sun was now only just starting to come up as you hefted the last bit of supplies into its rightful spot. “You want me to take your bag too?” you reached out a hand, eyeing his medical bag that he carried around. He cradled it close to his chest with a distasteful look.

“No, it stays vith me.”

“Alright well… I guess pick your ride and we can get out of here.” You keep yourself from rolling your eyes and dropped your hand, he hadn’t lifted a finger to help out, didn’t even take down his own tent. “And William calls me princess…” you mutter under your breath as you settle onto a pile of fabric tightly rolled together just outside of the wagon opening. Strauss hesitates a moment before also climbing aboard, sitting adjacent to you, cradling his bag in his lap. Your eyes wandered to find most everyone else has loaded up and found their respective spots to travel. The wagon just in front of you holds Agatha and the red head you now know as Joseph, feet dangling off the edge, their horse tied just in front of them with their personal belongings on its back. You gave her a wave; she gave one back. Thankfully it seemed Samson wasn’t around, along with the regular bread winners. Arthur wasn’t around, nor were John or William. You took some comfort in that.

“Good morning!” Pearson’s chipper chubby face appears as he hops up onto the coach, scooching over as a young man takes the spot next to him.

“Hello.” His voice was hushed and smooth. Kind dark brown eyes, clean shaven with long silky black hair tied in a braid down his back and donning a simple looking leather hat to keep the sun out of his deep tan face.

“Ah Guten Morgen Mr. Pearson.”

“Have you met Jay yet?” Pearson glances over his shoulder at the two of you, the reins resting limply in his hands as you all await the caravan to move along.

“It’s Jie, Mr. Pearson.” The man corrects him with a smile, he meets your eyes again, “Jie Liu. It’s nice to meet you.” His face carved deep lines up from his jaw and into his cheeks when he smiled.

“Hallo, Jee-eh, I am Doctor Leopold Strauss.” The poor man’s names get butchered again mixed with Strauss’ heavy European accent, it makes you cringe a little. But Jie just smiles and nods at him seemingly unbothered. Turning to you next.

“And I already know who you are. Your little confrontation with Mr. O’brien was enough for us to quickly learn your name.” He has a slight accent, it’s very subtle, though it’s noticeable with certain words. “What’s the saying? Cleanliness is close to Godliness!” He laughs. You feel a little embarrassed to remember you had an audience watching your little fight last night.

“You know I’m pretty sure that’s the most emotion I’ve seen you show since you’ve gotten here.” Pearson has a sly glint in his eye. “Seems some of Grimshaw’s charm is rubbing off on you.”

You roll your eyes. He just laughs. The wagon in front of you starts to move. You all jolt forward slightly as Pearson snaps the reins.

“Jee-eh, I take it you’re an immigrant, yes?” Strauss is holding a book in his hands now jotting something down as he speaks.

“Yes, I am originally from Hong Kong. I take it you are also an immigrant Mr. Strauss?”

“Austrian. But like everything about this country, I’ve been consumed into the American masses.”

Jie gives a chipper response. “It is quite the country.”

“Hong Kong huh? That’s so far away, how and why did you come here?” You ask.

“My home, the little neighborhood I grew up in wasn’t exactly a good one. Big cities like that tend to attract a lot of… bad people.” He pauses a moment before picking back up again. “I lived their most of my adolescent life but… there’s nothing left for me there.” There’s a sadness in his voice, and the implications of what that might mean makes you wish you didn’t ask.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” You spoke softly, awaiting his next words with reverence. The other two remain silent.

He lets out a long sigh, “So, I ended up leaving the country to come here. I was swept up into the work most migrants end up doing. I met a friend who got me into the mining business at Bingham, lost him in the cave ins and now I’m here.”

“Agatha mentioned something about the mine almost working Joseph to death.”

“It’s definitely work I hope to never have to fall into again. It paid decently but when you take into account how much goes into food, housing, and medicine, you lose it just as quickly as you gained it.”

“I haven’t had the chance to talk to the other new recruits. I take it they left under similar circumstances?” Pearson asks curiously.

“To be honest, I am not very familiar with the others beyond their names. But yes, considering the recent cave in and other issues arising from poor work conditions, I’m actually surprised we didn’t have more men take up Mr. Van der Linde’s offer.”

“They vere fools not to.”

“Oh, Strauss you can be a very cold man sometimes you know that?” Pearson lets out a holler, “We got a lot of miles to cover and so much to talk about. You know I was a sailor on the seas once upon a time. Back when I was far younger and had a little more on my head and a little less on my stomach, AHAHA!”

Dear God no… Not again…

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This was by far the farthest and longest you’ve traveled so far. It was a shift in driving wagons, sleeping when night fell, and getting back on the road before the sun even came up. Swapping places here and there so you weren’t stuck with some of the more miserable members of your mysterious caravan. Encountering the two other men you hadn’t had a chance to talk to. The oldest of the bunch was an aged and worn man by the name of Crisoforo Abadiano. His skin was dark and sun damaged, deep lines in his face from years of wear and tear. He was the older than even Hosea it seemed. His dark eyes framed by heavy lashes and a sad distant look to them. Hair short and combed back with slivers of silver amongst his jet-black hair, covered by a large brimmed hat. He never really talked much and when he did it was usually single word responses. While very quiet he was the type you could be comfortable in silence with.

“You have any hobbies Mr. Abadiano?”

“No.”

“Really, nothing at all?”

“Cards.” He was fantastic at ending conversations before they really began.

And of course, Joseph with Agatha practically attached at his hip. He was quite young, younger than you at least. Both ambitious and optimistic, excited to exchange stories and meet new people.

“How did you two meet anyway?”

“Well, I was working at the mining town’s saloon as a waitress and card dealer, you get good commission when all the men want to do after work is drink and gamble all they’re earnings away, sometimes they’d forget I’d already been paid.” Agatha gives a giggle. “Well one night, I was having particular trouble with a tenet who’d pulled a knife on me, accusing me of cheating him out of his winnin’s. I thought I was ‘bout to be gutted when a strapping,” Agatha breathes in a hushed voice as if just the memory of this incident left her breathless, looking dreamily at Joseph, “strong, young, and handsome hero stepped in to save me.” She lets out a long sigh as her lashes flutter in a half-lidded look. “I knew he was the one for me.”

“Oh Agatha, you’ll never know what joy your words bring to my foolish heart.” Joseph, whose face was red as a tomato and clearly flustered was now cradling Agatha in his arms with a similar look of intense love in his eyes. “I love you, Agatha.”

“I love you too, Joseph.” The two then shared a chaste kiss leading to another and another until they were holding each other long and tender. Leaving you to uncomfortably look around at anything but the spontaneous make out session you had the misfortune of being an audience for. They were cute and easy to talk to but… they were just too… lovey dovey.

Other than the small talk, watching the scenery slooowly pass by and napping were your pastimes. (That and avoiding Mr. Samson like the plague personified). It was so incredibly boring to be traveling at a snail’s pace with nothing to occupy yourself. You started to pick up on some of the mannerisms of many of the others.

Uncle at any point you were caught in his presence was buzzed 9 times out of 10. Bessie had impeccable posture seemingly always sitting straight as a plank. Hosea never seemed hot, even on the hottest of days, you’ve never seen him break a sweat. In more ways than one. Dutch and Annabelle were usually resting against each other, shoulder to shoulder, whispering and giggling to each other. You even managed to catch some poetry from Dutch. It actually wasn’t half bad.

The bread winners had returned during the night on one of your rest stops, suddenly just there one morning around the coffee pot after having been missing for so long, it had caught you off guard. John was as awkward as ever giving a small hello without looking you in the eyes, Arthur was a bit grumpy and just grunted, and William had that distinct sneer he’d always give you, not saying a word. The stupid bastard.

They led the rest of the way to a secluded canyon, the jagged red and pink sand rocks speckled with an assortment of desert trees and shrubbery, towering on both sides of a large level bed of rock with two openings that split off into two different directions and a third that you all entered through. It was shaded and cool, quiet and untouched.

Dutch and Annabelle were excitedly taking in the view of the grand open space, as the rest of you began to unpack. “Quiet, secluded, no nosey neighbors. This place is perfect Arthur!”

“Thought you’d like it.” Arthur gave a smirk, pulling up a match to light a cigarette perched on his lips. You assisted Pearson with unloading, watching Tilly curiously survey the campsite before boldly stomping up a cloud of dust.

“I’m claiming this spot for the women!” She announces with wide smile. The area just to the right of the opening to the north.

“Oh? And where will you be sleeping?” Uncle teases her, he had a box in his arms seemingly pitching in with the labor before realizing it was full of liquor.

Back and forth, back and forth. The camp slowly came to life. Dutch’s tent went up first, next was Bessie’s and Hosea’s, and then Arthur’s and so on and so forth until only yours was left.

Only problem is it was smothered under an unfamiliar large wooden chest. Sun bleached in places and chipped in others. Barred by rusted iron hinges and simple looking. Only issue was how unexpectedly heavy it was. Even with both hands you barely managed to scoot it an inch.

“Hmpphh!” You give a harsh pull, causing whatever’s inside to slide and tumble.

“Wow, there miss.” Arthur slides into view, hands quick to find the handles, his calloused fingers grazing yours slightly, tickling the little hairs on the back of your hands. His hat shrouds his face from you. “Let me get this out of your way.” He picks it up like it weighs nothing, and heads off towards Dutch’s tent. You watch as Dutch’s eyes light up at the sight of him. Quick to swoop him into his tent and draw back the canvas curtains, shrouding them from view.

Odd. Very odd.

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You could feel eyes on your back as you awkwardly finish ramming the final stake into the ground. Giving the twine a good tug before making yourself recognize the presence.

“Hi John,” you toss the hammer back into the wooden tool box, wiping sand from your hands. “You uh… need something?”

“Let’s go riding.”

“Oh, you wanna do the lessons now?” your eyes wander around looking for Grimshaw, you’d rather not wander off without her approval. Not worth the scolding you think.

“Yes.” He’s quick to start a march towards the horses looking back at you, still unmoved from your spot. “Come on then!” He yells in haste. You stand there hesitantly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Taking a moment to consider if John is someone you want to be alone with. I mean he’s just a kid, but…

“But Grimshaw won’t like it if I ditch work!”

“Your chores will still be here when you get back.” He lets out a huff, clearly anxious to get going, “Now come on!”

“Can Tilly come?”

“Huh?” Tilly juggling an arm full of pots and pans shoots you a look of absolute confusion. “I got stuff to do around here!”

“But I don’t-“ You step a foot closer to her, voice low enough only she can hear. “I don’t want to be alone with a strange man er-boy!”

“John ain’t gonna do nothin’. He’s as dumb as a bag of dirt but he ain’t bad.” Her hand jumps to catch a cast iron pan that was slipping from underneath her elbow, snagging painfully on her finger. You relieve her of the heavy pan and find it a more convenient place in her jumbled arms. “You’ll be fine. Although I’m not sure you’ll actually learn anything.”

You can see his horse patiently awaiting its rider, a big and burly warm brown stallion already harnessed. Next to it was one of the driving horses, even bigger than John’s horse and rippling with muscle. Black and white like a cow, towering over everything and everyone else.

“Uum, isn’t he a little big?” Your eyes scan the big beast, just how in the hell are you even supposed to get on this giant?

“Horses are for riding. He’s a horse, so ride him.” A blanket is tossed onto the curved slope of the horse’s back before a saddle follows. He’s quick and efficient as he pulls and ties the various leather straps into place, clearly very familiar with his way around a horse. “Alright, hop on up.” You’re a bit hesitant as you nervously approach.

Please don’t kick me, Mr. Horse.

Your first instinct is to grab the saddle horn, which is barely within your reach. Next you pick up your foot to awkwardly sit in the stirrup leaving you hanging off of the side like a monkey.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“Huh?” you peek over at John, fidgeting with his suspenders. “How?”

“Well, uh, you’re just getting on wrong.” You look down at your right foot twisted in the stirrup at an angle, then at your hands tangled together before looking at him quizzically. “You hafta swing your leg over… so you gotta…” He’s at a loss of words, mind clearly working overtime, his face beginning to redden. “Just watch me! Ok?” He places his left foot into the horse’s left stirrup before swinging his right over and finding his perfect perch atop his horse. “Like that.”

“Ooh.” You readjust yourself to place the correct foot in the stirrup before hopping once, twice, and thrice heaving yourself up and your leg over the seat of the saddle. “Oomph!” your leg only hooks itself at the knee, leaving you to depend on your arms to pull the rest of your body upwards, hands barely having enough room to hold onto the tiny saddle horn before finally getting into your seat. Already looking like an idiot. You scoop the reins into your hands gingerly, actively making sure they are lax in your grip afraid you might cause the horse to move before you’re ready. “Now what?” you ask.

“Now, we get a move on.” He clicks his tongue and turns his horse out toward the open desert. He gets a ways out before realizing you’re not following. “Are you coming!?” He yells.

You’re digging your heels into the horse’s sides, clicking your tongue, pulling on the reins trying to get the thing to move, but he remains still. “How do I get him to move!?” you call back.

“Squeeze his chest!”

“Squeeze his chest?” pondering for a second, you almost give the big guy a hug before it clicked in your brain to use your legs, he moves almost immediately. “He’s doing it!” Your smiling, excited with your small little accomplishment. “Good boy.” Caressing his long wispy mane as you slowly make your way toward John.

“There we go, now try and keep up with me.” John goes from a simple walk into a trot. You give his chest another squeeze with your legs, your pace remains the same, you then give a go at digging your heels in. That gets him going a little faster. John goes from a trot to a sort of jog, so you follow suit. Your lower back and bottom bouncing up and down on the saddle uncomfortably.

“Aren’t we going a little fast?” You cry out. John peeks over his shoulder with a blank confused look.

“Uh, no? We can go way faster.” His eyes drift off before looking back at you, “Did you wanna go faster?”

“No, I think that would be a bad idea. I don’t even know how to stop this thing.” Oh my lord, Tilly wasn’t exaggerating. John pulls to the side and slows down, keeping pace on your right. His horse was a considerable amount shorter than yours, causing his head to only reach as high as your shoulder. He sits up a little taller.

“You know, I’m the one who found the spot.”

“Hm? The campsite?”

“Yeah, I’m the one who found it. Not Arthur.” He spits out Arthur’s name with some disdain.

“It’s nice.” A pocket of silence fills the air.

“The foods been better, and I noticed my shirts are not so full of holes.” He clears his throat. “You do good work.”

“Why are your shirts so fond of holes anyhow?” Your mind drifts to that notorious green shirt. “I swear some of the clothes have had blood on them too.” You watch him carefully from the corner of your eye. Trying to keep a casual, calm air about yourself. “You ought to be more careful.”

“We uh- get into fights sometimes.” His response isn’t very confident. “But! I mean- we don’t start ‘em.” He steers his horse into yours, “Lets take a left up here.”

Just what kind of fights are you getting into?

“Arthur’s good in a fight. I got to see that first hand.” John gets quiet. You dared a peek to see his face was in a scowl. “Where we goin’ anyway?”

“There’s another spot I found, thought you’d like it.”

“So that’s where you boys went? Sight-seeing?”

“It ain’t like that, someone’s gotta make sure the way ahead is safe.”

Safe from what?

“Can’t say I’m not jealous. A break from camp would be nice every once in a while.”

“Well, we can go riding anytime you want.”

“I’m sure Grimshaw would not be too keen on the idea.” Another round of silence. The area around you is beginning to become much greener, blooming cactus, flourishing sage brush and a particular earthy smell permeates the air like a delicate perfume. Each step forward becomes an oasis of thriving plant life, and just as your about to ask how, you see it.

A great pool of water extends the majority of the horizon, reflecting the bright light of the sun and creating a perfect mirror image of the surrounding environment. A small group of Big Horned Sheep could be seen taking a gracious drink off the tranquil water’s surface. Various kinds of birds nesting in the blooms of the Joshua trees providing a sweet melody. Everything was flourishing.

John’s horse maneuvers itself in front of yours, bringing you to a stop and putting said riders face right in your line of view. “I figured you could come here when you need to… ya know.” His face flushes red. “Bathe.”

You let out a huff of a laugh and a smirk. “You know, bathing isn’t my whole personality. But I appreciate it.” You both sit in silence as you take it all in. It actually began to make you emotional, tears brimming to the surface of your eyes. You attempt to keep composure but it’s in vain as John clearly notices.

“A-are you ok?” He sounds almost frightened. No doubt caught off guard by your sudden decent into sadness.

“I-I’m sorry.” You turn away from him, dabbing away at your eyes. Face scrunched painfully as you try your hardest to hold back the sob desperately trying to come up your throat. “I-I don’t know what’s come over me.” Your voice cracks as you speak. It’s an awkward silence as you fail to keep your feelings at bay. You almost don’t feel the couple soft taps on your shoulder.

“It’ll be okay…” John attempts say comfortingly, though it comes out sounding more like a question. It was… very sweet of him.

Your horse seems to dislike the change in mood as he winnies in agitation, swaying side to side before moving suddenly.

“WHoawhoa-WHOA!!” You shriek in surprise as your horse bolts forward with vigor, your hands yanking on the reins causing him to simply jerk his head and rip them from your grip. “Ah!” your hands desperately grab for his neck, looping around the large and taught muscle before you feel your legs turn cold. Your horse had felt the sudden need to plunge himself directly into the water taking you with him. Your wide eyes meet John’s still in shock.

“Guess he was hot.” John remarks. The horse let’s out a long grunty sigh that vibrates from underneath you. You’re up to your shoulders in water, soaking you from your socks to your underwear.

And you laugh.

A long joyous slip of bliss from your lips, the first in a long time. And it goes on and on and on. Leaving you breathless as you pitter down to little giggles, only to rev back into a fit. Slapping the horse gently on his side.

“You-hoohoo silly horse- ahahaha!” You can hear John letting loose a few laughs as well.

“Well, lookie here!” A new voice arises from the shoreline. It’s Arthur. Basking down at you from atop his trusty mare, leaning forward and a twinkle in his eye.

“What’re you doin’ here?” John doesn’t look happy, eyeing Arthur up with a challenging look in his eyes.

“Lookin’ for you two.” He attempts to smack John, who swerves harshly out the way nearly falling off his saddle. “You’ve got night watch.”

“So do you!” John retorts in annoyance.

“Yeah, and you better not fall asleep on me!” Arthur goes for another swing, this time landing upside John’s head with a smack.

“Ow!” John’s face scrunches up into a scowl, he retaliates with a smack of his own that causes Arthur’s hat to fall forward into his face. You let out a soft giggle at the sight.

Like a couple of toddlers.

Arthur adjusts his hat back into place, clearing his throat before speaking to you in a much more tender tone.

“You need some help there, ma’am?”

“uhh…” you grab for the reins floating just on the water’s surface, giving them a pull upwards, backwards and to the side. But the horse simply remains submerged and relaxed. You swing yourself off it’s back, now soaking every inch of you completely. Wading towards the bank as both young men dismount to meet you. Arthur has his hands extended before John practically shoves him out of the way causing Arthur to exclaim an irritated “Hey!”. You’re assisted up and out of the pond, John’s hand lingering in yours long after your clearly on dry solid land.

“Thanks.”

John nods with an eager smile. “Course!”

“You can let go of my hand now…”

“Oh uh! Yeah…” He stammers a bit, looking at your intwined hands before finally releasing you from his grip.

“What about him?” You motion to the large horse still sitting unmoved.

Arthur looks to John and nods his head towards the water. “You get him.”

“What!? No way, you do it!”

“I know you chose the horse. So, you get to pull him out.” Arthur corrals you to follow him back to Boadicea, throwing in one last remark to John before placing you just behind him. “Maybe you’ll finally learn to swim!”

John flips him off leaving Arthur to laugh as the two of you ride away.

“He can’t swim?” You ask genuinely worried.

“Yeah, so don’t go askin’ for lessons.”

“Is he gonna be ok?” I mean you did just leave him all alone surrounded by a large body of water.

“Little John knows how to take care of himself. Drowning won’t be what kills him.” You look back to see John hollering and waving a carrot around trying to get the horse’s attention.

You only give an uncertain hum, falling quiet. You try not to get too close, for both personal space and to not soak his entire back with your still sopping wet clothes.

You’d be lying if you said Arthur didn’t scare you. Out of everyone in camp, you knew the least about him. And with his clearly appropriate label as the muscle of camp, it worried you to think if and when he’d use that muscle on you.

“We haven’t really had a chance to talk much, you and I.” Arthur speaks.

“Well-“ You exhale, “-it’s been a strange couple of months. Not like I’ve been in the mood to talk anyway.”

He responds with a hum. “How ya holdin’ up?”

“I don’t know… I’ll feel ok for a while and then out of nowhere I’m having a mental breakdown.” You fidget with the sleeve of your blouse. “I’m not sure holding on is something I can do for too much longer.”

“Well… it hasn’t been that long ago since… ya know. But things will get better miss. These things just take time.” He perks up a bit, “And hey, being able to laugh in your situation, I’d say you’re well on your way to healin’.”

Your lips twitch into an almost small smile. “I sure hope so, it’s a lot to adjust to… And I can’t say how much I appreciate you all taking me in and giving me so much.”

“What happened to you? If you don’t mind me askin’?”

“I…I got lost…”

“Lost?” He sounds confused.

“But I can never go back home. I can never…” Your throat constricts with the thought of people you once knew flash across your mind. “I-I don’t want to talk about it…”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” And you both fall back into the awkward silence. The only sound being the muffled trotting of Boadicea’s hooves on soft sand.

Arthur suddenly pulls Boadicea to a stop, causing you to squeeze his waist extra hard and smooshing your face against his broad back. Catching a whiff of cigarettes and… Oh god he needs a bath.

“What? What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” you quickly slip your arms away as he dismounts, grabbing a rifle from the saddle. You freeze up in fear as he meets your eyes and puts his finger to his lips.

“Sshh…” he shushes softly. He lowers himself to the ground. Soft careful steps in the direction of a large cluster of brush. Your eyes scan the area finding nothing, fixing back to Arthur confused as to what in the world he’s doing.

He stops, stock still. Lifting the rifle to his shoulder before BANG and then another BANG. Making you jump each time. He proceeds to jog over to whatever he decided needed to die. His face is a light with a smile, rifle over one shoulder and two rabbits dangling from his hand held up with triumph.

“Dinner!” he calls out. Swinging the carcasses over his shoulder. Making his way back to you, you spot dark splotches beginning to form on his shirt.

Oh my god. It’s animal blood!

A wave of relief falls over you, hand at your chest as you let go of so much stress and anxiety over that damned bloody shirt.

“I was wondering where that blood came from.” He looks at his now red stained shoulder as he ties a rabbit to each side of the saddle.

“Oh yeah… sorry about that.” He attempts to wipe the blood off his hands before remounting, his hands now a bright pink. “I’ll wash this one, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh? You know how to do your own laundry?”

He laughs, “Yes, I know how to do laundry. Susan made sure of that.”

“And you’re on a first name basis with her too it seems.” You notice the damp imprint you made on his back and can’t help but distance yourself from him a little more.

“We’ve known each other a long time. I mean she practically raised me.”

Raised him, so he was a kid when he joined up. My god that’s a long time.

“Did you know your parents?”

“I don’t remember much of my Mama, but my Daddy… I wish I didn’t remember much of him.” A bad father figure, not much of a surprise.

“Must have been hard…”

“Hard for everyone isn’t it?”

“Yeah but… doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

He stays quiet for a moment before he speaks again, softly this time. “Your right… it don’t.” The conversation dies down after that. You make no effort to change that.

You start to descend where the camp lies, completely hidden from view until you were basically walking in the front door. Once on the ground you utter a small “thank you” to Arthur. Turning to his horse

“Thank you, girl.” You stroke her side gently; she eyes you with curiosity as if waiting for something. “Sorry I don’t have a treat for you.”

“Here, give her this.” Arthur fishes around his bag before pulling out a round pale thing. You take it in your hand, inspecting it a moment. It was light and delicate. A rice cake without the rice. You offer it to Boadicea, palm open as she plucks it up with her big whiskery lips. And you let out an air of a laugh through your nose as she tickles your hand.

“It was nice talking to you miss.” Arthur speaks with a smile, eyes shrouded by his hat, but you can still see the bright glint of his eyes. The two rabbits hanging over his shoulder.

“It was nice talking to you too. I hope you sleep well.” You both awkwardly nod a goodbye as he departs.

The second Arthur leaves your side, a new body takes his place. Samson towers over you and far too close for your liking. Taking two steps back, only for him to take two steps forward.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He utters with a far too innocent look.

“What do you want?” you blurt out your question with no effort in sounding in the least bit interested in what he has to say.

“I want to apologize for the terrible first impression I left on you that first night.” He waits for a response from you, you don’t give him one. “I don’t want us to start off on bad terms, I’m really not a bad fella.” You roll your eyes, it’s the stupid nice guy bullshit even in this era. Turning to leave before you feel his disgusting giant meaty paw clamp onto your forearm like a vice. “Wow wow! I’m not done talking!” He barks angrily, yanking you back to your spot right in front of him causing you to yelp. “I think we could be real good friends. But it takes two my dear.”

“I don’t want to be your friend!” You spit out at him, yanking your arm only causing him to grip it even tighter. He smiles wide.

“Good. Neither do I.” Your stomach twists at the way his eyes linger in intimate places as they rave up your body before they fall behind you. Smile dropping and hand quick to release, causing you to stumble back. Gentle hands find themselves cradling your shoulder, pushing you behind a body.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?!” Arthur’s voice comes out deep and low. Eyes staring daggers into Samson as your hidden from view. His shoulders taught and raised like the hackles of a cat. In the moment Arthur seemed to tower over Samson.

“Nothing, just a friendly chat.” Samson feigns ignorance. “Not like it’s your business anyhow.”

“When it comes to the safety of the women, it’s my business.” Arthur barks loud and gruff. Samson seems to notice the little exchange is drawing attention, eyes from others peeking around corners and watching. He fidgets.

“She’s fine, ain’t no hair out of place or bruise on her.” He dares to meet your eyes again, but his view is blocked by Arthur’s body once more. “Like I said, it was just a friendly chat.” And with his final statement he finally leaves.

Only once he’s out of sight does Arthur relax. “You alright?” His voice no longer holding the animosity he had only seconds ago. Now soft and hushed. You cradle the arm, no marks or bruising. But the feeling of that dirty hand lingers like a burn.

“Yeah… I’m ok.” Your eyes remain fixated on your hand now rubbing your forearm. “Thank you for stepping in…” Despite the tense situation, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. You felt safe, secure, calm. You can see him fidget in your peripheral. Shifting from foot to foot.

“If he gives you trouble, you come to me, Alright?” You finally look up into his eyes, kind and concerned. Nothing like the way Samson was looking at you. You nod slowly.

“I’ll come to you…” His eyes drift from each of your eyes a moment more, before he nods his head.

“Ok… You be well Ma’am.” You watch as he leaves, hands twitching and shoulders adjusting themselves. He approaches Dutch and Hosea who were sitting and chatting away with cups of coffee. There smiles dissipate as Arthur speaks. Their gaze looking off in the direction of Samson and then they turn to you. Your eyes meet there’s for a split second before you turn away quickly. Wondering off to find a nice sunny spot to dry off and lie low for a while.

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jaws-and-canines · 1 year

Text

They’re Laughing At Me

A Count The Days story. Set right after Scarring, Like an Artist. Following a week of sensory deprivation, Haskell finds himself weakened and overwhelmed, and at the hands of Officer Munroe. Contains alcohol, shoulder dislocation, beating including around the head, teeth gore, mentions of sensory deprivation.

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Part of me wants to go back under. If it wasn’t for my mind eating at me, I’d welcome the silence. Everything is far, far too loud for me as Munroe lets himself into the room. I’m still where Iverson left me, bleeding through the trousers I put back on with numb fingers. Munroe squats down to get at my level, and laughs as I flinch. He takes his penlight from his key chain and turns it on, shining it in my face with a nasty laugh.

“Please don't do that,” I mumble, holding my hands up to shield the light. Munroe takes the penlight and flicks it over my face again. I hiss, shrinking back.

He laughs, stands up, and turns the overhead lights on. “Ouch!” I cry, my eyes starting to stream. “Turn them off!”

“Shut up,” he says, and kicks me in between my legs.

I curl up, foetal on the floor. “Wasn’t it enough?” I say to him, from where I’m lying on the floor. “Wasn’t the… darkness enough?” I spit the word darkness with as much disgust as I can muster. A week of sensory deprivation, smothered by my own thoughts. My sluggish brain can’t put together a way to describe it yet.

“No,” he says. “Sit the fuck up.”

I press a palm to the floor, and try to sit up, a hand still on my thigh where the edge of the heel of his boot re-opened the cuts and I can feel fresh blood starting to well up again. I manage to get myself up to a sitting position with a grunt.

I’m weakened and I know it. This is going to be bad. This is going to be really bad, I realise. I put a hand to my face as I stand up slowly, and feel that my cheeks are damp. I’m already dazed, I’m already weak, and I’m already fucking tearful.

Much to my detriment, Munroe notices too.

"Stop crying," he yells. "Stop fucking crying! Crocodile tears," he yells in my face. I start to bawl. "You want something to cry about? I'll give you something!" he snarls. I find myself being thrown to his men like a sack of potatoes. In this state, active resistance is beyond me, I know that. No matter how much I try to go limp to passively resist them, they hold me up. A seemingly endless sea of black uniforms and blue shirts. There’s only three or four but I’m dizzy and dehydrated. They blur into one singular mass.

Munroe pulls my hands back behind my head as I squirm uselessly, and knots them together with blue nylon rope. The position is already a little uncomfortable, pulling at old scars, but I know what comes next.

The rope gets thrown over one of the hooks on the ceiling and the other end is passed to Fives. Munroe stands in front of me, arms folded. "No, no, no," I plead with him, shaking my head. "You'll ruin my shoulders, please."

“I don’t care,” he says, and gestures to Fives. Fives plants his feet- and he pulls.

I’m pulled off my feet with a pained gasp that turns into a screech of pain.

Fives takes a step back, and the nylon rope is tied off, quivering with my instinctual struggles to try to find purchase that’s just not there anymore, trying desperately to relieve the weight on my shoulders. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” I cry.

Munroe shrugs. "Cry about it, Haveter. Cry those salty crocodile tears.” He takes out his knife from where it’s sheathed next to his holster and bends down, grabbing me by the ankle. “The Major specifically asked me to do this to you. So don’t you think for a moment I’m the bad guy here. I’m not.”

He cuts me across the back of the heel, slipping his knife into the cut and pulling down. Tearing a small strip of skin on the sole of my foot off, leaving a red and raw ragged mess beneath. “Oh, God,” I moan, shaking. I try to kick him with my free leg, but the effort means tensing up my shoulders. There’s a sharp crack from my right shoulder and I daren’t push them further. “Please, no, no.”

The knife goes in again. This time he cuts a huge strip off, peeling it away like paring skin from an apple. Keeps on going until most of the bottom of my foot is a bloody mess. I screw up my face.

I cry out as he grabs for my other ankle to do the same to my other foot. I feel my blood drying sticky as I slip in and out of the moment, gasping quietly to myself.

He steps in front of me. “Look at it, yeah?” He holds the knife up in front of my face, slick with my own blood. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

I kick him in the stomach with as much strength as I can muster.

Munroe steps back, shock on his face, but my small victory comes at a huge price. As I swing back from the momentum, my shoulder quite unceremoniously pops out of its socket. I feel it go. Munroe responds to the kick with a vicious slap a moment after my shoulder slips out.

I just howl, screwing my face up, hot tears spilling down my cheeks, shuddering with my shoulder out of its socket. "Oh, God, please!" I howl at Munroe. "My shoulder, my shoulder, my shoulder!"

“What?” he asks, incredulously.

I can’t put two words together. I just scream, still swaying from the momentum of the kick.

He shrugs. “You did that to yourself.”

I wail and wail, coughing and spluttering, gasping in pain as my shoulder burns. It fucking burns. He just wipes his knife on my shirt and puts it away. “Cut him down, Fives, come on,” he mutters.

Fives steps over, unsheathes his knife, and simply cuts a single loop of rope. My hands come apart, and I fall to the floor with a thud and another wail of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, tell Jack I’m sorry,” I sob, seeing Munroe draw his baton. I try to crawl away from him, on my hands and knees. Every little movement hurts something, either my shoulder, which I feel clicking around, or my feet, which sting like all hell. “Please…” I mumble. “Please, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t listen. I go further back. “Tell Jacob I’m sorry,” I sob. “Tell him I didn’t mean it.”

“He’s fucking dead,” says Munroe, right before he brings the baton down across my fingers. And then they all descend. Fives and the other two, batons in hand, all at once.

The first hit glances into my head. Then the second. “No, no! You’re going to kill me!” I scream, but it’s not like any of the officers are listening. They’re going for the jaw, because of course they are. From the left, a smack with a baton. Something shatters in my mouth and I spit blood down my front. I retch, and spit out another load of blood along with the tip of one of my teeth. The shard of enamel is bitter and hard.

From the right this time. He goes for the ribs, a kick with hobnailed boots. It slams me into the wall, and he follows up with a kick between my shoulders. I gasp as the nerves in my back seize. I can’t breathe, I realise, staring in fear at the scuffed-up wall. He kicks me again in the back, again, again.

Munroe plants his foot on my head. I cry out as the treads of his boot scrape my bruised cheek. “Please!” I sob. “Stop!”

“Shut up,” he says, and swings a kick into my stomach. I curl up into a ball, sobbing, gasping, curled around the bitter ache in my chest. Like a child, sprawled on the tarmac of the playground. I start coughing again.

I roll back onto my back, coughing and spluttering as my lungs fight against me. I turn onto my side and start hacking up the blood I’ve inhaled. More shards of enamel fall out of my mouth. Fuck, they’ve broken one of my teeth. They’re going to fucking kill me. They’re going to kill me.

Oh, God, they’re going to kill me.

Munroe kicks me in the face. “This is what you fucking get, Haskell!”

I howl. The words just aren’t there. He does it again. My whole jaw shifts. Again, one last time.

“Woah, woah!” says Fives, and drags Munroe off me. I’m spared. I catch my breath with a gasp, rolling away to the other side of the concrete room and trying to get up. My mouth is full of blood. It’s literally dribbling down my chin.

This time when I start retching, crawling around on my hands and knees, it’s not just enamel and blood I bring up. It’s teeth. Into the palm of my hand.

Teeth.

I stare at them in my hand. Teeth. Multiple.

Someone swings another baton hit at me. I slam backwards into the doorframe, cracking my head on the metal, but I don’t react. Dead weight, I slump down to the floor, staring into space.

Teeth.

They knocked out my fucking teeth.

Munroe grabs me by the back of the shirt. “You need to learn some goddamn humility,” he hisses. It continues. And now they avoid my head. Now they avoid it.

A kick to my back, a baton to my hip. I just lie there, on my side, staring at the mess on the floor. My teeth. Every single jolt makes me inhale, with the horrendous realisation that part of my mouth is a mess of emptiness, torn flesh and broken enamel.

By the time Munroe orders his men to stop, I’m crying. Silently. Just lying there, on my side, tears rolling down my face. Not a sound.

He grabs me by the jaw. It hurts so much I just sob and I can’t pull away. “Did that hurt? Did that hurt?”

I nod, slowly, whimpering as he presses his fingers against my jaw.

“I bet you’re fucking hungry and thirsty and tired as well. I’m not fucking done with you.”

“Please,” I croak. “You’re going to kill me.” The words come out messy, blood pooling in my mouth from the missing teeth.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks. It’s not a nice question, not really.

I look at him, dazed.

“Do you fucking want something to drink?” he snarls, gripping my jaw even tighter. I nod, eyes wide.

“Hold him,” says Munroe. “Down on the floor.” I’m already on the floor. They take an arm each.

Munroe kneels on my legs, sitting astride me, fumbling with a bottle. It occurs to me a moment too late, as the smell of alcohol hits me, that he didn’t mean water. “Before you start-” he begins.

“Hey- hey- no-” I slur, spitting blood down my chin as I try to get the words out past missing teeth. “No!”

But he advances anyways. “Before you start, this wasn’t my idea either,” he says, and with a hand on the back of my head, forces the lip of the bottle into my mouth, and tips the bottle. “So you can thank Iverson for this.”

The alcohol burns. The glass bottle comes away from my lips, and Munroe just presses a hand over my mouth and pinches my nose. I can feel it ripping away at the gaping mess they left when they knocked out my teeth.

I scream, arching my back, twisting one way and the other, trying to spit it out. But the hand on my mouth is firm, and I choke it down before I run out of air. Only then does he let me breathe.

Only for a moment. I see it coming. “No, no-” The bottle meets my lips again. I try to fight it, slamming my head against the floor in the process, but the alcohol swills into my mouth. Again, the hand, and I scream and I cry through Munroe’s palm as the alcohol sears my fucking mouth raw until I manage to swallow it.

“Please, not again,” I croak as the hand comes away from my mouth. “Please. I’ll drown.”

“Not a bad way to go,” says Munroe.

The bottle meets my lips once again. I try to go with it this time, drinking as much as I can, swallowing it even as it burns and I can feel my stomach roll with nausea, tears streaming down bruised and grazed cheeks.

The alcohol smothers me like the darkness’ unkind sister. I find myself under their knives once again. I don’t really have the wherewithal to put together what’s going on- passed from one set of hands to another, from one cruel-edged knife to another, as I stumble around in my afraid stupor, trying to stay on my feet.

I stare at my own blood on my hands, on my feet, my bloody footprints across the floor. My teeth are on the floor. And then it’s onto the next pair of hands, who takes it upon himself to pull off my clothes and inspect my back. Perhaps he re-opens old wounds, or he makes his own new ones. I don’t know. I don’t remember.

The same happens with my trousers. I flail around on the floor as they try to pin me down to look at my thighs, bruised and bleeding from a fresh whipping. I wail and cry for someone to come and save me.

Nobody will. They’re laughing at me.

Out comes the saltwater. I knew I was never going to get away without it.

Munroe takes a particularly unkind view to me at this point, soaking a rough rag in it, and scouring my back down with it. Then my front, then my neck and face, all the while as I writhe and make incoherent pleas for him to leave me alone, my mouth full of blood and inflammation, and me, drunk out of my mind on whatever coarse alcohol they poured down my throat. And then, the final act of cruelty. I find myself staring at my own reflection- such that it barely is, I don’t recognise him- in a bowl of saltwater so thickly brined there’s a skin on top of salt.

And then I’m plunged under. Held down with a hand on the back of my head. I choke on it, because of course I do, too drunk to understand not to breathe in. They bring me back up to kneeling with saltwater streaming from my nose and mouth, tinged with blood, reddened eyes, and coughing so hard I can barely breathe. It stings. My eyes stream, my mouth bleeds, but all I can do is just lie there.

No way out, no way to get away, I just shut down, retreating deep into myself, exhausted and in pain. Munroe squats down to look me in the black eyes. “The fuck are you mumbling about?” “I... I want...” I struggle to put two words together. “I want ‘t go home... I want... I want my mother,” I sniffle. “But... she doesn’t want me!”

Munroe laughs in my face as I bawl weakly into the concrete.

They discard me on the floor after that. They leave, and they’re laughing still.

They’re laughing.

#mouth gore #whump #beating #shoulder whump #oh yeah its this piece at last after like a year #shh #count the days #whump writing #haskell haveter

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kookie-doughs · 2 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS: Voyage

Percy Jackson X Reader

Another year passed and now they're back as the camp needs them.

Chapter 2: Taxi Of Death

Annabeth was waiting for us in an alley down Church Street. She pulled Tyson and me off the sidewalk just as a fire truck screamed past, heading for Meriwether Prep.

"Where'd you find him?" she demanded, pointing at Tyson.

Now, under different circumstances, I would've been really happy to see her. We'd made our peace last summer, despite the fact that her mom was Athena and didn't get along with my dad. I'd missed Annabeth probably more than I wanted to admit.

But I'd just been attacked by cannibal giants, Tyson had saved my life three or four times, and all Annabeth could do was glare at him like he was the problem.

"He's my friend," I told her.

"Is he homeless?"

"What does that have to do with anything? He can hear you, you know. Why don't you ask him?"

She looked surprised. "He can talk?"

"I talk," Tyson admitted. "You are pretty."

"Ah! Gross!" Annabeth stepped away from him.

I couldn't believe she was being so rude. I was about to call her out when a smack was heard.

"Do NOT be rude." An assertive voice from behind Annabeth echoed.

Y/N came out from the shadows riding a dog that was bigger than the hellhound that had attacked me in camp when I got claimed. She looked pretty much the same from her photo if not more mature. Her clothes were different as well, but she still had the knife and headband on her.

"That hurts!" Annabeth hissed.

"And it'll hurt more if you continue to be rude. He helped Percy, he deserves credit."

Remembering what happened to Tyson, I examined his hands, which I was sure must've been badly scorched by the flaming dodge balls, but they looked fine—grimy and scarred, with dirty fingernails the size of potato chips—but they always looked like that. "Tyson," I said in disbelief. "Your hands aren't even burned."

"Of course not," Annabeth muttered.

"I'm surprised the Laistrygonians had the guts to attack you with him around." Y/N chuckled looking at Tyson.

Tyson seemed fascinated by Y/N's dog. He was hesitant to touch it until Y/N took his hand and brought it to D/N's head.

"Annabeth," I said, "what is she talking about? Laistry-what?"

"Laistrygonians. The monsters in the gym. They're a race of giant cannibals who live in the far north. Odysseus ran into them once, but I've never seen them as far south as New York before."

"Laistry—I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Canadians," she decided. "Now come on, we have to get out of here."

"The police'll be after me."

"That's the least of our problems," she said. "Have you been having the dreams?"

"The dreams... about Grover?"

Their face turned pale. "Grover? No, what about Grover?"

I told them my dream. "Why? What were you dreaming about?"

Annabeth's eyes looked stormy, like her mind was racing a million miles an hour.

"Camp," she said at last. "Big trouble at camp."

"My mom was saying the same thing! But what kind of trouble?"

"I don't know exactly. Something's wrong. We have to get there right away. Monsters have been chasing me all the way from Virginia, trying to stop me. Have you had a lot of attacks? Either of you?"

Y/N looked on the ground and shrugged.

I shook my head. "None all year... until today."

"None? But how..." Her eyes drifted to Tyson. "Oh."

"What do you mean, 'oh'?"

Tyson raised his hand like he was still in class. "Canadians in the gym called Percy something... Son of the Sea God?"

Annabeth, Y/N and I exchanged looks.

I didn't know how I could explain, but I figured Tyson deserved the truth after almost getting killed.

"Big guy," I said, "you ever hear those old stories about the Greek gods? Like Zeus, Poseidon, Athena—"

"Yes," Tyson said.

"Well... those gods are still alive. They kind of follow Western Civilization around, living in the strongest countries , so like now they're in the U.S. And sometimes they have kids with mortals.

Kids called half-bloods."

"Yes," Tyson said, like he was still waiting for me to get to the point.

"Uh, well, Annabeth, Y/N and I are half-bloods," I said. "We're like... heroes-in-training. And whenever monsters pick up our scent, they attack us. That's what those giants were in the gym. Monsters."

"Yes."

I stared at him. He didn't seem surprised or confused by what I was telling him, which surprised and confused me. "So... you believe me?"

Tyson nodded. "But you are... Son of the Sea God?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "My dad is Poseidon."

Tyson frowned. Now he looked confused. "But then..."

A siren wailed. A police car raced past our alley.

"We don't have time for this," Y/N said. "We'll talk in the taxi."

"A taxi all the way to camp?" I said. "You know how much money—"

"Trust me."

I hesitated. "What about Tyson?"

I imagined escorting my giant friend into Camp Half-Blood. If he freaked out on a regular playground with regular bullies, how would he act at a training camp for demigods? On the other hand, the cops would be looking for us.

"We can't just leave him," I decided. "He'll be in trouble, too."

"Yeah." Annabeth looked grim. "We definitely need to take him. Now come on."

I didn't like the way she said that, as if Tyson were a big disease we needed to get to the hospital, but I followed her down the alley. Together the three of us sneaked through the side streets of downtown while a huge column of smoke billowed up behind us from my school gymnasium.

"Here." Y/N stopped us on the corner of Thomas and Trimble. She fished around in her backpack. "I hope I have one left."

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

All around us, sirens wailed. I figured it wouldn't be long before more cops cruised by, looking for juvenile delinquent gym-bombers. No doubt Matt Sloan had given them a statement by now. He'd probably twisted the story around so that Tyson and I were the bloodthirsty cannibals.

"I have one." Annabeth pulled out a gold coin that I recognized as a drachma, the currency of Mount Olympus. It had Zeus's likeness stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other.

"Annabeth," I said, "New York taxi drivers won't take that."

She handed the coin to Y/N.

"Stêthi," she shouted in Ancient Greek. "Ô hárma diabolês!"

As usual, the moment she spoke in the language of Olympus, I somehow understood it.

She'd said: Stop, Chariot of Damnation!

That didn't exactly make me feel real excited about whatever her plan was.

She threw her coin into the street, but instead of clattering on the asphalt, the drachma sank right through and disappeared.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, just where the coin had fallen, the asphalt darkened. It melted into a rectangular pool about the size of a parking space—bubbling red liquid like blood. Then a car erupted from the ooze.

It was a taxi, all right, but unlike every other taxi in New York, it wasn't yellow. It was smoky gray. I mean it looked like it was woven out of smoke, like you could walk right through it. There were words printed on the door—something like GYAR SSIRES—but my dyslexia made it hard for me to decipher what it said.

The passenger window rolled down, and an old woman stuck her head out. She had a mop of grizzled hair covering her eyes, and she spoke in a weird mumbling way, like she'd just had a shot of Novocain. "Passage? Passage?"

"Three to Camp Half-Blood," Annabeth said. She opened the cab's back door and waved at me to get in, like this was all completely normal.

"Ach!" the old woman screeched. "We don't take his kind!"

She pointed a bony finger at Tyson.

What was it? Pick-on-Big-and-Ugly-Kids Day?

"Extra pay," Y/N promised. "Three more drachma on arrival."

"Done!" the woman screamed.

Reluctantly I got in the cab. Tyson and Y/N squeezed in the middle. Annabeth crawled in last. D/N was somehow smaller than he was when he arrived and had settled on Tyson's lap.

The interior was also smoky gray, but it felt solid enough. The seat was cracked and lumpy—no different than most taxis. There was no Plexiglas screen separating us from the old lady driving ... Wait a minute. There wasn't just one old lady. There were three, all crammed in the front seat, each with stringy hair covering her eyes, bony hands, and a charcoal-colored sackcloth dress.

The one driving said, "Long Island! Out-of-metro fare bonus! Ha!"

She floored the accelerator, and my head slammed against the backrest. A prerecorded voice came on over the speaker: Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up!

I looked down and found a large black chain instead of a seat belt. I decided I wasn't that desperate... yet.

The cab sped around the corner of West Broadway, and the gray lady sitting in the middle screeched, "Look out! Go left!"

"Well, if you'd give me the eye, Tempest, I could see that!" the driver complained.

Wait a minute. Give her the eye?

I didn't have time to ask questions because the driver swerved to avoid an oncoming delivery truck, ran over the curb with a jaw-rattling thump, and flew into the next block.

"Wasp!" the third lady said to the driver. "Give me the girl's coin! I want to bite it."

"You bit it last time, Anger!" said the driver, whose name must've been Wasp. "It's my turn!"

"Is not!" yelled the one called Anger.

The middle one, Tempest, screamed, "Red light!"

"Brake!" yelled Anger.

Instead, Wasp floored the accelerator and rode up on the curb, screeching around another corner, and knocking over a newspaper box. She left my stomach somewhere back on Broome Street.

"Excuse me," I said. "But ... can you see?"

"No!" screamed Wasp from behind the wheel.

"No!" screamed Tempest from the middle.

"Of course!" screamed Anger by the shotgun window.

I looked at the two. "They're blind?"

"Not completely," Annabeth said. "They have an eye."

"One eye?"

"Yeah."

"Each?"

"No. One eye total."

Next to me, Tyson groaned and grabbed the seat. "Not feeling so good."

"Oh, man," I said, because I'd seen Tyson get carsick on school field trips and it was not something you wanted to be within fifty feet of. "Hang in there, big guy. Anybody got a garbage bag or something?"

The three gray ladies were too busy squabbling to pay me any attention. I looked over at Y/N who was rubbing Tyson's back saying some... comforting words? I guess something that could make him better. Then to Annabeth, who was hanging on for dear life, and I gave her a why-did-you-do-this-to-me look.

"Hey," she said, "Gray Sisters Taxi is the fastest way to camp."

"Then why didn't you take it from Virginia?"

"That's outside their service area," she said, like that should be obvious. "They only serve Greater New York and surrounding communities."

"We've had famous people in this cab!" Anger exclaimed. "Jason! You remember him?"

"Don't remind me!" Wasp wailed. "And we didn't have a cab back then, you old bat. That was three thousand years ago!"

"Give me the tooth!" Anger tried to grab at Wasp's mouth, but Wasp swatted her hand away.

"Only if Tempest gives me the eye!"

"No!" Tempest screeched. "You had it yesterday!"

"But I'm driving, you old hag!"

"Excuses! Turn! That was your turn!"

Wasp swerved hard onto Delancey Street, squishing me between Tyson and the door. She punched the gas and we shot up the Williamsburg Bridge at seventy miles an hour.

The three sisters were fighting for real now, slapping each other as Anger tried to grab at Wasp's face and Wasp tried to grab at Tempest's. With their hair flying and their mouths open, screaming at each other, I realized that none of the sisters had any teeth except for Wasp, who had one mossy yellow incisor. Instead of eyes, they just had closed, sunken eyelids, except for Anger, who had one bloodshot green eye that stared at everything hungrily, as if it couldn't get enough of anything it saw.

Finally Anger, who had the advantage of sight, managed to yank the tooth out of her sister Wasp's mouth. This made Wasp so mad she swerved toward the edge of the Williamsburg Bridge, yelling, "'Ivit back! 'Ivit back!"

Tyson groaned and clutched his stomach.

"Uh, if anybody's interested," I said, "we're going to die!"

"Don't worry," Annabeth told me, sounding pretty worried. "The Gray Sisters know what they're doing. They're really very wise."

This coming from the daughter of Athena, but I wasn't exactly reassured. We were skimming along the edge of a bridge a hundred and thirty feet above the East River.

"Yes, wise!" Anger grinned in the rearview mirror, showing off her newly acquired tooth. "We know things!"

"Every street in Manhattan!" Wasp bragged, still hitting her sister. "The capital of Nepal!"

"The location you seek!" Tempest added.

Immediately her sisters pummeled her from either side, screaming, "Be quiet! Be quiet! He didn't even ask yet!"

"What?" Y/N said.

"What location? I'm not seeking any—"

"Nothing!" Tempest said. "You're right, boy. It's nothing!"

"Tell me."

"No!" they all screamed.

"The last time we told, it was horrible!" Tempest said.

"Eye tossed in a lake!" Anger agreed.

"Years to find it again!" Wasp moaned. "And speaking of that—give it back!"

"No!" yelled Anger.

"Eye!" Wasp yelled. "Gimme!"

She whacked her sister Anger on the back. There was a sickening pop and something flew out of Anger's face. Anger fumbled for it, trying to catch it, but she only managed to bat it with the back of her hand. The slimy green orb sailed over her shoulder, into the backseat, and straight into my lap.

I jumped so hard, my head hit the ceiling and the eyeball rolled away.

"I can't see!" all three sisters yelled.

"Give me the eye!" Wasp wailed.

"Give her the eye!" Annabeth screamed.

"I don't have it!" I said.

"There, by your foot," Y/N said. "Don't step on it! Get it!"

"I'm not picking that up!"

The taxi slammed against the guardrail and skidded along with a horrible grinding noise. The whole car shuddered, billowing gray smoke as if it were about to dissolve from the strain.

"Going to be sick!" Tyson warned.

"Annabeth," Y/N yelled, "let Tyson use your backpack!"

"Are you crazy? Percy get the eye!"

Wasp yanked the wheel, and the taxi swerved away from the rail. We hurtled down the bridge toward Brooklyn, going faster than any human taxi. The Gray Sisters screeched and pummeled each other and cried out for their eye.

At last I steeled my nerves. I ripped off a chunk of my tie-dyed T-shirt, which was already falling apart from all the burn marks, and used it to pick the eyeball off the floor.

"Nice boy!" Anger cried, as if she somehow knew I had her missing peeper. "Give it back!"

"Not until you explain," I told her. "What were you talking about, the location I seek?"

"No time!" Tempest cried. "Accelerating!"

I looked out the window. Sure enough, trees and cars and whole neighborhoods were now zipping by in a gray blur. We were already out of Brooklyn, heading through the middle of Long Island.

"Percy," Annabeth warned, "they can't find our destination without the eye. We'll just keep accelerating until we break into a million pieces."

"First they have to tell us," Y/N said. And signaled to me.

"Or I'll open the window and throw the eye into oncoming traffic." I continued.

"No!" the Gray Sisters wailed. "Too dangerous!"

"I'm rolling down the window."

"Wait!" the Gray Sisters screamed. "30, 31, 75, 12!"

They belted it out like a quarterback calling a play.

"What do you mean?" I said. "That makes no sense!"

"30, 31, 75, 12!" Anger wailed. "That's all we can tell you. Now give us the eye! Almost to camp!"

We were off the highway now, zipping through the countryside of northern Long Island. I could see Half-Blood Hill ahead of us, with its giant pine tree at the crest—Thalia's tree, which contained the life force or a fallen hero.

"Percy!" Annabeth said more urgently. "Give them the eye now!"

I decided not to argue. I threw the eye into Wasp's lap.

The old lady snatched it up, pushed it into her eye socket like somebody putting in a contact lens, and blinked. "Whoa!"

She slammed on the brakes. The taxi spun four or five times in a cloud of smoke and squealed to a halt in the middle of the farm road at the base of Half-Blood Hill.

Tyson let loose a huge belch. "Better now."

"All right," I told the Gray Sisters. "Now tell me what those numbers mean."

"No time!" Annabeth opened her door. "We have to get out now."

I was about to ask why, when I looked up at Half-Blood Hill and understood.

At the crest of the hill was a group of campers. And they were under attack.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @ynfics @katara720

#x reader #pjo #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #sea of monsters #x y/n #y/n l/n #y/n l/n and the halfblood #fanfiction #book 2 #chapter 2

52 notes · View notes

egyx0s-brainrot · 2 years

Note

(Not part of any of my AU´s) I sometimes wonder how would things go if Le´s friends knew about the whole Egyxos thing, so have some dumb/crack incorrect quotes.

Leo: Dumbest scar stories, go! Bernie: I burned my tongue once while drinking tea. Dale: I once dropped a hair dryer on my leg and burned it. Ramses: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade. Horus: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and got a bad burn. Kefer: Kefer: I have emotional scars.

Sobeck: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something? Bernie: Nope, absolutely not. Dale: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through. Leo: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life. Isis: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you. Neith: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome.

Leo: I CAN'T DO IT! Bernie, laughing: I CAN'T EITHER! Leo: I CANT FUCKING DO IT ANYMORE Dale: WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, YOU CAN EITHER GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. BECAUSE WE CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND WE KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT US. Leo: Leo: I appreciate it, Leo: BUT LOOK WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH- Kefer: Leo- Leo: YOU GOTTA DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE! Horus: Leo we gotta- Leo: YOU GOTTA DRAW A FUCKING LINE IN THE SAND. YOU GOTTA MAKE A STATEMENT. Leo: YOU GOTTA LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF AND SAY 'What am I willing to put up with today?' Leo, motioning to Ramses: NOT FUCKING THIS

Leo: Hewwo. Bernie: Hihiiiiii! Dale: Greetings, Egyptians. Horus: Three kinds of people. Kefer: I want cake. Leo: Four kinds of people. Ramses: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS? Horus: Five kinds of people.

Bernie: Come on, Mr. Kefer! How many times do I have to apologize? Kefer: Once! Bernie: ...No.

Bernie: Can you name a single city in Oklahoma? Ramses: Oklahoma City, bitch!

Dale: Anyone d- Leo: Depressed? Hyksos: Drained? Neith: Dumb? Kefer: Disliked? Dale: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people...

Kefer: That sounds like a terrible plan. Dale: Oh, we've had worse.

(some LGBT headcanons ahead BOY!)

Ramses: I know you love them. Dale: I am not in love with Leo! Ramses, staring at Dale: I never said who... Dale: *realizes* Dale: Shit. Well, anyways-

Ramses: I assume you realize that this kind of idiocy will not be tolerated in this house. Bernie: Is there any kind of idiocy you would be more comfortable with?

Kefer: I dropped Leo. Dale: Kefer, what the fuck.

Ramses: All in all, a 100% successful trip. Dale: But we lost Kefer. Ramses: All in all, a 100% successful trip!

Leo: Does anyone else feel good when their brain releases a bunch of endorphins? Ramses: Can't relate. Dale: Why would my brain release a bunch of dolphins?

Leo: Dale is a perfect cinnamon scone who’s never done anything wrong in their entire life! Horus: Never done anything wrong?! They set a city block on FIRE!

Dale: What’s your biggest fear? Kefer: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone. Leo: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back. Bernie: Zombies. Kefer: ... Leo: ... Bernie: BUT they can open doors.

Kefer: Dale just said "I have an appetite for destruction" and then they reached down and untied my shoe.

Leo: How would you like your pancakes? Horus and Hyksos: Plain. Ramses: With strawberries, please. Dale: With sprinkles! Neith: Ice cream on the top. Bernie: Chocolate chips. Apis: Potatoes. *Everyone looks at Apis* Apis: What? They're good.

Wanna add some too?

I looooove these

Ummm

Ramses: I apologize for saying 'fuck' in front of Dale

Horus: You just did it again

Dale:

Ramses: I am not a good role model

☆ ☆ ☆

Hyksos: *on Earth to check up on the Trio* Hello, I just came to-

Hyksos: *sees Leo shoving Dale into the washine machine while Bernie records and Ramses watches*

Hyksos: *retreating* Something suddenly came up

☆ ☆ ☆

Kefer: You've got to learn to love yourself

Leo: But don't you hate yourself?

Kefer: Yeah, but this is about you. Stay focused

☆ ☆ ☆

Apis: What are your three best qualities?

Leo: I'm hot, I have soft hair, and sometimes I cry because I love my friends

☆ ☆ ☆

Bernie: Woah! That's the longest worm I've ever seen!

Kha: That's a snake

☆ ☆ ☆

Kha: Hyksos, no.

Hyksos: Hyksos, yes!

☆ ☆ ☆

Kefer: I'm going to need you to swear-

Leo: Fuck

Kefer:

Kefer: ...swear as in promise

☆ ☆ ☆

Bernie, holding a kettle: cofee or tea?

Neith: Tea

Bernie: Wrong. It's cofee

☆ ☆ ☆

Dale: Isn't this a bit dangerous?

Leo: Dale, please. We've been in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt.

Dale: ...

Leo: Ok, we sometimes escape unhurt.

Dale: ...

Leo: Alright, we escaped unhurt once... Then we hurt ourselves in the way home.

☆ ☆ ☆

Hyksos: Guess what number I'm thinking of!

Kha, rolling his eyes: 420?

Hyksos: No, that's really inmature of you. Someone else guess, and please take this seriously

Bernie: 69

Hyksos: Yeah, it was 69

#these are WAY too fun to make #asks and answers

12 notes · View notes

allisonirish · 11 months

Text

Just William

Chapter 2

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Child Murder, Grief, Incarcerated Parent

Word Count: 1,444

Disclaimer: This story does not follow Scott Cawthon's FNAF games or books. However many of the characters and events are the same or have been adapted. These characters do not belong to me, but the rearrangement of events and character adaptations are my own works.

I hid in my room for the next couple of hours, hoping to stay unnoticed by my family...and William. Sitting on my fuzzy purple beanbag at my wooden desk, I tried to bury myself in a piece of artwork I was finishing. Drawing and painting had become my way of "coping" and it turns out, I'm not too bad at it. I'd even started doing commissions, starting with illustrating children's books and more recently doing posters and murals for businesses.

Despite my numerous complaints, when I turned sixteen, mom told me it was time to get a job. So I interviewed and started my brand new job waitressing at Applebee's. I lasted two months before my manager got sick of my "hopeless negativism". Whatever that means. I didn't really care though, I hated being around all those people who despise me and I told mom so. If I'm being honest, I was too hard on mom last year. She deserves better than me. Tired of fighting with me, frustrated at Michael's poor grades at the time, and exhausted from working three jobs, she gave up. Told me to stay home and be lazy if that's what I wanted. I felt good about winning that battle for about twenty-four hours, that's when the guilt really set in. After apologizing to my mother and with the help of a friend, I began to submit my artwork to publishing companies and after just two weeks, got hired to illustrate a children's book called Bigfoot Loves Pizza. Goofy, I know, but it was a moneymaker and it made mom happy. I was also offered a job as part time waitress and full time graphic designer at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza 2.0. This was shocking to my entire family since the restaurant was owned by...Charlie's dad. And Charlie's dad shouldn't want anything to do with me.

My sweet solitude, sadly, didn't last long enough. A soft knock echoed from my door and I saw Michael slowly peek around it.

"Hi, Lizzie," He walked into my room, dragging his feet. "Mom says it's time for supper."

I inwardly groaned. Mom had been planning 'our first family dinner in nine years' all week. She even dragged me into mashing the potatoes for one of William's old favorites. Cottage Pie. I personally don't like the stuff, less because William likes it and more because I'm not a fan of ground meat. It looks too much like cat food for my taste.

"Tell her I'm busy." I went back to my drawing. It was a large, purple robotic rabbit with a red bow tie and electric guitar. Bonnie the bunny was an animatronic that William made for his first restaurant, Fredbear's Family Diner before I was born. Except now he was one of the main mascots for the restaurant I worked for and I was drawing Bonnie with large, red, star-shaped sunglasses, playing the electric guitar, and surfing a gnarly wave on a red and purple surfboard. Behind Bonnie were the emboldened words

Catch the Last Wave of Summer Fun at Freddy's!

"That's cool." Michael stared over my shoulder. "Is Bonnie your favorite?"

"Yeah, I like Bonnie okay." Bonnie had been Charlie's favorite. I focused on some dark shadowing under Bonnie's sunglasses. Suddenly, I heard a crash behind me and nearly jumped out of my seat. Whipping around, I saw Michael trying to pick up my violin case and music stand he had knocked over.

"Okay, buddy," I helped him put everything back into place. "Maybe we should go down to dinner."

Michael grinned and dashed out of my room, sprinting down the stairs in front of me. As I followed him my thoughts stayed with my violin. Music had become my other way of dealing with my emotions. Music was something I could get lost in, let every single drop of hate, anger, and shame pour out into a song before they can stream down my face. Art is more about control. It's the precise bits of emotion that are patiently and deliberately depicted on a page.

My mother sat at her usual spot on the left side of our large, oaken kitchen table, beaming over the steaming casserole dish in the center. At the head of the table, sporting a barely noticeable smile, only detectable by the slight dimples forming in his cheeks, was William. Michael had taken his spot next to mother and I wanted to kick myself when I realized my normal seat was right beside William. I slunk over and sat down, making sure to scoot my chair a good twelve more inches away from him. I pretended not to hear the sigh I got from my mother and ignored the conversation between her and William about how she hoped he would like dinner, and how he was sure he would and oh how delicious it looked. Michael mentioned how I helped make it and I gave myself a headache trying not to roll my eyes.

Throughout the rest of dinner I tried to soothe my headache by drinking several large glasses of iced tea and water, and basically ignored everything that came out of William's mouth. He acted nice...too nice. He asked mom about how the house was holding up, if there was anything he could fix, how Michael liked school, how his summer break was going, and what he'd been up to lately. I had just finished my food and was looking for a chance to escape, when William turned to me.

"How was your school year, Elizabeth?"

My gaze cut sharply to him, startled. His eyes were shifting, flowing in waves of blue softness and aquamarine steel.

I shrugged, "I don't go to school."

"Why doesn't she go to school?" William's face bore a hilarious appalled look.

"Elizabeth is homeschooled," My mother cut in, "and she does mostly college classes online."

"Because I don't want to spend my time around imbeciles." I mumble, earning a glare from my mother.

"We just didn't see it as the best option at the moment." Mom gave me a 'don't you dare say another word look'.

"But Michael goes to school?" William was obviously confused.

My mother was fumbling for words. "Michael does better...socially than Elizabeth. It's just easier for him to...be around so many people."

"You got that right." I mumbled again.

"Elizabeth Annette," My mother's face threatened corporal punishment if I opened my mouth one more time.

I bit the inside of my cheek, lifted my chin in defiance, and dared to speak anyway. "Well it's not like it's my fault I can't go to school. In fact maybe I should go to school like Michael!"

My voice was mockingly cheery and I hoped William caught every hint of sarcasm.

"I'm sure being the daughter of a child murderer will make me immensely popular in school. Who knows maybe I'll even be the homecoming queen and for my speech I can tell the story of how my father stabbed my best friend in her sleep! Wouldn't that be lovely!"

My voice tipped into a British accent when I said lovely and I knew my degradation of William had gone too far. My mother's face was a mixture of shock and rage, her fingers gripped hard onto the table, turning whiter than I thought possible. Michael cowered beside her looking as if he was about to cry, and William...WAS SMILING AT ME?!? His pearly white teeth flashed at me, although the grin did not meet his eyes and I could see the indention where his teeth were pulling at the inside of his cheek.

"Yes, I can see why you wouldn't want to go to school, Elizabeth." He stood slowly, purposefully, but i caught the slight quiver in his hands. "Now if you'll all excuse me I believe I need to go out for a quick fag."

Mother stood and retrieved the cigarettes and lighter I didn't know William had from the kitchen counter. He had never smoked when I was a child.

"Thank you dear. Dinner was lovely..err...delicious." He walked out the front door without another word and through the window I saw a small flame glowing.

I almost sighed in relief until I saw my mother glaring at me.

"Young lady," If looks could kill I'm sure she would've burned a hole through my head. "We need to have a talk."

With a strength I didn't know she had, being several inches shorter and leaner than I, my mother held my wrist with a pressure that I was sure would leave indentations on my very bones, and towed me to her room. I was in trouble now.

#fnaf fanfic #fnaf fanverse #fnaf bonnie #fnaf #fnaf au #william afton #clara afton #michael afton #elizabeth afton #elizabeth afton teen

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lampea-by-lamplight · 2 years

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feel a little safer when i'm with you

this is how i die was not a sentiment she ever expected to utter as a result of a dress, especially not when the method of execution apparently being employed on her was suffocation.

(the fact she can't get said dress off might also be a factor, since it looks like she's just going to have to live and die in a wedding dress she never would have chosen for herself.)

"do all nobles have a thing for suffocating their brides, or was i just unlucky?"

"only the ones with skeletons in their wardrobes, so unlucky is an apt way to describe yourself."

she stifles the noise of surprise that attempts to leave her as she partially twists round and stares at the source of the other voice in the room, leaning against the door that had squeaked so loudly at her entrance, but apparently kept quiet for him. silence stretches between them, broken by the faint sound of their friends tearing through the house, as she stares at the man who snuck up on her.

a sigh leaves him. “you've been in here half an hour and,” his eyes flick over her, “you’ve only removed the headdress and veil. the others are halfway through looting the place.”

"you can't be serious- i mean how big is this mansion?" she splutters. "even with four of them at it, it should take a few hours at least to cover everything!"

of course her only point of reference for large scale buildings was the church of the order of the dove, and even she's aware that building was small potatoes in the world of architecture and buildings with more rooms than it knew what to do with, so maybe her judgement of how big it was is skewed.

“you underestimate the allure of riches,” his voice is wry, his eyes are piercing even behind glasses, and she is still being slowly suffocated by the dress. “what’s taking you so long?”

“i…” she flicks her eyes around the room, unable to look him directly in the eye, until she winds up staring at a very ugly portrait - she supposes some nobles are attractive only because of their purses, but that’s irrelevant to her current situation. “i’m not good at undoing corsets, apparently.”

he watches her - the way she avoids his gaze, the way she bites at her lower lip, the blush that paints her cheeks, the way she’s still so innocent despite having every reason not to be (despite everything she’s seen and done) - and steps closer, his hands already brushing against her spine as he picks up the ends of the corset ties.

“let me,” he whispers, softly, against her ear.

she jerks her head forward, face burning and eyes startled, her reflection failing at maintaining composure; averting her eyes does not actually stop her from looking at him, to her dismay, but that's what she gets for standing in front of a mirror in the first place.

even through leather gloves, she can feel the heat radiating from his fingers - it's distracting in the worst and best of ways, because really he's doing her a favour and making this weird is the last thing she wants, but at least it provides a distraction from the impending breakdown over almost being forcibly married.

"why choose white, anyway."

a questioning hum leaves the man behind her, and her skin burns at the fact she spoke her thoughts aloud like he wasn't right behind her, but she can't stop the stream of words from spilling out of her mouth as she tries to justify herself.

"i mean- i might be three thousand years out of touch with the current trends and fashions of nobility, if i was even aware of them to begin with, and the story of how i know the bare minimum of noble fashion is one that would take so much wine for me to spill in the first place - i don't know why i mentioned that - but i do know that wedding dresses tend to be in the house colours, and white is definitely not a desmond house colour so. is it because they didn't know my house colour, not that i have one, or is it some weird ritual thing i don't want to know about if i want to sleep at night?"

his fingers still and, even as she averts her eyes from the mirror and stares at the ground, breathing unsteady after not pausing once during the torrent of words that just spilled out, she knows he's thinking her half rhetorical question through; it's nice of him to entertain her random thoughts, when he isn't being smug or insufferable or just an arsehole, even if he's in fine company for that, and it's making it even harder to crush this burgeoning interest into something small and easily forgotten.

i do not need this she thinks why do i always catch feelings for the guy who follows my thought process and tries to answer my questions, no matter how ridiculous or off topic?

"purity," he says, finally, and it's her turn to hum questioningly. “they chose white because of your purity.”

she laughs, quick and slightly derisive, and finally meets his eye in the mirror. “you’re kidding. i’m not that pure, in fact i’m no purer than you are.”

his shoulders pull up into a shrug, casual for all intents and purposes if she didn’t know that he was almost incapable of being anything other than goal orientated and focused, but the intense look on his face makes her still, makes her shiver.

“you are so much purer than me, than i ever was, and you already know that,” his voice is quiet as he focuses on unlacing the knots and bows that keep her in a dress he finds he wants to burn, “you’re one of the kindest people i know, even with your own selfishness and anger and wit, and i have known many people - most of them willing to turn traitor at the slightest hint of power and wealth they wouldn’t have to work for. you are a rarity in the world we find ourselves in. that’s not even mentioning the other reason they could find you pure.”

“yeah, but…” she draws her shoulders up into her own shrug, quick and jerky and uncomfortable, “then it’d be a question of how do they know that and that’s actually a question i never want to have answered.”

he laughs, a sound so rare that she feels inordinately pleased at having startled it out of him, as he undoes the final knot and the corset loosens. “it could also be in respect of the fact you grew up in the order of the dove.”

“you know, considering i don’t advertise my origins, that’s almost worse.” her smile is small, despite the dryness and content of her words, as she turns to face him properly.

the unfortunate thing is he’s taller than floros, who is taller than her, so it isn’t exactly easy to reach his face. still, she touches his shoulder and motions for him to lean down slightly.

before she can second guess herself, she presses her lips against his cheek. “thank you for helping me,” she pulls away and smiles at him.

any shock or embarrassment he might’ve felt is wiped clean from his face, but his lips are quirked up into the slightest of smiles, so she’ll take that as a win.

“you are welcome.” he bows, slightly, perhaps like he would if life was different and they didn’t meet on a quest to kill a beast, which really tells you all you need to know about the difference between his upbringing and his current life.

life’s funny like that.

#tsenpha #type; writing #oc; darya grönvall #oc; fitzgerald de fresel #group; an adventuring party walks into a tavern #rom; world on our shoulders #geo; lilios

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

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Can i please request a fluff with rengoku + 19, 27,29 🤧 (please let him survive in this one, i've been seeing lots of fics where d-word, i want him to be happy, grow old, train tanjiro, marry, and have as much kids as he want)

DELIVERY! (Rengoku has been in my head RENT FREE for WEEKS.)

Right Here: Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: fluff

masterlist

“Lady Rengoku,” you hear at the door of your studio, and you turn back to face the attendant, mid-brushstroke.

“Yes?” you breathe, wondering what news she brings so early in the morning.

“Master Kyojuro has returned,” she replies, and you dunk your brush in the water pail.

“Is he well?” you wonder, wiping your fingers on your towel. When the woman doesn’t answer, you eye her carefully.

“Miss, he--” You march out of your studio quickly, dropping the towel and running as fast as you can. You dash past Inosuke, Tanjiro, the yellow-haired boy, and Nezuko, panting as you make it to the Butterfly Mansion’s infirmary.

“Tengen,” you wheeze as you stop. “Where is--”

“Inside.” He thumbs past the doors, and you walk inside, where you see Rengoku on a bed covered in blood.

“Kyo,” you whisper, squatting next to his bed. He groans, opening one eye slowly before looking over you. “Kyo, speak to me.”

“You’ve been painting,” he murmurs, trying to smile. He fails and grunts softly, bringing his hand up to his ribs.

“Don’t… don’t…” you whisper, tears rolling down your face.

“I’m okay,” he finally replies, wincing. “Young Kamado and his friends brought me here just in time.” He begins to cough, spitting up blood in his hand, and you rush to grab a towel to wipe his face. As you tenderly pat his skin, Kyojuro hums softly, closing his eyes. “You’re so sweet to me, my love.”

“Hey,” you begin. “You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer for me. Okay, Kyo?” Kyojuro nods in response, fluttering his golden eyes back open and reaching up to touch the hand resting on his face.

“I must be blessed beyond measure to have an angel like you attending to me.” You laugh in response, his words harkening back to the day you two first met. “We have to stop meeting like this…” He tries to laugh, but he groans instead, holding his ribs again. An attendant comes by with something for him to drink, and you prop more pillows under his head before holding the cup to his lips.

“It’s a little warm,” you warn, but he chugs it down anyway.

“Three broken ribs, a slightly punctured lung, a bruised collarbone, some internal bleeding, and various cuts all over,” the attendant informs you, and you nod, turning back to Kyojuro.

“Now what trouble did you get into this time?” you ask, tilting your head, but he just wheezes out a laugh, trying again for a smile. “We will talk once you get some rest,” you urge him, pulling the covers around his figure. You place a kiss on his lips and he kisses you back, reaching up a hand to stroke your hair.

“Will you remain here, yn/?” he asks as you pull away. You nod, resting a hand on his.

“I’ll be here until you’re well again.”

_____________________________________________________________ The coughing fits begin in the middle of the night.

In an instant, you’re up, holding a fresh towel beneath his mouth to catch the blood, stroking his back as he attempts to catch his breath, eyes wide with panic and something you haven’t seen in a long time: fear.

“Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great,” you whisper as he struggles, but when he falls asleep again, you sigh, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. You didn’t sleep again until the sun rose and an attendant could take over while you climbed into bed and got some rest.

And most days were like that: wake up, tend to Kyojuro until he fell asleep, fall asleep a little, help him with his breathing, keep watch, then rest again when the attendant comes. Sometimes Tanjiro and his friends would come by to see about him and lift his spirits, and other times, Tengen and various other Hashira would come by with stories about demons they encountered, much to your disapproval. You know he wants to get better so he can rejoin them, and after they leave, he lapses into silence, staring at his hands as if doing so would make him heal faster.

But when the day comes for him to finally be released, you ease him back to the estate, looping your arm around his.

“Your bed’s been waiting for you,” you tease, and Kyo laughs with joy.

“It’s been waiting for you, too.” When you ease him onto the bed, he sighs, looking around him at the familiar red and brown hues of the master bedroom.

“Lady Kocho said to take it easy for the next few days,” you remind him as he swings his legs onto the bed.

“Take it easy?” Kyojuro laughs, putting his hands under his fiery hair.

“Kyo,” you warn, and he holds his hands up in surrender, the devilish grin returning to his features.

“Okay, okay.”

“If you’re good, I’ll make sure to go get sweet potatoes for dinner nex--”

“I’ll be the best patient you’ve ever had, my love,” Kyojuro rushes out, and you turn to him, raising a brow.

“That means minimal physical activity.” The Flame Hashira’s mouth goes slack, and you turn back to the dresser, removing your skirt. “And no forgetting.” The groan elicited from his mouth sounds more painful than when he was actually injured, you notice.

_____________________________________________________________

Blood stains your hands and arms as you’re hovering over Kyojuro, his eyes staring at the sky as you press on his chest - one, two, three, four, five, six --

“Y/n, he’s gone,” Tengen whispers over your shoulder.

“No, no, he’s right here,” you cry, tears falling onto your hands as you pump his chest three more times and then blow air into his mouth. “Stay with me, Kyo, stay with me.”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight--

“Stop!” Tengen hollers, pushing you off of your dead lover. Before he can scoop up his friend, you shield him with your body, weeping profusely.

“Stay away from him!” you scream, the sun beating down on your exposed neck. “Leave him alone, you--”

A deep inhale brings you back into consciousness, and you sit up abruptly, your heart still stuttering furiously. You don’t even realize you’ve been crying when Kyo grunts and sits up, turning on a light.

“You alright?” he asks before turning around and seeing your tears. “Oh, no…” Kyojuro’s eyes soften as you collapse in his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead tenderly. “Look at me, y/n.” Kyojuro’s fingers tilt your chin up, and he whispers, “Just look at me. Forget everything else; it was just a bad dream. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m always too late,” you hiccup. “I’m always one step behind.”

“You’re right here with me; right where you need to be at this moment.” His fingers wipe at your tears quickly. “You made me promise that I would train young Kamado, have at least four kids with you, grow old, and then you’d give me permission to die.” You laugh a little, remembering the look on his face when you demanded that he hold off on dying for at least sixty years. “I’m not going anywhere, my love. I’m right here.”

#kny rengoku #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kyojurou x reader #kyojuro fluff #demon slayer #kimestu no yaiba

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itsgrimeytime · 9 months

Text

The Nurse (Part Nine) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf @mcuclintasha @8crazy-freak8 @peepeepoopoobutt @crazyunsexycool @moneyoverl0v3 @alixxhere @allthetroubleiveseen

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, angst, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), corpse mention, knife wound mention, being held hostage, being held at gunpoint, threats, swearing, and all things typical of TWD.

[[ A/N: Unrelated, but this gif is chef's kiss 👌. Like impeccable quality, eyes so blue blue. Like hello sir~ Another cliffhanger??? In this economy??? It's more likely than you think... Back on the bullshit, let's see what happens, girlies <3 Anyway, thanks so reading :)) ]]

You exhaled, hands shaking against the chill of the air -Woodbury was eerily empty. A part of you knew The Governor was unstable, but seeing the houses with no inhabitants? It only proved it.

"You stay here," he spoke -hand insistent on your wrist. He hadn't let go since the prison -fingers pushed into your skin with the intent to hurt. You remember Rick's eyes heavy on it, the setting of his jaw -the drag of the glare on him.

Clearing your head, you stepped forward into the room -not fighting, not as long as he could hurt your people. You knew what you signed up for, it wasn't new to you.

As long as they're safe, you repeated in your head, as long as they're safe.

The room was concrete, walls thick and a single table in it's stead. A large florescent light on the ceiling that would've made you have a headache if it had worked. It was dark, other than a single window along the far wall -so small that the sunlight barely seeped through.

He didn't say another word -the click of the lock behind you saying enough.

Letting out a hefty sigh, your voice low and thick with tears you hadn't let fall, you leaned against the wall sinking to the floor. With the fall of your next breath, you closed your eyes.

You hadn't really processed anything, it all felt unreal on your skin -like a dream, like you weren't really there. Except for...

'Please,' -so desperate to have you right there, keep you there, it was unspoken. He couldn't say it then, stakes so high and the world he'd so carefully crafted were all on the line. But you could see it, don't leave me.

And yet, you did.

It was so odd, trying to rationalize it then, why would you caused him such pain? Why would you put everything on the line?

You had to answer, you wanted him to know-

'I love you,' -it was like taking a breath of fresh air, despite being where you were, certainly on the brink of a goodbye, you felt free. Even for just a second, while the story may have come to an end, you felt free. Wonderfully so.

It was those two moments that struck your head in the dim silence of the room -bouncing around like they could change. Like anything could change.

It can't and it won't and that was your decision.

You wouldn't regret it.

As long as they're safe, you repeated, again -like the words could solve the ever aching hole in your chest, as long as they're safe.

You'd hoped he'd keep his word, it was all about power in the kind of vacuum the world had devolved into. And you hoped he realized the power he had.

Not with his own group, or weapons, or an army. It was you.

He had power over Rick because of you.

The guilt you felt coil into your stomach was like a deep thrum of a string. Resonating through your skin, like the ache of a bone. Distant and close all at once. You hated it, hated causing him any sort of pain-

'Please-'

Still, you'd take it over him dead any day. He could hate you, despise you, never wish to see you again, never search for you, move on, and, sure, you'd feel it. Like a cracked open chest, you'd be shred to pieces. A shell of someone you once were, sure, but...

But he would be breathing.

You couldn't take the chance that he wouldn't. Couldn't take the chance that his luck wouldn't run out, that the Governor would have mercy, that he wouldn't run to put himself in the exact place you were in now.

If it was him or you, you'd made a decision. And stuck to it.

Still, as your fingers dusted along the floors -the texture providing some sort of grounding from your thoughts, there was a flame in your heart. Just a tiny one that no matter how hard you tried stayed lit.

It was hope that despite everything, despite chosing this path yourself... that it could be fixed. That you could be saved.

You'd been here before, locked away like a prisoner in exchange for knowledge, in a ruse of companionship when the timing was just right, or just out of fear. Fear of what you might do, what you might bring to their safety, if you posed a threat. You'd experienced many things in the apocalypse, being a pawn in someone else's chess game was far from the worst.

You just... you missed everything.

Back then, when you'd been locked away -you were running on nothing. Maybe a distant memory of the hospital, of coffee breaks and overnights, of normalcy, of a schedule. Or maybe even when you were younger, a family vacation -the feeling of the sun on your skin and the wind in your hair.

It was all so far away then, something you couldn't have either way.

But the prison? Rick?

It was all there. You could have it, you did.

This wasn't something impossible to get. Nothing so distant from your life now, it was your life.

But not anymore.

You didn't know how many days passed, as you stared at the endless abyss of gray haze that the room had become. The distant scent of rain sneaked in through the small window -all mildewy and grass-drenched waves.

The Governor hadn't needed medical help, not really; you'd simply watched as he ended lives like it was as natural as a flick of the wrist. He certainly didn't need to keep people alive when he had a hand in injuring them himself -eyes set in a sort of distant haze like he wasn't really there.

You were worried you'd be on the end of that stick one day -doing or saying the wrong thing. Watching as people begged, fear sunk into their skin and despite being in a world unfamiliar and scary, they were far more scared of him. Far more scared of not living.

He made you watch usually, some sort of twisted take on your oath -you'd promised to help people, save them from ailments. And yet, you couldn't stop him when he so casually ended a life -not that you hadn't tried, but it had ended where everything always did.

"Don't make me take back my promise," he'd seethed, hand insistent on your skin -pushing into the skin so harshly you were sure you'd bleed.

So, you'd mindlessly stood as his descent became clearer -the deaths became more vicious. A lack of control eating away at his being, you watched him search for it.

If you'd been smarter, you would've known this was the time to look -the time to act, uproot him from the ground. But you weren't thinking, you couldn't -scrubbing away at your skin like it could wash away the death you'd seen. The merciless death of people who didn't deserve it.

You'd seen rage misplaced, blood spilled on something insignificant but this? It had no reason. Not one. The Governor killed simply to kill, like controlling others with fear could somehow gain him his life back.

Gain Penny's life back.

The first time you'd seen her it was back when he still had the shred of charisma that gave him the leadership role. Insistent on treating you as a 'Woodbury citizen' with a faulty sense of faith (fear) in their leader. Like you hadn't known the descent he was in.

He'd shown you a photo of a little girl, brunette, blue-eyed and smiling. Talked about her as if she was right there as if the photo was her, in a sense of disconnect. Your heart sunk at the picture, knowing the hell this world had instilled there -the girl had died before she'd even had a chance to live.

There had been a pity for the man that day, a slice through you at the loss he'd experienced.

It hadn't lasted.

"This is Penny," he'd said as if was the most normal thing in the world -merely dragging you into his home. Your pity had all but vanished after seeing the small figure, propped up almost to look like she was alive.

The smell was heavy on your nose -a stench you'd become familiar with just by the crowds roaming the earth, but this one had been entirely focused. Locked away behind doors, the little girl's body sat as if she was some sort of doll -your eyes dashed over the wound you knew to match that of Michonne's katana.

You held back the bile in your stomach -quickly trying to look elsewhere, anywhere.

After that day, you didn't see Penny anymore. In the case that he'd forced you inside his home, as collateral if nothing else, you couldn't look at the photo anymore. A sort of sick, twisted disgust bubbling in you at the thought of where she was -locked away, never to rest. All because he wouldn't let her.

You took a deep breath, stabilizing yourself somewhere deep in your mind -eager to not show any sort of emotion. You'd seen what emotion did in Woodbury. The blood couldn't be scrubbed off your hands, no matter how hard you tried-

"Breathe," you muttered -tone shaky and the distant spin of your head only serving to make you more disoriented.

You couldn't sleep, you never really could.

A fear deep in your bones that maybe one day he'd simply decide you were of no service to him anymore and that your life was expendable. That you were a pawn in the war, and you'd held no value to that anymore. You'd seen him do it before.

So, you stayed awake.

You knew the sound of the night very well at this point -a sort of eerie silence that was only haunted by how many people may have been there once. The only noises were that of bugs, and a distant rustling in the forest you knew to only be wildlife.

Maybe that was why you could immediately tell that something was different. That the rustling wasn't wildlife, and that the ever-so-slight footsteps you'd heard were anything but.

At first, you'd stilled -head leaned against the hard floor as if it would lull you to sleep. Like he'd spare you if you were sleeping, a shred of humanity may rear its head if he had to think about it-

But then, you realized you knew The Governor's footsteps. He'd have no reason to hide them from you, especially if he wished to kill you. There was no reason to run from something you'd already done before -if he was coming to kill you, he would not be hiding. It would just be an instinct for him, the slice of a blade, the trigger of a gun, whatever he chose -he wouldn't even think about hiding. What would he be hiding from?

With unsure steps, you rose from the ground, feet careful to avoid any noise -an instinct that had certainly overrun in your time here at Woodbury. The Governor was day to day, you didn't wish to give him any reason for it to be a bad day.

Peeking through the window, you tried to see what you could.

You'd only usually used it to get a taste of sunlight or a drop of rain on your skin -to feel human again, not to see anything in particular. The glass pane was merely bigger than your palm, only framing a few of the other houses and out of the very corner, a treeline where you'd seen wildlife sometimes.

Out of instinct, your eyes lead themselves there -eager to see what stood at the edge there. If it was some wildlife or a person, you'd only wish to know. To see something to explain away some eerie dusting along your skin, the paranoia was heavy during the night and you only wanted some rest -even just for a second, you wanted a clear head.

Your body ached for it. But every time you closed your eyes, you always saw the same scene -blood on your hands, a striking lack in his eyes, and a body slumped against the ground. You'd lost count, eventually, but could remember their faces clear as day in your dreams.

Eyes refocusing, you'd peered over into the greenery -only really a shadow in the night, but if you squinted you'd always been able to see a shift in the leaves. You'd usually only see a few animals in the mornings, all scattered from the noise-

And then, you saw it. Blue.

A familiar blue that sent warmth down to your toes, you couldn't miss those, especially now.

Even when the tiredness made your head fuzzy, the thrum of your heartbeat keeps you focused -a flame buzzing up into your chest. Hope.

Your lips parted ever so slightly like you could call out to him -you bit it back. Fingers dusted across the glass like maybe he could see you -save you. But it just didn't feel right.

You'd seen Rick before -maybe in a quick glance, your mind would paint out his figure. So solidly that you'd spin on your heel, only to find no one there. You were always so sure, each time you looked -that treacherous flame so bright that you could hardly see past it. The lack of sleep wasn't helping, familiar faces devolved from the shadows -old patients, your family, your friends-

You knew your mind could play tricks, but something in this one seemed so real.

His shoulders moved with his breaths, the crinkles by his eyes smoothed out and brow heavy -like he was focused. You couldn't see much detail from the stars shining, but you almost wished you could. So you could keep it, neatly next to your heart -like all the other ways you'd seen Rick were.

The glint of his gun, brought your attention to another figure -drenched in darkness but you'd recognize him anywhere: Daryl. He seemed to be scoping out the area -well aware of this from hunting, you'd guessed. When his eyes landed squarely on you.

That was what had woken you up from the daze you seemed to be in; the little glint of shock in his eyes was just so real. Daryl wasn't very expressive, but you knew he had tells. That was... That was too-

Before you could even blink, he'd motioned to you -just a nudge toward the building. Small enough for someone to dismiss as an animal if they happened to hear it, you realized.

Daryl was saying something, quick and quiet, not to you. And a deep breath that you were holding seemed to flood out of your lungs, as you watched Rick stall for a second. Shock. Eyes frantic, looking out -trying to find you, you realized. Your heart speeds up in your chest, the thumping being so loud that you half worried that the Governor would figure it all out-

And then, he found you.

If you had a question about whether or not this moment was real, this Rick was real, it dissipated at his eyes connecting with yours. Something in you broke, like a dam, feelings of everything slipping through your skin and the fire of hope felt like it engulfed your whole body.

"Rick..." you whispered, quiet and broken. And you knew he couldn't hear you, but your other hand pressed against the glass -tears choking up in the back of your throat.

He nearly jumped forward, would have if Daryl hadn't held him back -leveling his eyes with his own. He was whispering again, head turned to Rick and yet somehow still aware of their surroundings. They had a plan, you thought to yourself -trying to coax yourself down from the ledge.

You stilled, almost on instinct, your ears were sensitive to specific noises. Especially with being so locked away, you'd nearly memorized every one you could. The drag of the Governor's feet, the windchime of a house in the center of Woodbury, what exactly his gun sounded like just before he shot-

The clink of his keys.

Tapping on the glass, just gently, something you could barely hear if you weren't looking for it. And you imagined Rick was certainly looking for it.

The two men immediately looked at you, eyes attentive, and you felt something in your chest crush at the idea that this might be the last time you see them. See anyone. You knew you'd felt it, his frustrations leading to a head and his options on who he could take it out on were so limited. You knew you served no purpose to him long-term, only a pawn for someone else. And what if he didn't care about them anymore?

You breathed out, a deep shaky breath, looking at Rick with all you could and mouthing -large and unmissable, "Go."

He just watched you, as you said it -a sort of determined look flashing in his eyes like the glint of a knife. Strict and pressured, he stayed exactly where he was -he wouldn't leave.

Just as you were going to say more, beg him. All of this was for nothing if he didn't go. You knew what you were signed up for, and knew where this would end, even if you didn't want to accept it... you knew. And as long as he was living, you were okay with knowing.

The door creaked open, and you spun around -distancing yourself from the window, and desperately wiping at your eyes, it has to stop. But, it wouldn't.

He was always so imposing, entering the room far more than you were ever comfortable -you figured that was the point, keep you on edge. The Governor didn't really focus on you -eyes distant in that way he'd always get before... before making a decision.

"I think you know why I'm here," he spoke in a sort of desolate way -void of any emotion, void of anything, "-we both do."

Instinctively, you slunk back to the window -the farthest away from your door as possible, cold brick uncomfortable against your back but the fear that struck you was much more powerful. Your body was numb in a way like you weren't where you were, like you were watching from somewhere else.

"It's not," you started, voice still shaky, "-you don't have to do this. I can- I can still help you. With... With Penny, I know-"

The Governor's jaw stiffened, seething from his lips, "Don't say her name. You have no right to say her name-"

Your mind was running so fast that you couldn't keep up, a sort of instilled fear running up your arms -it felt like you were still but everyone else kept moving. The tip of his gun glinting in the night sky -it was the only way you could really see it.

"I didn't- I'm sorry," you blurted out, heart racing in your chest and fear biting at your tongue. Suddenly realizing it then, you didn't want to die. As soon as the opportunity was laid out in front of you, the gun pointed at your head, you were afraid, "-I just. I could help. I was there when they started with the vaccine. I knew-"

"Shut up," his voice was only angry -deep and brash and if you could've moved farther away, you would have, but he only stepped forward, "-she's dead. Because of one of your people-"

And then he stopped. A sudden and certain stop.

"Well," his voice got lighter -trying to go back to the charisma, "didn't know we'd have an audience, Y/N."

Realizing then, you spun around -finding the tip of another gun against the glass. Rick stood there with a set jaw you found familiar, and eyes set beyond anger -solely focused on The Governor.

"Let's be polite to the guests," he spoke -voice teetering on the unhinged nature that you'd only seen moments before he shot. The Governor stepped forward and grabbed your wrist -keeping you where you were.

And turning his gun around, he smashed the glass -mere inches from your face. It stung, like bees when you were on the playground -littered across your skin, but you still felt quite numb. Body only guided by instincts, by the emotions that bubbled underneath your skin.

Without an extra thought, The Governor threw you to the opposite wall (your head only stung for a second) -purely focused on Rick, "Didn't we have an agreement, Sheriff?"

Rick's jaw clenched, blue eyes flickering to you just for a second, "I never agreed to nothin'."

"Huh," he responded, almost in a comically exaggerated way, "-that's right-"

The Governor turned the gun to you -trained to the center of your forehead, unflinchingly, "Your life for the prison, right?"

"Don't lay a hand on 'em," Rick threatened, his voice layered in anger but you could hear it deep under it all -worry, "-or I'll sh-"

"Yes," you interrupted, quickly -biting back your tears and your fear, "-that's... That's the deal. My life. Not his, if you shoot anyone, shoot me."

"Y/N-"

The Governor laughed, a sort of dry one like it was entertaining to him, like it was all a game, "You really did a number on 'em, didn't you Rick? Practically jumping in front of my gun."

And then he paused, looking over Rick with less enthusiasm -where he stood eyes trying to stay heavily focused on the Governor, but he kept looking to you (even just for a second, relishing in you being there, being alive-), "Well, well. I guess they did a number on you too, Sheriff. Ain't that interesting."

You opened your mouth to dispute it, take it back -not now, not at the end of it all. He couldn't love you back, not here-

But you looked at him, his eyes were on you -blue shadowed in something so heavy, so desperate that your breath nearly caught in your throat. He swallowed, hand on his gun steady but you could tell the shake, the hesitance, it was there. Deep under his skin, you could tell.

God, he did.

"It's been cute, really," the Governor cleared his throat, his voice taking on the more numbed tone -distant and faraway, "-and hate to ruin the moment, but I'm a man of my word."

With that, he merely adjusted the gun for a straighter shot -one that wouldn't miss. You exhaled, hands shaking but it was something you could deal with, as long as he was alive.

As long as he's alive, you repeated -trying to silence the fear thrashing against your chest, clawing to be let out, as long as he's alive.

And then there was a noise, a familiar one ('what exactly his gun sounded like just before he shot'), and you closed your eyes.

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gatzilksis-2 · 3 years

Text

Travis

Part Two: The Condition

Warning: Includes M/M interactions, fart fetish material, and other adult content. 18+ Only.

Travis grinned. "You good?"

"Yeah." I turned on my fake. I had years of experience working in fast food. My customer service persona could be used in more situations than I thought. "Good one!"

He clapped my shoulder. "Thanks, man."

His warm touch coupled with the fart caused my member to harden. I walked across the room and casually flopped onto the couch, crossing my legs to hide it better. "When are you moving your stuff in?"

"Tomorrow." Travis sat next to me and retrieved his wallet. He handed me a small stack of twenty dollar bills. "There's your rent, by the way."

"Thanks." I set it on the coffee table and stood, my problem having worked itself out. I couldn't stand it. I needed more. "Come on. I wanna show you a couple things."

I walked back into his room and resisted an urge to take a big whiff. The scent of his fart hadn't dissipated at all, hanging thick in the air. Travis seemed to be quite the powerful farter.

He came in behind me, chuckling. "Into the stench!"

We laughed, and he put his hands in his pockets. "Uh, actually, I kinda fart a lot. Like, a lot more than most people. I have a stomach condition that creates too much bacteria."

I could die happy. Those three sentences were the best ones in existence. The problem was that I didn't know how a normal person (one without a fart fetish) would respond.

"Does it always smell like this?"

Travis looked away sheepishly. "Sometimes, other times worse. Depends on how much I eat and what the food is. It acts up with dairy, red meat, green vegetables, pasta, and potatoes."

"So there's no avoiding it?" This was unbelievable. I lowered myself to the floor to sit, hiding my reawakened erection. The carpet was the thinnest and cheapest possible, so it felt like sitting on wood.

"Not really." Travis joined me on the floor without asking why. Good. "I mean, I'm prescribed these pills, but they fuck me up so bad. The digestion might be better, but the rest of me goes numb."

"That's not good." I felt bad for him, and I was so glad he didn't take the medication.

"Yeah, but you know what is?" His serious, pretty blue eyes met mine.

"What?" Travis didn't look much like an asshole right now. He seemed almost vul--

My thought was interrupted by a fart that reverberated off the floor and echoed in the small space. My erection pulsed; I'd felt the vibration of the fart under me. I took in the refreshed scent, forcing myself to laugh with him.

"I really thought you were going to say something important."

"That was important." His full grin was back. "No, but uh, I found out I had this rare thing the year after graduation. I always farted a lot, but I'm sure you remember."

"I don't." I wanted to lie on my side, but my erection would become obvious.

"Let's get something to eat, and I'll share all the best stories." Travis got to his feet and started towards the door. "If you still have an appetite."

"Why wouldn't I--"

He turned his hips and started a fart six inches from my face. It was loud and bassy like the first, holding for four seconds before sputtering to a stop. I had felt the warm air, and the smell this close was unreal.

Travis looked over his broad shoulder and fell into a laugh. "I just had to try it, and your face is so worth it!"

I smiled, dazed. "I definitely wasn't expecting that."

"I'm a big fan of surprises." Travis winked and stepped out of the room.

Next: Patrick discovers how far Travis's gas can go.

#farts #fart fiction #male fart stories #eproctophilia #fart stories #gay fart stories

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allyouneedisbuck · 3 years

Text

keep you warm and safe

summary // bonus part to my arms will hold you; bucky and his wife as she goes through the twelve hours of labor. stories, pain, games, jello and lots of love. [established bucky barnes x fem! reader]

words // 3.2k

warnings // depiction of labor, epidural usage, hospital birth & excessive use of nickname pretty girl

notes // eeeeeeeeeek i was so excited for this request! i love bucky + the mrs + this dynamic so much. note this is written in a similar style as the first piece; snippets of each hour.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Hour One

Bucky doesn’t know what to do to help you, that much is obvious to you. It might even make you laugh, if it hadn’t been for the pain that was coming and going. Dr. O had apologetically explained that you were only six centimeters dilated and would have to wait until you were at ten, which you knew, but it still sucked to hear.

You groan, a mixture of pain and annoyance, as Bucky looks at your doctor sadly. “How long will that take?” He asks curiously.

She shrugs before pulling up your chart on the tablet at the end of your bed. “It really depends. It could be anywhere from an hour to more than twelve. Every woman goes through the stages of labor differently.”

Bucky’s hand is still rubbing your stomach gently as he continues to ask questions. “But her water broke. Her contractions are only a few minutes apart. How can it take another, like, ten hours?”

Your hand grips him tightly. “Buck, it doesn’t matter.” You say in a tired voice.

He turns to you a little apologetically. “Sorry, I’m just curious.” He admits sheepishly. Dr. O takes her leave with a kind smile and a gentle pat on your shin. Bucky looks down at you again. “Dads didn’t really go in the room with their wives when I was younger. My dad and I sat out in the waiting room when Becca was born.”

You look at him with curious eyes. “Really? Your mom was all alone?”

“I think my grandma was with her for a while, but yeah, pretty much.” He shrugs. “We were let in after Rebecca was cleaned and wrapped up. It’s nice being able to be with you. I just want to help.”

Your heart swells at his admission. “That’s so sweet, Bucky.” You whisper resting your head against his shoulder. “Tell me about that day.” You demand quietly, hoping a story would help distract you.

“I don’t really remember much of it.” Bucky starts. “But I remember my dad and I sitting in the waiting room and you know, we lived in such a gloomy time. Before the depression we weren’t too well off, so I know my parents were a little stressed about having two of us hooligans.” He laughs gently and you smile. You feel yourself relax at his voice and although there’s still pain, you’re not struggling to breathe anymore. “But when my dad saw Becca and the nurse let him hold her I saw it all go away. My mom let me crawl into the bed with her. Nothing like this one, mind you. It was smaller and way less comfortable, but she still wrapped her arm around me and kissed my head and my dad introduced me to Becca.” He hastily wipes a tear away. “It’s one of the few good memories I have of back then.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky.” You say, a little guilty. You hadn’t meant to make him sad by bringing up his family. “I wish they could meet me and our babies.”

Bucky smiles down at you then presses a kiss to your cheek. “Me too, but I know they’re proud of me. I know they would’ve loved you. That’s all I need.”

You groan as another contraction hits and Bucky sits up a little straighter, his hand immediately rubbing up and down your back. “You’re so strong. I love you so much.” He murmurs as you breathe deeply.

“I’m so proud of you.” You say a moment later when the sharp pain has passed and you have a second to breathe.

Bucky snorts and looks you over with his eyes. “Not prouder than I am of you. Nothing I’ve done in this lifetime can compare to what you’re doing right now.”

And - well - a small part of you wants to argue that Bucky saved lives daily, but the rest of you agreed. Bucky would never do this and his support and pure adoration made it a little easier.

Hour Three

“I’m hungry.” You complain. Dr. O had left a little over twenty minutes ago after declaring you were still only dilated six centimeters, which felt impossible but who were you to argue with her? “What can I eat?”

Bucky’s begun pulling out some of the stuff you had packed in the go bag and organizing it in the small hospital dresser.

“The nurse said I can get you ice chips or jello, but that’s really it.” He answers apologetically. You sigh mournfully. All you really wanted was something to fill you up. “Want me to grab some?”

“Jello, please.” You shrug. “Are you sure I can’t eat anything? I want, like, mashed potatoes.” You tap your fingers against your stomach as you adjust your pillow behind you with one arm.

Bucky laughs as he comes over to you. “I’m sure, pretty girl.” His hand cups your cheek gently and you look up at him with a pout. “I’ll bring you some jello.”

“Thank you.” You smile up at him. Dr. O enters as he leaves and he pauses. “Go! I’ll be fine.” You wave him away as she comes to your bedside. He waits for a moment before finally stepping out of the room. You look at Dr. O with a tired smile. “Checking me again?” You ask.”

“I will in a little while. I came to talk to you about an epidural. You’ve already been in labor for a few hours and it looks like you’ll be one of the women who is in labor for a tough amount of time.” She explains gently. “It’s completely up to you. You have some time to think.”

You nod. Your contractions still hurt and they took the wind out of you when they came every few minutes, so it didn’t feel like the worst idea. “Come back in half an hour? Can I have some time to think?”

“Of course!” She nods. “Take your time. Remember nobody is here to judge you, it’s your body and your choice entirely.”

You smile. “Thank you.” You relax against your pillow as you wait for Bucky to return with your jello. You think of Dr. O’s advice torn between having a natural birth and the gruelling pain it could leave you in for hours.

“I come bearing jello.” Bucky pushes the door open softly and smiles at you with two cups of jello in his hand. You frown at their small size and Bucky chuckles. “I know they’re small, that's why I brought you two.”

You smile gratefully when he peels one open and hands it to you along with a small spoon. You moan at the taste of it and the feeling of being able to eat something even though it’s something small like jello.

“Dr. O asked if I wanted an epidural.” You murmur in between bites. Bucky nods. “What will that do?” He asks curiously.

You take a deep breath as pain shoots through you. “Help with these contractions in case labor goes on for hours. I don’t know some women just go entirely natural, I’m torn.”

“Well is it unsafe?” He asks before handing you the second cup. You shake your head. “There are risks to every medical procedure. It’s not like, bad for the babies but it can have some risky side effects.” You explain.

Bucky looks at you with intent, like he doesn’t want to miss a word that comes out of your mouth. “You know it’s up to you. Nobody else's opinion should matter, it’s not their body.”

You take a deep breath. “I know… I just don’t want people to think I’m like, not woman enough or-“

“Stop.” Bucky cuts you off harshly. You look at him with wide eyes. “Pretty girl, nobody can tell you anything about your choices. Got that?” He tilts his head so you’re forced to look him in the eyes.

You’ve always loved Bucky’s eyes. His emotions reflected in the blue that held your own stare until you nod slowly.

He smiles then flexes his vibranium arm. “And if they do, they can deal with me.”

Hour Five

“Call them back!” You laugh as you sit up in bed. The pain has lessened considerably after the epidural at hour four, when you had only been dilated around seven centimeters. “I’m fine, Buck!”

Bucky looks hesitant as he pulls the phone out. “Are you sure, pretty girl? If you’re tired you can take a nap or-“

“Bucky.” You whine a little. “I want to talk to my friend! Call Sam back!” He sighs as he pulls out his phone and sets it up on your little tray for food.

It rings for a few moments before Sam’s face appears on the screen with a wide smile. “My favorite people!” He cheers when he sees you two both in frame. “Man, has anybody told you how beautiful you look right now?” He says sweetly.

You roll your eyes. “Only every hour. Bucky won’t stop saying it.” You nudge his side playfully. “I look like a disaster, but I appreciate it.”

Sam and Bucky both shake their heads. “Not true at all. You look like a goddess.” Bucky says sternly. You giggle as Sam snorts.

“How far along are you?” He asks. You shrug. “About three more centimeters to go, but the doctor said it could take awhile.”

“Should Steve and I come camp out in the waiting room?” He smirks. “I’m about to buy out the whole gift store.”

You laugh. “Not necessary! Bucky will text you when we get closer if you want to come down.”

Sam rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Of course we do. Life gets so boring here at the compound. Steve!” He yells out. You and Bucky flinch at the drastic change in tone. “Steve! Come here!” He looks back at the camera. “He came to help with training today, that worked out great, didn’t it? We can carpool.”

You both nod as Steve forces his face into the camera view. You and Bucky smile brightly at him and wave. “Hey! You guys look great! I can’t believe you’re gonna have two babies soon.”

“I can!” You shake your head. “Almost nine months of these babies inside of me, I can’t wait to have them in my arms. I want to drink coffee again and have wine!”

The three men laugh and Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead. There’s a knock at your door and you two look up to see one of the nurses quietly coming in. “We’ve gotta go! Bucky will text you when you can come down.” You wave goodbye before Bucky grabs his phone and sits up.

“Hi!” She smiles brightly. “I wanted to come in and say hi, there’s a shift change right now so you'll be seeing me for the next twelve hours.”

You frown. “Is Dr. O still here?”

She nods. “Dr. O is on call for you! We’ll be doing regular checks and then we’ll call her back when we believe it’s time to start.” You nod gratefully as she moves towards your bed.

Hour Seven

“D1?” You look behind Bucky’s shoulder quickly before back down at your small model ocean. He lets out a defeated sigh and nods.

“Hit.” You smile victoriously as you place the red pin on your screen. You had sunk his carrier, cruiser and submarine. There were only two left. “A11?” He guesses.

You shake your head. “Miss.” He places yet another white pin on his screen. “E1?”

Bucky looks up at you suspiciously. “How are you so good at this?”

“I just know you, my love.” You smile a little too big and Bucky’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“You’re lying.” He looks your face over. “How are you cheating? Can you see over here?”

You let out an offended gasp. “I would never cheat!” Your tone is a little over dramatic, so you’re not really selling it, but it makes both of you dissolve into laughter.

Bucky turns around and catches the reflection of his board in the wall mounted television. He nods in an impressed manner before turning back to look at you. “Nice. I’ll let slide because you’re about to push out our children but any other time…” He trails off wagging a finger at you.

You laugh softly as he begins to pack away the game. “I love you, Buck.” You say sweetly.

He smiles at you. “I love you too, pretty girl.”

Hour Nine

“You’re at eight!” The nurse cheers. “Two more, mama! We’re so close!” You look over at her with a tired smile. You had been in and out of sleep since Bucky had packed away the Battleship game.

Bucky runs his fingers up and down your arm. His fingertips offer some cooling comfort, but you’re exhausted. Nine hours of sitting in the room, getting hourly checks and not being able to move around besides small walks has taken a toll.

“What do you need from me, pretty girl?” Bucky murmurs.

You shrug. “I want this to be over with. I want to have them in our arms. Why is it taking so long?” You mumble in a trembling voice. You hadn’t realized how emotionally exhausted you were too.

Bucky sighs sadly as he stares down at you. “I’m not sure, pretty girl. The doctor said every woman goes through labor differently.”

“That does nothing to help me.” You snap at him. Bucky’s eyes widen and you squeeze your eyes shut willing the tears gathering in them to go away.

You feel Bucky rub his hand up and down your arm. “You’re okay.” He whispers. “You can cry, pretty girl. Nobody is gonna judge you.” He says quietly, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You open your eyes to look at him apologetically. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, but he shakes his head.

“Nothing you say or do while going through this is going to offend me.” He explains gently. “If you wanna yell at me, yell at me. Just let me help.”

You laugh wetly. “I’m not gonna emotionally abuse you.” You rest your hand over his on your cheek. “I just need you here to listen to me complain and say I know it sucks.”

“That’s it?” He chuckles and you shrug. “And maybe get back in bed with me for a couple minutes.” He smiles and you scoot over a little bit.

Bucky presses himself to your side and wraps a careful arm around you. You take a deep breath and rest your head against his shoulder. You don’t even notice the tears until Bucky begins to wipe them silently off your cheeks while pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You got this, pretty girl. Just a little while longer.”

You nod. “Get more jello for me, please?” You ask quietly. Bucky laughs, but moves to stand up. “The cherry flavor this time!” You call out as he opens the door, his laughter echoes in the hall and it makes you smile.

Hour Ten

“Nine! You’re doing so well! Your babies are almost here.” You smile brightly at the words and turn your head to look at Bucky.

“You know you can sleep a little? You’ve been awake this entire time.” You urge. Bucky had been with you every minute you were awake. He ate when you were asleep so you wouldn’t be jealous of the food. Finished unpacking your go bag and talking to nurses, you couldn’t imagine that he had found the time to rest. “I don’t want you passing out when you see what happens when I push these kids out.”

Bucky lets out a loud laugh. “I promise you I’ve seen worse.” He pulls one of the chairs up to sit beside you. Squeezing both of you on there had just become too hot and uncomfortable for you. “Besides, I slept for a little while you napped.”

“For how long?” You cross your arms over your stomach.

Bucky rubs the back of his neck. “Like twenty minutes? I’m fine, pretty girl. I used to go days without more than an hour of sleep. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s why I worry about you.” Your hand finds his resting beside you on the bed. “I know you’ll play it off until you pass out from exhaustion.”

Bucky smiles like he’s surprised by your love for him. Maybe he still is, even after all this time together. You smile back. “I’m supposed to be the one comforting you, pretty girl. Not the other way around.” He teases.

You shake your head. “I think we’ve always been good at comforting each other. Doesn’t matter when.” Bucky smiles brightly at you with a nod.

“You’re always right.” He murmurs. “What would I do without you?” You open your mouth to respond. “Don’t answer. I don’t even like thinking about it.”

Hour Eleven

“God. Fuck.” You groan. The pressure you feel mixed with the dulled contractions was awful. “Can I push? Please?” You look down at Dr. O.

Your room has been set up with incubators, medical tools and you felt exposed to the group in front of you. She nods. “When you start, we’re gonna count to eight, okay? Then a rest period.” She looks between you and Bucky.

Bucky presses a quick kiss to your forehead before wrapping one of your hands between both of his. “Ready, mama?” You nod hastily as Dr. O begins to count out loud.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You squeeze your eyes shut and focus on her counting only letting out a breath when she says stop. “You look amazing right now.” Bucky whispers and you scoff.

“Just need you to breathe with her, Mr. Barnes.” Dr. O urges gently and he nods, breathing in with you before breathing out.

The routine breathing helps relax you for your small rest break before Dr. O begins counting again for another push. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl.”

Bucky’s got his left hand interlocked with yours. “Breathe.” Dr. O lets out. “You’re so close.” She cheers you on.

“I can’t do this. I can’t.” You shake your head with teary eyes. After hours and hours of restlessness, you’re exhausted. You can’t help but feel this will take you out. You can hear your heart monitor spike a little. Bucky’s eyes frantically look around the room which does little to quell your worry. “Bucky.” You cry.

“We need to push, Mrs. Barnes.” Dr. O urges. You shake your head but stop when Bucky’s hand grips your chin and forces you to look at him.

“You can do this.” His voice is stern. “You know you can. What did I say? This isn’t gonna be what takes you out, pretty girl.” You sniffle as you watch him talk. “You gotta push for me, okay?”

You take in a deep, shuddering breath before nodding. “Okay.” You say quietly before turning your attention back to Dr. O. “Okay.”

Hour Twelve

“A boy and a girl.” You murmur tiredly as Bucky pushes back stray hairs and wipes the sweat off your forehead. “Our babies.”

“Our babies.” He agrees a little wetly. “You did amazing, pretty girl. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Did you call the boys?” You ask. You can hear the cries echo in the room as nurses perform necessary checks. Bucky laughs. “I did. They’re in the waiting room.” He answers.

“Are they okay?” You ask, unable to move and check yourself. Bucky looks over his shoulder before looking back down at you. “They are. They’re perfect, just getting cleaned up. A boy and a girl.” Bucky murmurs in awe.

“Eleanor and Steven.” You whisper. “Can I hold them?”

“Soon.” Bucky smiles before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “A couple more minutes.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

notes // i’m so glad someone liked my arms will hold you enough to want more of it! i love family bucky, he has my heart.

replies and reblogs are appreictaed if you enjoyed this! 💞

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes

254 notes · View notes

cinna-stars · 3 years

Text

Worth Waiting For

Uhh, okay, this is my first ever fanfic! I might continue it based on the reception, but it was a few thoughts I had in my head that I wanted down on paper.

18+! Some sexual themes and content throughout, however for those experienced smut readers, this is some mild sauce, not very much spice.

I have to credit @cyancherub for making me think about Kiri smelling like cinnamon, the thought hasn’t left my brain.

Kirishima x Fem!reader

A cool breeze whispers through the slightly ajar window of your dorm room. The sun set a little while ago; studying always seems to eat up most of your free time, so this wasn’t exactly a surprise. You lean back in your desk chair, arms up, and stretch your muscles into a big yawn. The sudden contracting muscles have your stomach gurgling. It’s definitely time to take a break, so you close your textbook and stand up from your desk. I wonder if there’s any of those expensive sounding potato chips that Momo bought back from her trip abroad left over? The thought makes you salivate as you begin towards your door. You glance to the mirror in the corner and look at your own reflection: hair pulled into a loose, messy bun, torso swallowed up by an old band shirt Denki gave you (after a conversation initiated by Mineta on what you liked to wear to bed) and bare legs sticking out from the hem. Shouldn’t be a problem, as long as Iida isn’t feeling like a stick in the mud this evening. You open your door and begin creeping your way to the kitchen, hoping to keep noise levels to a minimum as to not disturb anyone who might be sleeping already.

Your ears perk up when you hear conversation coming from the communal area.

“On a scale from 1-10, with ten being the most boring, you have exceeded my expectations and we’ve hit an 11.”

“Shut up dude, it’s an absolute cinematic masterpiece. This is why you don’t have the remote- we’d be watching Care Bears or some shit.”

You approach the seating area to see Bakugou, Kirishima, Sero and Denki. The latter two arguing over what to watch. Bakugou looks like he’s about to blow a fuse, so Kirishima chimes in,

“Hahah, okay guys, why don’t we just watch a horror movie, like Scream or something? It’s an easy watch.”

“Sounds like a good idea as long as Kaminari doesn’t shit himself.” Sero tries to start again, but this is perfect timing for you to interject.

“Sero, I’m sorry, last time I checked, you’re the one who had to ‘leave suddenly’ when we watched Halloween.” A smirk appears on your face from ear to ear as all four boys turn their head your direction. You notice an empty spot next to Kiri and take the opportunity to sit, careful not to flash anyone.

“Hey Y/N don’t be startin’ on me. I have plenty of stories about you that we could share you know? What about the Jaegerbomb incident?” Sero matched your grin, and you feign shock by slapping your hand to your heart.

“You’re breaking my heart, Hanta. Are you the only ones up?”

“Yeah Iida sort of ‘encouraged’ everyone to go to bed early because of the test tomorrow, but” Denki motions in Bakugou’s direction “the angry Pomeranian barked and he gave up with us.” Bakugou snaps his head up from his phone to stare Denki down, but realizing he’s just proving his point, sighs and goes back to scrolling on his phone.

“You okay Baku-babe?” he grunts and flips you off, but you could see the corner of his lip turn up in a weak smile at the affectionate nickname. You knew he meant well, especially after the time you had spent together over the last summer with the guys; he just had a defensive temperament.

“You wanna join us, y/n?” Kiri propositions with a wide grin. His hair was still styled into sharp points from classes today, contrasting with his relaxed clothing choice of a t-shirt, shorts and crocs. He’d also made the addition of a white bandana around his forehead. As usual, he was looking incredible.

After the time spent together as a group over the break, it was great to get to know everyone better. As Sero’s oldest friend, it was always easier to stick by him, which had ended up in your favour by meeting these clowns. You’d slowly got closer to the other three boys too, but there was something about Kirishima you couldn’t shake.

The way you felt when you were left together alone in the same room at a party, or when the other guys ended up flaking so you spent the night together at his place, there was always a feeling of excitement, in more ways than one.

You’ve never been very good at flirting and you just seem to come across as an anxious mess, but Kiri was pretty much just as bad. Meaning neither of you ever made a move. Just awkward giggles and eye contact that lasted just a little bit too long for friends.

“I actually came to steal some of Momo’s fancy chips but yeah, let me get a snack and I’ll be ready. You guys want anything?” You get up off the couch and start your way to the kitchen.

“BEER. BEER. BEER.” Denki chants, making you giggle.

“Oh I’ll come and help you carry them!” Kiri jumps up to follow behind you. You can hear Sero make a ‘wha-PISH’ whipping sound which makes Denki burst out with laughter. In their defense, it was painfully obvious you were both pining for each other.

The kitchen isn’t far but it is out of earshot of the sitting area. You open the cupboard in the corner to find Momo’s chip bag, left sat there completely empty. “Oh come ON” you sigh, picking up the bag and placing it in the trash.

“No chips left? Don’t worry I got you covered.” Kiri stretches to the gap between the top of the cupboard and the ceiling, feeling about with his hand. Your eyes fixate on the skin that is now showing just above the waistband of his shorts. You slowly move your view up the side of his torso, his shirt draping over his body in all the right places, and then to his face, one eye closed and tongue sticking out in concentration. He totally caught you checking him out and now you’re both stood there blushing like idiots. He finally located the bag he was looking for and brings his hands back down, showing off the slightly dusty bag of unopened chips.

“These are your favourites, right?” You stand in bewilderment looking at the bag and nod. “There are many bonuses to being one of the tallest in this dorm” he grins. He even remembered your favourite chips? You can’t help but smile back.

“Thank you so much. Oh let me get the beers!” you walk over to the fridge and open it up, bending over to search for the well hidden cans. You know your ass is on show, and you’re doing everything you can to make it the best view. Arching your back slightly, barely moving your hips from side to side, putting on a full show without being too obvious. “Ah I found them!” You gather them into your arms, the cold metal against your skin sending shivers up your spine and making your nipples protrude from the thin material of your shirt. You stand back up and close the fridge, turning around to a very red in the face Kirishima. You send a sweet smile his way.

“Do you mind taking a couple they’re coldddd” you whine. He composes himself and grabs the first can he can see looking ready to fall. He then proceeds to take another, slowly exposing more of your chest and your hardened nipples. You notice his eyes dart to them and then back on the beers. Are you two really going to carry on like this? Acting like the sexual tension couldn’t be cut with a knife? His wandering eyes now have you blushing and you’re quick to fill the hanging silence. “Should we really be drinking when we have a test tomorrow? I’m no NARC but you know what Denki can get like. He’ll wake up the whole house.”

“It’ll be fine. The only ones that know where the rest of the stash is are you and me. As long as you can keep a secret, we’re Gucci” he winks.

“Did you… really just use the term ‘Gucci’? like completely unironically?” You laugh, nudging his side.

“Shut upppp y/n. Come on let’s get back to them before Bakugo kills Dumb and Dumber.”

“Hoes and bros we come bearing beverages!” You walk in and pass out the three beers you held to the boys, Kiri slowly following with the chips and the last two drinks.

“Wait, who are the hoes?..... oh.” Kaminari has a moment of self-realization and stares at the beer in his hand.

“Denki don’t listen to her, she is the last one to be calling anyone a hoe” Sero hits you with another of what will be many insults of the night.

“Uhhhh says the guys who has a body count tally on his wall. If you ever get with Mina you’re going to need to take a trip to Home Depot to paint over those you know?” You counter.

“Can we watch the damn film already?! Could’ve watched half the fucking thing by now.” Bakugou finally lets off some of the pent up steam. Both you and Denki lift your arms up to your forehead in a salute. “Yes sir!”

Grabbing a blanket, you and Kiri get back into your original seats next to each other on the sofa furthest away from the TV. Sero is on the chair to Kiri’s right, sprawled over it in the most boyish way possible, legs stretched wide and arms hanging over the back. Denki and Bakugo share the sofa to your left, Bakugou reserved to the spot at the very end, finally turning his phone off, while Denki almost mimics Sero’s positioning, but one hand is wrapped around his beer chugging it a bit too fast. Sero presses play as you sit back into the sofa. Kiri’s arm is already draped over the back of the headrest, and it’s only a matter of time until his arm drapes around your shoulder and you lean into him.

You’re about ten minutes into the movie when he starts to move his fingers in little circles on your upper arm. If anyone saw you right now, they’d assume you two were together. The months you’ve both spent flirting and teasing, the light touches and the lingering cuddles. This is becoming unbearable for you, its overwhelming. How haven’t you kissed yet? You weren’t really a ‘hoe’ as Sero said, but you certainly weren’t inexperienced and have never had this trouble before, so what was stopping you now? If things continued like this, you were going to explode.

You look up at Kiri, admiring the contours of his face against the light of the TV. The way his eyebrows slightly furrow, and the way he’s chewing his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. You inhale the mild aroma of cinnamon, which is a scent that follows him around everywhere. You’re certain he’s aware you are staring, by the light blush reforming on his cheeks, but he allows you to for just a little longer. Right up until Denki yelps aloud from a minor jump scare in the film, causing you to jolt yourself and grab onto Kiri’s shirt.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” he asks, voice low and husky. “Don’t worry, I got you.” He lifts his free arm and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I-I wasn’t scared. Denki made me jump” you pout.

“Aww, even worse haha” he chuckles, the vibrations flow through your body, straight to your core, making you instantly wet. If he ever really knew the affect he had, you might just die from embarrassment. You release his shirt and return your head to his shoulder; however, his hand has maneuvered itself away from your upper arm and is now placed on your hip. The large amount of warmth is slowly followed by a very light squeeze of reassurance, and you’ve never been more aware that you aren’t wearing any shorts.

His breathing has now quickened, and his hand feels like it might even be shaking a little bit. He was so nervous, which makes him even more endearing. A wave of adrenaline rushed through you as you lift your hand to rest atop of his, to give him the assurance that it is absolutely okay to have his hand there.

About three quarters of the way into the film, all drinks have been consumed, chips have been eaten, Sero pauses and gets up for a pee break. “Couldn’t your bladder have waited? There isn’t that much longer left Se-bro” Kiri teases

“Ei, I don’t think I know anyone who could wait as long as you have” he leans down and darts his eyes between the two of you. You glare with intent to BURN. You thought too long for a comeback and unfortunately, he’s already happily waltzing off to the bathroom.

Kiri turns to you with a smile and lowers his voice. “Did nobody tell tape face that anything worth having is worth waiting for?” and you swear in that moment an entire flutter of butterflies were trying to escape you. That’s the most direct he’s ever been and it’s not something easy to ignore.

“I know you both have hidden the beer and I take personal offense.” Denki bellows. “I bet it’s on top of the cupboard where Kiri keeps all the good stuff” and he gets up and skips off to the kitchen, fully convinced he’s going to find what he’s looking for.

“I’m going to bed. Gotta be up early and you extras are pissing me off.” Bakugou gets up and stretches. “Love you, Bakubro! Mwah!” both you and Kiri heckle him with air kisses and you are met with yet another middle finger as he strolls off to his dorm room, that small smirk still present.

There’s that feeling coming back again. The way you feel whenever you’re alone with Kirishima. But this is the most compromised you’ve been: you’re basically half naked, he’s got his hand on your hip and he just dropped an absolute bomb of a line thanks to Sero. You can’t help yourself and before you truly think it through,

“Ei, I think I’m done waiting.” You lift your head off his shoulder, faces only a few inches apart. You can feel both your heart rates quicken in sync and your bodies getting hotter. He raises his hand and takes your chin in his hand, urging your lips forward onto his. The anticipated contact sends electricity through your body and the kiss deepens quickly, his tongue licks your lower lip asking for entrance and you accept immediately, releasing a soft moan from the motion.

You twist your body round so that you’re straddling his thigh, his wandering hand had slipped under the fabric of your shirt in the same place, playing with the fabric of your underwear. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, pushing him further into your mouth. You both are getting sloppy as lust takes over and you find your hips involuntarily grinding on his thigh. He breaks away from the kiss, pulling at your lower lip and working his way down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking lightly, causing louder moans to escape you.

“So- fucking long- I’ve waited- to touch you like this” he groans out between kisses and bites, sure to leave a mark. “Sound so pretty”

“Ah- me too, I- fuck” the stimulation from his voice and touch is almost overwhelming, but clarity sets in quicker than you’d like it too. “Sero will- ah- be back any second” and you release your grip on his hair. He’s really trying to pout at you, but he can’t help let his goofy smile beam through. You stare at each other for a few seconds, both absolutely beaming with happiness. He lets out an almighty sigh,

“Uggggh, you’re right. Hey, what are you doing after this?” he asks as you settle back down next to him, making you chuckle.

“Well I was planning on going back to my dorm and sleeping. Unless you have a better offer?” you beam.

“Well…” his grin gets wider, “you know there’s a sequel to Scream, yknow? Think you might wanna… what’s it called..”

“Scream 2.”

“I can make you scream, too. Sure” and you erupt into laughter together, from his disgustingly awful pun.

Sero approaches from the corridor “Well you two sure can clear a room.”

“I’d blame it on Kiri’s terrible puns, but Bakubabe went to bed and Electabuzz is currently trying to find the rest of the beer but- oh there you are” Denki walks in, with a pout on his face, and flops back on the couch in disappointment.

“Denks, how about we throw a little party tomorrow after the test. We’ll let you in on where the secret stash is, too.” You offer, his expression immediately switching to that of delight.

Even though there was only a half hour left of the movie, it felt like hours until the end credits started rolling. Denki had managed to fall asleep and was snoring at full velocity, and the only person left paying full attention was Sero, as you couldn’t stop your brain from wandering from anticipation.

He shut the TV off and you tasked yourself with waking up Denki while Kiri cleaned up the empty beer bottles.

“Kami, come on sweetie, you need to go to bed.” You nudge him slightly causing him to stir. Sero walks over, and gives him a hard slap on the ass

‘WAKE UP ASSHOLE! Iida will kill you if you sleep on the couch”

“…I- sleep- your mom-..” he sits up and rubs his eyes

“Don’t be so rough Sero, he’s so sleepy look at hiiiimm” You say, admiring how cute he looked in such tired state. Kaminari finally gets up and all four of you head to the lift… shit.

You are Denki are on the 3rd floor, Kiri is on the 4th and Sero is on the 5th… how are you going to get to Kiri’s room without being suspicious?

A/N: Thank you if you read this in full! Please let me know what you think and if you’d be wanting to read the next part (which would include a lot more spice!)

#kirishima smut #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x you #kirishima icons #kirishima imagine #kirishima x reader #kirishima fluff #mha x reader #mha smut #kirishima x y/n #kiribaku #denki kaminari #hanta sero

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