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emiqip · 4 months ago

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Pt.3 Apocalyptic Ponyo AU ft. Shockwave and his... kids. @keferon

For all they've been through together, this had to be the dumbest thing they've ever done- which is saying something, considering not too many months ago they collectively decided to raid the city's garbage dump not taking into account that a) there would be some kind of security system (who defends trash anyway? weirdos) b) the smell and c) the local population of possums they inevitably bothered.

All in all, that could have even been considered a good day in Skywarp's book- yeah, they didn't find anything, they all smelled pretty fucking terrible without any way of washing the stench away and they were covered in bite marks, hoping none of those things had rabies- but they laughed and joked about it for weeks after.

This situation, however, was anything but funny.

Following Blue's little stunt, the remaining children left at base were informed to meet at the nearest shore, where the youngest's new... friend? Still waited for them. A few minutes of shock and surprise from both parties after, they finally decided on how to fix whatever this was. The plan was simple too: separate Blue from the sea freak, gather all of their stuff and set off to the sparkly horizon, leaving all of this behind their backs- no strings attached.

Obviously that would've been too good to be true, something had to go wrong: of course their youngest still refused to leave, even when Damus finally gained some courage and went over to pick Blue up by force- too bad the little menace immediately started ugly sobbing. Not only that, the twins got over their fear pretty quickly, replacing it with the raw force of curiosity little kids have for anything ugly, sticky and new. Cue Soundwave being assigned as their official babysitter lest the two would sprint and try to climb the fish like a pair of coked-up squirrels. And, yeah, not the smoothest outcome but hey! Now they could, you know, leave.

He was so so wrong. As soon as the Thing noticed they were walking away it started chirping at them over and over, like it was calling for them to get back. Kinda sad, but they could ignore it (unless you were Blue- still crying in TC's arms while making grabby hands at the mer), what alarmed them was the fact that it started to use all of its upper body strength and try to slowly beach itself in the goal of reaching their group. Needless to say the situation called for a new plan fast- even in ten, considering its size, they still weren't enough to push it back in to the water.

The solution was just to camp out on the shore and find a way out of this in the morning. To the absolute delight of their youngest, who decided that for the night he would be sleeping with the freak, and unsurprisingly the twins only followed by starting to poke and prod at the being, who seemed to enjoy the attention as much as them. Windcharger joined their little huddle too for the evening, explaining himself with a little shrug of his shoulders and a quick, "He's warm and I'm cold- you can freeze for one more night for all I care," and left it at that. That traitor.

Oh well, this would soon be over anyway.

\\\

Two. Weeks.

Two whole weeks passed since this whole charade was supposed to be over, but instead he found himself being ferried away on the wettest, most fucked up recreation of the 'Magic School Bus' he's ever seen. Worst of all Ms. Fizzle was replaced by an oversize pancake with gills.

This was supposed to be the closest thing to a compromise: the kids got to keep their fish and the others got a free ride trough the apocalypse- pretty sweet if you asked him.

They were slowly making their way towards what was once the busiest side of the city: he remembers coming here with his brothers and getting overwhelmed every time by the sheer amount of people bustling around. Both locals and tourists blended perfectly in a vortex of voices, faces and mannerisms. For a boy who lived at the edge, this was exhilarating.

But the best part of this chaos were the shops windows: there was one who was squeezed between a tiny flea shop and a bakery owned by a couple of kind old people- the window's space was taken by a plethora of several vintage televisions, each of them displaying something different- his favorite old show was filmed at their local aquarium and had as protagonist a young orca mer, chirping away happily at the camera, while the crowd gasped in awe at the adorable display.

He saw his face stare right back at him from the surface of the water. Tired eyes, sunken cheeks and hair grown matted and way too long- what would he do to reverse it all and go back to their shitty daily life.

From the front of their unusual mean of transportation, he could hear the youngest kids screaming and laughing, more likely pestering the mer like a swarm of particularly persistent flies. Being too focused on eavesdropping the racket, he didn't notice Damus approaching him on unsteady feet.

"I saw a billboard a few minutes ago: big bright and with the directions to the biggest mall in the city- I'd say we are overdue for a scavenger hunt to restock our resources, what do you say?" The older asked, before staring off into the distance.

"Sure, why the hell not? I'm pretty sick and tired of eating only fish anyway- cheers to the big guy for catching it for us though." He absentmindedly patted the mer, earning a pleased rumble up ahead.

With a brief nod of assent, he took off to most likely talk to Skids- the teen, after a very intense game of charades, managed to establish a method to communicate with their newest addition, he was even successful in teaching the fishman some very simple words, and in turn the mer taught him some of his language: it was mainly made up of sounds and gestures but Skids, being the fast learner that he was, took to them pretty quickly- a shame that he never had the chance to attend a public school, he would've at the top of his classes for sure.

He felt the mass he was sitting on stir briefly, as the massive mer changed the course of their journey. The scenery around them slowly changed: hills of crumbled and deformed buildings gave way to a forest of skyscrapers looming over all of them like giant concrete pillars. Since the wave hit, putting a stop to all human activity, nature was steadily taking over- vines descended from a top of buildings, patches of seaweed and sea flora were dotting the submerged asphalted streets.

They watched in awe as schools of brilliant colored tropical fish darted past them- he heard Blue squeal along the lines of, "Sir. Pancake! Look, it's you!" when a familiar looking shark swam past them. He could vaguely recognize some of the roads and alleyways, now nearly completely covered by corals and anemones, housing a variety of oceanic wildlife.

Despite everything, there was still beauty left in this abandoned world.

\\\

The dark gaping maw leading inside the mall stared right back at them. Having no way to access the lower levels, since they were long lost under the waves, they had to find another way in- one of the walls had luckily given away to the erosion of the water, leaving the perfect entry point for them and their fishy companion. They were all well aware the mer wasn't too keen on leaving them alone for too long without becoming restless, so this was a win-win situation.

As the shadows progressively engulfed them, the smell of dampness and mold welcomed them inside. He felt TC's hand grabbing his right sleeve to catch his attention, as he turned around he saw his brother pointing at the water with his mouth agape.

What he saw made him inhale quickly in complete surprise- a pool of neon blue light surrounded them from all sides, swaying gently at the rhythm of the mer's movements.

"...bioluminescent algae- read about them once, but I never thought I would ever see them for myself." He heard TC whisper softly at him.

"Woah, this is so fucking cool..." Soft murmurs of assent from his siblings filled the silence he left behind, as they all watched the water entranced by the spectacle of lights.

They were all suddenly woken up from their trance by a brisk movement from their means of transport that almost made all of them topple over into the water. Apparently 'Sides decided he wanted to touch the pretty blue lights, nearly taking a dip for himself if the mer didn't glance over and quickly caught the little kid with one of his huge webbed hands. At least the pest had the decency to look away sheepishly at the mer's silent but admonishing expression.

Without any other close calls, they made it to what was once the food court- a huge circular dome where the pavement had partially collapsed, leaving behind a slope where dry land and water could meet, the perfect place to finally get down and stretch their legs after hours of swimming around. Trailbreaker reached into his ridiculously big backpack and started passing around a bunch of flashlights- the teen liked to be prepared for anything, even if that meant bringing around some additional weight.

The moment his feet met the ground he let out a happy sigh- exploring the sunken city was great and all, but nothing could compare to the chance of finally burning all of his residual energy. Damus clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and started his usual spiel before any resource-gathering trip.

"Alright everyone, you know the drill: six of us are going in pair to explore the building- pick up only things you think will come in hand, leave everything else. Do not take more then you need, we are not the only survivors around, so let's not doom other people only because we felt a little bit greedy today. See something? Scream. Lastly, the brats stay here with Sir. Pancake, while one of us will also remain to keep watch- can I have a drum roll for our lucky winner?" The question was met with an enthusiastic chorus of voices.

"Aand- Trailbreaker you're up!"

"Awh man- what?" The teen sagged his shoulders as Windcharger smugly patted his arm.

"Look at the bright side dude: you'll have fish-dad helping you this time."

"Not helpin' Charger, kudos for trying though..." Trailbreaker's muffled response came from behind his hands, as the other kid only shrugged and joined Skids to prepare for departure.

In the meantime, Skywarp gingerly hooked his right arm with TC's, leading him towards one of the halls connected to the dome. From the ceiling stray cables and crumbled pieces of drywall dangled freely, occasionally disturbed by a gentle breeze coming from inside the hallway. He gave himself a few seconds to glance behind his back: the children, in the few minutes they arrived, had apparently started their very own game of tag, skidding away on the wet floor, completely unbothered by what was happening around them. Trailbreaker, accepting his fate, decided to use this time to clean the barrel of his shotgun, while sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the mer's arm.

The creature however was looking apprehensively at them: worry and fret swirled in his blue eyes- they all knew he didn't like to see them leave, but this was necessary. He absentmindedly threw him his best calming smile, hoping to reassure him enough. The mer was briefly taken by surprise before nodding and giving Skywarp a hasty nod.

'I trust you.'

"Good luck everyone! If you're not back in an hour we'll come find your sorry asses, so be on time- I'm talking to you Skids!" Damus voice bounced on the walls of the abandoned building.

"...you get lost one time-" The cut-off whispered replay of his sibling was the last thing he heard before entering the hall with TC in tow.

\\\

Their wet footfalls was the only noise filling in the utter silence around them.

The bright beams of their flashlights cutting through the thick wall of darkness. Now that he had the chance to look at it up close, he could pinpoint exactly when life had come to a stop between these molded walls: on tiny cafe tables sat long forgotten coffee stained cups, the occasional eerily empty stroller was abandoned haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, still pale mannequins were silent witnesses to the disaster, while purses and toys littered the floors. Moments frozen in time.

He felt himself shudder, trying to shake off the feeling of wrongness from his shoulders.

So far they found only a couple of useful things, mainly industrial tape, iron wire and other items from a hardware store they had just raided. All the possibly edible things they dug up have all been either completely or partially covered in mold- all of this moisture made it difficult for things to stay fresh, especially since electricity had been one of the first things they'd lost to the massive wave, completely cutting off all of power to fridges.

Hopefully the others had been more lucky, he really wasn't looking forward to another overcooked sardine- none of them had always been the greatest cook after all and he doubted Sir. Pancake knew his way around a stove. Great now he was thinking about the mer holding a comically small pan, while wearing a pink frilly apron with the words 'Kiss The Fish' printed on the front-

He was interrupted mid-giggle by TC's pointy elbow digging into his side- which he was about to comment on before his brother nudged him again, signaling with his light to something on the wall.

"Storage Room." Read his sibling aloud, with a knowing smile.

"Fucking jackpot, baby!" Skywarp blurred out- ooh the joy he'll feel when they'll be able to shove in their losers sibling faces a box full of protein bars.

A wide new hallway opened up for them, at the end of it he could discern the top of a pair of rusted shut down automatic stairs. They eagerly hurried down them, impatience and hunger for discovery was eating away at them- before diving waist deep into a pool of freezing water.

They both startled for a few seconds, and then realization hit. They both forgot the lower levels were entirely flooded, but thankfully water didn't seem too high from what they could see through the darkness- hopefully the floor was built on the same level and didn't suddenly dip under them. The water was way too murky to see what was happening under the surface, and that did nothing to appease the apprehension this place was giving off in waves- he suddenly felt the shivers he shrugged off return in full force.

"Thunders, not gonna lie, I have a bad feeling about this." His whisper echoed on the walls enclosing them.

"Yeah... I feel like there's something we're missing." The other confessed, as they slowly trudged forward. "It's been scratching my brain since we passed that cafè...".

"Right?! I feel the same... all that chaos and we only find a bunch of litter on the floor-"

Thundercracker stopped abruptly in his path, making him stop too.

"Uh- TC, you okay?" He lifted his torch to better look at his brother.

"...the corpses."

"Oh! Yeah, this was a very busy place, how come we haven't found... any... corpses..."

One of the worst mistakes humanity ever made, was to think that they had any chance at being on top of the food chain. Centuries of time spent spreading and conquering all known continents, had led them to believe that nothing could touch them if they hid behind their big wars and even bigger weapons. However, Hubris is the first deadly sin, condemned to be a human's last.

From the void, a pair of bulging white eyes stared back at him. A gaping maw full of jagged yellowed teeth, was framed by two lines of receding gums barely attached to the skull. Ivory white plaques covered a shiny metal body underneath, decorating a lizard-like muscular frame, still as stone- like a spring ready to be released.

They were moving even before his brain could catch up with him. Fight or flight on full force- his main goal was to get away and do it fast.

Thundercracker quickly followed him, as he felt the large creature pounce towards them.

Climbing the stairs and reaching the top almost slipping down and falling on his brother.

They sprinted down the hall- heavy footsteps never too far behind as the beast snapped his monstrous jaws, trying to catch them.

Blurs of the coffee shop and hardware store passed next to them, as realization hit him once more- they were bringing a human-eating mutant right to their little brothers.

'See something? Scream.'

And screaming he did.

His alarmed voice filled the dome as in a moment of distraction his foot slipped on a nearby puddle, leaving him to fall face first unto the hard ground- hopefully his little siblings where not stupid enough to try and come help him.

He knew this was coming.

A hot breeze hit the back of his head, as the stench of death reached his nostrils. The heavy weight of a massive clawed paw, pressed him flat on the floor, painfully crushing his chest. He wanted to say he had been brave enough to face his fate, but instead he hid his face inside the crook of his elbow, heaving a last breath verging on a whimper- he only wanted to help his family, and this is how he died, it felt a bit like deja-vu...

Too busy giving thought to his adrenaline infused rants, he didn't immediately feel the crushing weight being suddenly lifted off of him- a giant wall of muscle and pure unbridled fury, tackled the beast into the other side of the room. A low guttural threatening growl woke him up from his stupor and he was on his feet in seconds- the now enraged mer stood between Skywarp and the monster.

The teen almost didn't recognize him, a completely mirrored image of the usually peaceful creature- what was once a beacon of gentleness, who always moved like he knew he could easily hurt any of them, oh so very careful of his size and strength- now gave away to a terrifying predator, claws and fangs fully on display and ready to use.

The mutant pounced once again, now his attention taken solely by the mer, who in tow used his massive tail to spring forward and grab the monster by the tail- hastily pulling it towards the water where he could've a clear advantage.

Too focused on the feral brawl, he didn't hear Damus' muffled voice calling him through the static ringing in his ears.

"-warp, we need to move! Shit, Skywarp move your ass, goddamnit!" A hand forcefully grabbed his left arm, before he was pulled to his unsteady feet. The front of his shirt was snatched and he felt himself move and duck behind a nearby counter- his eyes never leaving the fight.

If this thing was anything else, now it would be long dead- but unfortunately genetics were on its side. The ivory armor covering its body made for an impenetrable defense- meaning, it was not only built to hunt things smaller than itself, but also to wear out bigger predators and use twist their tiredness on them to deal the final blow.

"...he's not going to make it."

"Uh? What are you talking ab-?"

"He'll lose- WE HAVE TO HELP HIM!"

A still out-of-breath Thundercracker slowly approached him with his hands held up, like he was placating a wild animal and not his own brother.

"Warp, please be reasonable- What chance do we have against that thing? Bullets will not work and we can't risk hitting our only ally against it, we shou-"

"What? Run? I'm not going to save my ass while someone else is going to die- you're not making me give him the Smokey treatment, no chance in hell."

Only the sound of the background fight remained, as a mournful silence descended upon them. That name was bound to stir flashes of awful memories in all of them- the darkest times since the beginning of their broken little family. Their missing piece, forever lost.

"...what's the plan?" The trembling voice of their youngest broke the silence.

Skywarp drew in a ragged breath as he blurred out their only chance for all of them to get out of this alive.

"Metal! The- that thing's body is made of metal underneath, if we can find a way to electrocute it, its own body is going to act as a super-conduct and fry it's organs from the inside out."

"Me and 'Charger found a small generator not too far from here, I think we can use it," Skid's chimed in from the back of their little huddle, "we attach some cables on it and pinch that thing- than boom fried fish."

With a plan in mind they all moved like a bunch of frenzied rats. Windcharger and Skids ran to fetch the generator, while Soundwave followed them in case they needed to jump-start it. The kids were ordered to stay put and not engage, as the others watched the fight, waiting for their time to strike.

But as they took in every detail of what was happening, it was clear they had run out of time. The mer was clearly using the last of his energies to just keep the thing still- deep bleeding wounds littered his frame, one of his eyes was closed off by a cut that run at the center of his face, as he gasped for breath- eye dazed and a shaky pupil stared at his enemy.

He registered his siblings returning with the small generator, but he was quick to snatch the cables attached to it from Soundwaves' hands.

"We don't have time- I'm going to do something crazy, but it'll be fine!" He cried out, ignoring his siblings' shouted protests- metal was not the only super-conduct present in the dome.

As he skidded to a stop and knelt near the water, he felt time slow down. He watched as the mutant freed itself and in a few seconds snapped its mouth on the mer's side, trying to rip off a large chunk of meat. The mer let out a haunting pain-filled cry, as he desperately used his last energies to claw at the mutants' skull, in hopes of getting it to let go.

Skywarp had to act now.

Before he plucked the sparkling cables into the pool, he glanced once more not expecting to lock eye with the blue one of the mer- illuminated by the blue hue of the algae, covered in gaping wounds and suffering immense pain, was smiling at him- one of those familial calming smiles that he became used to on a daily basis, since their crazy companionship began.

'I trust you.'

Those same eyes that were looking at him with only fondness, suddenly became bloodshot as an immense wave of energy traveled through his frame in a matter of seconds. Skywarp felt his, now free, hands tremble with adrenaline as they all watched their guardian being electrocuted- and with him the beast.

What had been merely moments, felt like hours.

They won.

The limp body of the beast slowly sunk into the depths dragged by it's own heavy body, as the victor stood tall in the middle of the dome. Water fell from his broad back in droplets, a deep purple hue cloaked him from underneath- the algae, who soon changed color after being hit by the wave of electricity. The mer red blood-shot eye never left his gaze as he held the other half of his face, covering his wounded eye with a clawed hand.

Skywarp and his brothers watched as their guardian's form eventually staggered and swayed, until his worn body hit the shore with a shuddering thud. A keening sound left the mer's mouth as his body convulsed a couple of times, before finally settling into a fetal position.

A small blur rounded the counter he left behind his shoulders- Blue sprinted towards the now still body of the mer, halting himself near his head before hugging it as best as he could.

"Get up... please, you have to get up- I don't want to leave you here," A sob escaped the little kid as he gently pushed at the mer's cheek, "please Sir.Panca- Dad, get up..."

Slowly they all began to huddle around the still-breathing, even if ragged, body of their guardian- the mer shuddered as he gently lifted his head to nudge soothingly at his youngest. He looked over all of them, as if to assure himself that nobody was injured, until he locked eyes with Skywarp once again. The mer cooed, lifting his hand to beckon him to come closer.

The teen got up on unsteady legs and made his way toward his guardian, collapsing into the crook of his massive neck. As a clawed hand started caressing his back, he found it so difficult to hold in his tears.

"I'm sorry- this is all my fault," he wailed, "and now you're hurt and- and I did this to you... when you've been nothing but gentle and patient with us from the beginning... some fucking friend I am."

"...hurt?" He was taken by surprise as the mer spoke to him- a thick warped accented voice.

"What? No, you big dummie- I'm not hurt..."

His guardian had the gull to smile down at him- the huge fucking sap. He couldn't help but smile in tow as he felt Bluestreak join their little hug, and settle himself down to nap away the residual adrenaline.

He watched as his siblings sat all around them- weapons in hand, standing on guard and silently daring anything or anyone to attack their guardian.

Yeah, he was not ready for this to end just yet.

#apocalyptic ponyo #transformers #hope you bulletproofed for this one #i would lie if i said that i was sorry for writing this as im an unstoppable agent of chaos thriving on peoples sorrows #silly fish and his silly kids </3 #ngl i cried gang #hope you enjoyed!!

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vsurg3-c · 7 months ago

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Part one

Continuing on my apocalyptic concept for task force 141

You begin to notice that there would now always be four men resting on the balcony of your shelter, unbothered by the fact that sometimes hordes and hordes of undead are trying to crawl up the bricks of the stone building.

And instead of fleeing every damn noon, they use their guns from what you can see (and hear) from the boarded up windows of your home to get rid of the more agile undead, protecting you.

At first, you pay them no bother, thinking they'd just lounge around for a while before leaving for their journey rather than being in this repetitive way of surviving, but you were just so damn wrong.

After a particularly rough noon with some of the undead nearly getting their rotting grasps on you due to the weakening of the wooden boards you used for protection(which broke down during the bell ringing), all but while task force 141 was out for scavenging.

They come back to the center of the village after the raid of undead had dispersed, and saw the open(broken down) window in your shelter and they all but immediately hauls their asses out there.

Johnny manages to climb to the balcony first, calling out as he peeked through the broken down window. “Bonnie?' Ye' in there?" Asking with his gun raised, alert and worried for the lass only to be met with also a gun pointed at him, specifically a double barrel shotgun.

You stare at the man with the mohawk for a while, bisecting every bit of him with your gaze as you cautiously spoke. “Bitten or not?” “nae', warm as a sweater lass.”

You slowly lower the gun to Johnny's relief just as the other three managed to climb up the balcony, looking at you with concerned gazes. “We mean no harm.” the man with the beard said, which you learned to be Price, the captain. “Are ye' the one ringin' the bell?" Johnny butted in, and you finally lowered the shotgun fully and nodding.

“Yes.”

@beloveds-embrace

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bring-forth-his-sac · 8 months ago

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World of Trouble

Summary: Your Halloween costume leads to a punishment from the man himself...

Pairing: Saviors! Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW! spanking, fingering, p in v penetration, (consensual) punishment sex, Negan being a cocky asshole, orgasm denial, praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, little bit of cum play ?

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: ok this fic is choppy, janky and just all over the place. I wrote it in a day and a half so it was a complete rush cause I want to get it out for Halloween so yeah, pls be kind

You thought it was funny.

After all, don’t people need a joke in times like this? Isn’t everything bleak enough? That was your reasoning when the idea initially popped into your head for the perfect apocalyptic Halloween costume.

Despite Negan being a man who loves to tell a joke, no matter how risqué or inappropriate the timing, you weren’t sure how Negan would react if he's the butt of one.

Ever since late August, you had been wavering on the idea. Some nights you were adamant that your choice in Halloween costume would end in you being bound to the fence alongside the dead.

In the midst of your internal debate, while out on a run, you came across the ultimate sign that set aside your indecision.

A leather jacket.

It wasn’t an exact replica of Negan’s and it hung loosely on your frame but it was the push you needed. You already had a white t-shirt in your limited closet and you’d pay the few points needed for some black jeans.

A red scarf was harder to come across but most definitely a necessary piece. Ever since the leaves began to fall off the trees surrounding the Sanctuary, Negan’s red scarf has been making an appearance, tucked neatly in by the collar of his leather jacket.

You had to be inventive, scavenging an old sweater and cutting it up to create a makeshift scarf that at least remotely resembled the original.

And finally, the pièce de résistance. Your trusty companion. Your very own, bootleg Lucille.

Thankfully barbed wire wasn’t the problem. In the Sanctuary, something like that can be found stored in at least half of the supply closets, hoarded away for the fence or in case the real Lucille needs a quick spruce up.

The real issue was a baseball bat. It wasn’t as if the Saviors were regularly raiding school gyms or stadiums, and so there was hardly any sports equipment for you to choose from.

It was a struggle and eventually, you ended up with a hockey stick that some Savior decided to put into the armoury.

It wasn’t Lucille but hell, it’d have to do.

Everything was ready. You even found some long expired brown eyeshadow and decided to dab some on the bottom of your face so it looks like you have a beard. And so your look was complete, possibly the very first costume to ever exist of your fearsome leader.

And how long did it last?

40 minutes. It didn’t even take a full hour of you strutting around before word got back to Negan.

When you imagined the impending confrontation, you assumed it would be a lieutenant telling you off as Negan spewed insults over a walkie talkie.

It’s only now, when you hear the low grating noise of Lucille dragging along the ground, growing nearer and nearer, do you realise you won’t be getting off so easily.

Slowly turning, you bring your hockey stick decorated in barbed wire up to your shoulder, mirroring a pose you’ve seen him do plenty of times.

“Well, ho-ly shit! I don’t know whether I should be smug or freaked the fuck out!” he declares, his gaze wandering down your outfit “you’ve really out done yourself this time, doll”.

You shrug, hoping that if you seem casual about this then he’ll let it slide. “It’s Halloween” you say bluntly, hoping that’s the only excuse you need.

Some Saviors linger around you both, a mixture of excitement and anticipation radiating from them at your Negan costume and Negan's ambiguous reaction.

“And you thought the creepiest thing you could dress up as is me?” he narrows his eyes at you, subconsciously mimicking your own pose as he lifts Lucille up onto his shoulder.

You open your mouth to respond but no words come out, a slight sense of dread setting in. A beat of tense silence hangs in the air, thick and charged, as if the whole Sanctuary is holding its breath.

A deep chuckle cuts through the silence as Negan clasps a hand on your free shoulder.

“Well, fuck me, I am honored!” he beams “you even smeared some shit on your face so ya look like you got a beard! Now that’s the kind of dedication I like to see from you sorry fucks!”.

He steps away from you, letting his hand drop off of your shoulder as he raises his voice, making sure the others hear.

Relief washes over you. You could feel the tension draining from your muscles at his approval.

“I love it,” Negan says, his voice growing serious again “but Lucille? Now Lucille here isn’t a big fan of copy cats and that limp dick excuse of a Lucille you got hanging over your shoulder? That shit just makes her see red”.

Any warmth in Negan’s eyes fade. His brows knit together as his mouth becomes a hard line, replacing any sense of humor. “And she thinks this is worthy of a punishment” he adds.

Fuck.

Negan doesn’t wait around for your reaction, turning on his heels as he barks for you to follow. You do so hesitantly, knowing there’s nowhere to run and that this is something you’ll unfortunately have to face head on.

This isn’t the first time you’ve done something daring while living in the Sanctuary. Although, this is the first time you’ve seen him genuinely annoyed.

Usually Negan has always appreciated your boldness, especially when most of the Sanctuary’s residents are too scared to even look him in the eye. In the past, you’ve tried to poke and prod at Negan’s authority by complaining about sanitary products costing points or the lack of blankets available to the workers during Winter.

Grimacing to yourself as you follow behind him, you wonder if you’ve finally taken it too far.

Marching up the flights of stairs to his private quarters, you try to ignore the confused looks of others as two Negan's pass them by.

Despite knowing you’re in for a world of trouble, a small smirk tugs at your lips, glad to have brought some sense of silly excitement to the Sanctuary.

You try not to show your shock as he brings you to his bedroom, making sure the door is locked behind you. You only take a few steps into the room before you stop and simply loiter there, watching as Negan sets Lucille down by the doorway to the ensuite before going inside.

“Y’know there are no actual rules about impersonating so I don’t think you have the grounds to punish me” you attempt to defend yourself, setting your fake Lucille against the wall.

“Talking back won’t help your case,” Negan calls out.

You scoff out a laugh as you get distracted by his room. A part of you can’t help but wonder why a man like Negan would want half the things that litter the area: trophies from other people’s past glory, a vase, a houseplant.

“Yeah well, it’s just some fun, it’s—“ suddenly Negan’s there, right next to you with his gloved hand too close for comfort.

He cups your face, squishing your cheeks together as his other hand brings a wet cloth to your face.

“And get that shit off your face,” he does the job for you “my beard ain’t that fuckin’ bad”.

You stay quiet, not wanting the embarrassment of trying to speak with your cheeks squished and a cloth rubbing at your face.

Once he’s satisfied your face is clean, he simply drops the cloth to the floor. Negan looks down at your attire “Well hot damn, good news is my style is incredibly sexy… but no matter how hot you look, thanks to me, you know I can’t let your shit slide anymore, sweetheart”.

You frown, a challenging look in your eyes.

“I’m serious, you’re pissing off too many Saviors with the shit you pull,” he yanks off his scarf, letting it land on the couch “and now, with this, you’ve forced my hand”.

Next, Negan takes off his leather jacket, inadvertently showing off some tattoos as he delicately places it on the back of his armchair.

“You know I gotta give you some kinda punishment… but that don’t mean it can’t be enjoyable for the both of us” he continues.

The smirk on his face says it all.

And just like that, it all makes sense. Of course he would bring you up to his bedroom and not to the cells when this is what he has in mind.

You shrug, some of your spirit returning in the form of a playful smirk “What? You gonna spank me?”.

“You want me to?” He unbuckles his belt and slowly pulls it through the loops of his jeans, the material hissing as it moves.

Negan has never been a man to bluff.

You try to act nonchalant but you can feel your cheeks heating up. “Maybe,” you play it coy “will you iron off half my face even if I say yes?”.

Now it’s Negan’s turn to shrug. “That depends, this a trick or a treat?” he asks.

Normally you’re not this bold. Maybe leather jackets give people unlimited confidence? That seems to be the only solution as you walk over to his couch and place both hands on the armrest. You bend forward just enough for Negan to see your intent.

You glance back over your shoulder, your eyelids at half mast as you throw him a sultry look. Negan keeps his eyes locked on to yours, his boots heavy on the floorboards as he walks up behind you.

The leather of his glove growls as he places his hand on the centre of your back and pushes you down further.

There’s no point in ignoring how your pussy throbs as he makes sure your head is against the couch cushions and your ass is up in the air, the armrest providing the perfect support.

“That's what I thought“ Negan praises, his hand slowly making its way down to your ass.

“And I thought I was getting punished, not a yoga class” you goad.

Negan doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even wait or let the anticipation of his response build. He goes straight for it, smacking your backside hard enough to leave a handprint.

A gasp leaves your lips, the sensation more stingy than it is painful. You have little time to prepare yourself as Negan wraps his belt around his hand.

“Just relax, baby,” he instructs softly, his tone in complete contradiction to his actions “and be grateful I’m letting ya keep your jeans on… for now”.

Despite your thin layer of clothes acting as a barrier, the belt bites into your flesh. The sound of the belt whistles through the air before meeting your ass with a sharp crack. He does it over and over again, alternating between cheeks.

You hiss at the sudden heat, your body clenching as the pain morphs into a dark, intoxicating pleasure.

“Well, damn!” Negan exclaims approvingly, momentarily stopping “you’re taking this like a trooper, ain’t ya?”.

He pauses and you wonder if he’s waiting for a response. You swallow, your throat dry from the amount of gasps you’ve let out in such a short span of time.

But before you can answer, you feel it. Not the belt. Not his hand delivering another slap. This time, it’s him; proud and unabashed as he brings his clothed crotch right against your ass.

Suddenly, the belt didn’t seem too hard.

“I think it’s about time I see my work of art” he declares, pressing his hips forward to make sure you feel his entrapped boner.

For a man so brutal, Negan’s touch is gentle as his fingers glide around the waistband of your jeans. He lets his touch linger there for a few moments, waiting for your sign of approval.

You’re well aware of Negan’s ego and how he wants to know just how badly you need him. He yearns to see that raw desire. As much as you want to banter back at him again, your brain fogs with need and you push back against him, your sore ass rubbing against his bulge.

He responses with a grunt as his hands slowly leave your waistband, too distracted to continue. Negan has something else in mind as he gives a slight tug of your hair, gesturing for you to stand upright.

You don’t even have time to turn to face him, your ass still snug against the tent in his pants as he roughly pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

His hand fists your hair, holding you in place as he devours you. Desperately trying to keep up, your breaths come out in short, sharp pants between desperate kisses.

Negan keeps his hand in your hair, using it to manoeuvre you away from his couch and over to the bed. The only time he takes his hands off of you is when the back of your legs hit against the soft bedsheets.

The second you’re able, you take off your leather jacket, watching Negan follow suit as he begins shedding his clothes.

Your jeans are the worst to take off, the rough denim scratching it’s way across your sensitive backside as you quickly discard it. Once you get to your bra and panties, you stop, wanting Negan to take off the rest.

Negan doesn’t have the same sense of modesty as you, not stopping until he’s completely bare. Sitting back on the bed, you bite your lower lip and shamelessly dart your eyes across his body.

The dark curls that cover his chest, the tattoos that scatter across his body, the happy trail of body hair that lead you lower, to where he stands erect and proud.

You gulp.

Negan joins you, kneeling on the bed in front of your body as he studies you. With a hum, he shakes his head. “No, this won’t do,” he tuts.

As the words hit you, a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. Whatever excitement that was evident in your face slowly drops away and you do nothing but blink up at him, waiting for Negan to continue.

“Yeah, I’m gonna want to fuck you in the leather jacket,” he elaborates “now that would be hot as all hell and I ain’t letting that jacket go to waste on my bedroom floor”.

You rolls your eyes as you let out a breath. “You fucking asshole” you huff, well aware that Negan was being vague on purpose just to toy with you.

He chuckles, unable to deny your accusation. “Careful baby, you start insulting me like that and you’ll be getting another spankin” he threatens playfully, though you know he’s being serious.

Negan leans down, almost hovering over you as his hands gently touch your bra straps.

“But first, you got more layers to shed” Negan lets each strap fall to your arms before his fingers deftly work the clasp of your bra, the metal giving way easily.

Without looking where it lands, Negan lets your bra drop to the side. You feel utterly exposed to his hungry gaze, watching as he drinks in the sight of you.

A groan leaves him as he reaches out, his calloused hands gently cupping the weight of your tits. His thumbs brush over your pert nipples, making your squirm at the contact.

“You going to play with my titties all day?” You question, hoping to spur him into action.

“It’s a punishment, doll,” he reminds you, bending to the side to pick up your leather jacket “if I decide all I want to do is stare and watch you finger that sweet little pussy till it’s raw, then that’s what’ll happen”.

“And is that what you want?” You ask, trying to maintain any self control you have. Part of you would actually apologize for your costume if it means getting his dick closer to your pussy.

“Nah, I want you to sit back and really think about what you did,” giving the jacket a quick shake, he spreads it out over your shoulder “think you can do that for me, darlin?”.

Making sure the jacket is secure over your shoulders, you adjust it to make sure your tits are still in view. “I guess I could try” you reply in a flirtatious tone, scooting back against the pillows.

“On the bright side, even though this is a punishment, I’m still a fuckin’ gentleman,” he says with a proud grin.

You're quick to notice how his hands inch up past your thighs and towards your panties. Hooking a finger underneath them, Negan gives a slight tug “So I’m gonna need to loosen you up before I fuck you senseless”.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you gently lift your hips. That cocky smile never leaves his face as Negan slowly drags your panties down your legs. In an instant, they’re gone from view and end up on the floor alongside the rest of your clothes.

Negan’s eyes lock onto your core, unable to help himself as he reaches out and parts your folds.

“Fuck, you’re that wet already?” he says it like a question despite the answer being on his fingertips. You bite your lip as his fingers brush against your wet, swollen flesh.

With a groan, Negan plunges two fingers into your warmth, scissoring them apart to stretch you out. You moan out, your back arching as he sets a steady pace.

“Y-yes,” you gasp out when the pad of his thumb finds your clit “keep doing that!”.

Negan curls his fingers upward, targeting your g-spot. The look on his face is like a kid at Christmas, completely elated to have his fingers deep in your pussy.

He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you, listening to your moans and gasps to gauge how close you are. Leaning down, Negan meets your arched body and nips at your breasts.

His mouth brushes against your skin as he tuts “C’mon now, don’t tell me you’re about to cum already!”.

You nod frantically, hands clutching at the bedsheets “Yeah, yeah I’m ready, I’m gonna—“.

Negan chuckles darkly and before you can reach your high, his fingers slow their pace.

“Oh, I don't know about that," he pulls his fingers out abruptly and gives your clit a light tap with them "you haven't earned that privilege yet, baby".

Your mind is in a haze as he licks his fingers clean, tasting you. It takes a few moments for your brain to compute what he’s denying you.

“I…” you begin but you trail off, your throbbing pussy begging for release “Negan, please, I— I get it, ok?”.

His smile softens slightly and if anything, it only makes you more wet. “I know you get it now,” he agrees, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek “maybe, sweetheart, just maybe… if you beg nice enough, I'll let you cum on my cock instead”.

You take his words as a challenge. Throwing out all sense of pride, you babble on “Please! Y-yeah I just, I need you inside of me, please Negan, I’ll be good”.

Every word goes straight to his dick.

Negan takes a moment to truly savour the sight of you begging and writhing under him, knowing this is some top notch jerking material he can use at a later date.

"Now that’s what I like to hear" he praises, positioning himself between your thighs. He grips your hips and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, filling you completely.

Even though the sudden stretch and fullness makes you feel breathless, you practically shout out “Negan!".

He pauses but only for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. “Shhhhhhh,” he coos, his tone bordering on patronising “best be quiet before you wake up the wives, I’d hate to make those gals jealous”.

With a low groan, Negan begins to move, pulling back almost to the point of withdrawal before slamming into you once more. The leather jacket beneath you squeaks, each thrust pushing you further up the bed.

You can feel every inch of him, the primal yearning to cum on his cock sounding more and more appealing. Negan’s chest heaves as he labors over you, his body glistening as he works up a fine sheen of sweat.

He doesn’t know where to look. His eyes dart everywhere, trying to take in each part of your body. Negan watches your face, the desperation to cum etched into each expression. Of course he watches your tits too, seeing them jiggle with each thrust he gives you.

But his favourite part to watch is how well you‘re taking him. To see how your pussy welcomes each inch, letting him go flush against you every single time.

Bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, he pistons into you. “You’re close, I can feel it” he says with a clenched jaw, trying to hold off.

“Please!” is the first word out your mouth followed quickly by a gasp as Negan goes for your clit again. His thumb rubs firm circles around the sensitive nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

You inner walls clench desperately around his cock and before you know it, everything crashes around you as you finally cum.

It’s as if your whole world blurs together and all you can focus on is his cock deep inside of you.

Your pussy spasms violently around him, your vision whiting out as you moan loudly. Negan wants nothing more than to feel your sweet pussy throb around him but he knows he can’t hold off any longer.

He quickly pulls out and thrusts into his hand to finish. His cock glistens with your juices before Negan unloads a thick load right onto your tits.

You both pant, taking a brief moment to come down from your respective highs.

“Look at those beautiful titties,” Negan breaks the silence, admiring his handiwork “just when I thought they couldn’t look any better”.

Gently bringing a hand up, you run your finger along one of the lines he’s painted. “If I knew this is what the punishment would be, I would’ve pissed you off a lot sooner” you say breathlessly.

Negan hums as he flops down beside you, his eyes glued to how your fingertips play with his load.

“Maybe you should’ve,” he replies “or maybe this is a sign that we should have some fun like this more often”.

You bite back your smile “Maybe it’s both?”.

“But y’know I can’t really just be going around screwing anybody and everybody,” he continues, making you pause, unsure where this is going “it’s bad for the image, y’know?”.

Your expression doesn’t change.

Negan takes in your confused look, trying to put the pieces together for you. “I mean, I don’t think the wives would appreciate me screwing around… unless, of course, I was screwing around with another wife…”.

“Oh”.

That’s all you feel as though you can say. A part of you immediately tries to rationalise this, trying to convince yourself that you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here.

“Goddamn, did I really fuck you that hard?” Negan laughs “I’m asking you to marry me, baby, you should be jumping for joy right now!”.

You sigh, bringing your non-sticky hand up to your face “Negan…”.

“Negan, yes?”.

“Negan, I’m covered in your jizz and you’re seriously asking me this?! Now?!?” You exclaim.

He stops for a moment, taking in your words. “Huh, ok, good point,” Negan grunts as he gets up, giving you a great view of his ass “I’ll go get some towels and you think about it, yeah?”.

Before you have time to reply, he’s walking into his ensuite “And I want an answer when I come back!”. He disappears into the adjoined room, turning on the light.

You lay back, allowing the pillows to practically consume you. The thought passes through your mind if only for a split second.

It wouldn’t be that bad to be yet another wife, would it? All you’d have to do is look pretty and have good sex… and never socialise with anyone else… and only be seen as one of his wives and nothing more.

You close your eyes, hoping that would prolong the impending decision.

Letting out a long sigh, you curse “Fuck”.

695 notes · View notes

tofics · 8 months ago

Text

You Owe Me - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff

Word count: ~7.4k

Periods are not fun to begin with.

They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.

You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.

Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.

Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.

And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.

You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.

And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."

He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."

"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.

The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"

He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.

"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.

"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."

"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."

Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.

"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.

"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.

Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.

The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.

Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.

It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.

Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.

You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.

How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.

It had now been three whole weeks since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.

Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.

Crap.

"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.

"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.

"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.

Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."

Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."

He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."

"Huh."

"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."

"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."

"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"

"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"

You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."

A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.

Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...

A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.

"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.

Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-

You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.

You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.

Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.

"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."

You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.

He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.

Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.

"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.

"I said as much, didn't I?"

Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."

You shot him a quizzical look.

"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."

You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.

At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.

Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.

"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."

"Yeah, umh, about that."

He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.

"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."

Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.

"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."

He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."

It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.

You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.

Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.

What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.

He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?

You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.

"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"

You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.

"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"

Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.

It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.

Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.

The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.

It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.

Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.

He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.

You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.

You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.

You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.

Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.

"Alright, enough. C'mon."

There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."

You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.

"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.

"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."

You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.

You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"

You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"

It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.

Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.

He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.

Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.

It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."

You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."

Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -

His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -

Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!

He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"

He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."

He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.

The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.

His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?

Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?

You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.

It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?

My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -

That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.

He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.

He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -

Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.

Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -

He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?

So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.

How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.

And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.

No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

Read part 2 here!

A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.

No pressure taglist:

@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler

@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981

@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 2 years ago

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LAYING DOWN THEIR SOULS TO THE FIRST WAVE OF UNHOLY BLACKENED METAL.

PIC(S) INFO: Mega spotlight on Swiss extreme/black metal band HELLHAMMER, photographed in their former Grave Hill Bunker rehearsal space, c. early 1984, "Apocalyptic Raids" era. 📸: Martin Kyburz.

EXTRA INFO: All shots can be found in "An Illustrated History of Hellhammer and Early Celtic Frost 1981–1985, by Tom Gabriel Fischer with Martin Eric Ain✝, published by Bazillion Points in 2010.

Source: www.picuki.com/media/2985785292872472104.

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tagamantra · 5 months ago

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SLIT THE THROAT OF SELF RESTRAINT.

The world ended after the Second World Revolution failed. The Utter Islands is nothing but a divine corpse; humanity its festering maggots. But in an ancient temple guarded by demon bodhisattvas, the murdered martial artist Raxri Uttara awakens from a pool of azure healing waters.

Without memory, without power, but with rage: Raxri scours the archipelago to re-attain their lost martial arts and magicks, which once shattered godly spines. If they don't? The full force of Heaven will crash down upon them.

GOD OBLITERATING VAJRA is a Sword, Gun & Magick Wuxia webnovel set in the Utter Islands, an archipelago inspired by Revolutionary Asia and Esoteric Buddhism. A thundering archipelago where gun mystics duel with charnel saints. Dead gods power karmic skyships. The Latter Day of the Law: Revolution billows through streets and rivers lit by fulgent karma.

In a realm this belligerent, the chance of an amnesiac surviving is near 0.

But what can you do to someone that has nothing left to lose and everything to gain?

WHAT TO EXPECT

[✓] Disco Elysium X The Raid X Ip Man X Ruroni Kenshin X Tsongkhapa's Philosophy

[✓] Slow Burn Wuxia in an immersive Post-Apocalyptic Sword, Gun, & Magick world.

[✓] Multiple POVs

[✓] Brutal and kinetic martial art action.

[✓] Fucked up relationships and coping mechanisms.

[✓] Some Horror. Some Opt-In Sexual Content.

ABOUT HINGSAJAGRA

Hingsajagra is the Fantastic Realist world of God Obliterating Vajra. Inspired by Esoteric Buddhism and Revolutionary Asia. Giant cats turned into apartment complexes, ghost horse steeds that tire not, walking giant mechanical armors turned into public transportation, charnel wizards summoning the long-dead, witches wielding the Pureflame of Creation, the Machine God beginning its slick advance into forever progress... the Age of Furor is upon us. The Latter Day of the Law. The Termagant Buddha watches closely.

Art above by @gnarlyghost! Logo by me.

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lonerslug · 25 days ago

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Zombieboy chapter one: your bones are mine

ch1 ch2 ch3 ch4

18+ ONLY. men dni. smut. gore. blood. pretty emotional.. graphic violence, blood/gore, apocalyptic themes, weapons use, emotional distress, sexual tension, heavy grief, gun violence, undead body horror, intense language, dead-naming (past relationship trauma), obsession, unsafe behaviours. Future chapters will contain 18+ explicit content (NSFW, dubcon, oral, bloodplay, nonverbal partner, monsterfucking). Reader discretion is everything. ZOMBIE!SEVIKA X READER (exes)

"Oh, I can't see straight And my hands are tied I could be your type From your zombie bite No, I can't see straight But the feeling's right I could be your type From your zombie bite" -Lady gaga, "Zombieboy"

You haven’t seen another living soul in two days.

The convenience store on 5th Rowley is half burnt, its sign hanging limp from two screws, swinging in the wind like a noose. The glass doors are spiderwebbed with cracks, but still locked, not that it matters. You shatter the side window with the end of your gun, slide through, cutting your arm on the way in. Doesn’t even faze you anymore.

Inside, it smells like sour milk and blood. There’s a body in the back, face down, half eaten. You don’t look at it long. You can’t.

Your boots crunch over broken glass as you raid the aisles. A box of canned beans. Energy bars. One half filled bottle of whiskey.

No water. Fuck.

There’s a pack of gum at the counter. You take it. You don’t even like gum. But Sevika used to chew it when she was trying not to smoke, and you think maybe, just maybe, if she ever came back-

Click.

Your instincts spike. You spin.

Three zombies, disgusting creatures. Lurking between the fridges and the freezer aisle.

One’s missing its jaw, a long wet tongue dangling like a dog’s. The other two have cloudy eyes and bullet holes in their shirts, survivors turned infected. Turned them.

They lunge.

You shoot the first in the neck. Not enough. You pivot and plant a second in its skull, clean, through the eye. Nice shot. Brain splatter paints the frozen pizza.

The second one grabs your arm. You elbow it hard, twisting, slipping out of your jacket, letting it fall with the corpse. The third’s fast. Gets behind you. You can smell it..rot and bile. You throw yourself back and crush it against the fridge door, stab your hunting knife through its temple until it stops jerking.

You breathe. Fast. Shaky. The gum’s still clenched in your hand.

You grab your supplies and bolt.

Outside, the sun’s low, gold like an old bruise over the ruined skyline. Cars are abandoned mid intersection. A plane lays broken against an office building in the distance. A flock of birds rises from the trees like something spooked them, maybe the moans you’re starting to hear again, faint and everywhere.

Five days. And not a single word from Sevika.

You told yourself not to care. Told yourself it was better this way. She was always running, from fights, from her own guilt, from you.

But now the world’s ending. And you’re still here, wondering if she made it out. If she’s warm. If she’s alive. If she even thinks of you.

That’s why you go.

Not home. Not to some random hideout.

But there.

The spot.

Your spot.

It’s a brutal hike. You cut through alleys, across rooftops, through backwoods you and Sevika used to fuck in when you were young and stupid and thought forever meant something. <(last month 😔)

The sun's nearly gone by the time you reach the trailhead. Wind cuts through your tank top like knives. Your pants are stained with sweat and blood. But the place, God, the place, it’s still there.

High on a bluff, where the city looks like it’s on fire. A thousand twinkling windows glowing orange, smoke curling up like dying prayers. The air smells like pine, metal, and ash. It’s quiet up here. Sacred.

Your stash is still hidden behind the old tree. Munitions, ammo, the last photo you ever took together…Sevika smiling, teeth showing, showing her cute tooth gap, arms around your waist like she never wanted to let go.

You sit on the old bench. You clean your weapons. Your hands move on muscle memory. Load, check, wipe. You breathe through the ache in your chest.

Then you hear it.

Leaves crunching.

Slow. Dragging.

You grip your pistol. Rise.

She’s standing at the edge of the overlook.

Sevika.

She looks wrong. Not like in the photo. Not like five days ago. Her skin’s a shade too pale. Her hair hangs in lank strands. Her arm, the metal one, is still intact, but twitching slightly, like something’s misfiring.

She turns. Looks at you.

Your heart stops.

Those eyes.

Still her eyes.

You rush forward, not thinking, just moving. Rage and sorrow burst out of you all at once. You tackle her, straddle her in the dirt. The muzzle of your gun presses against her temple.

"Really?" you whisper, voice cracking. "I thought you survived. You’re stronger. Smarter. Better. And this is what I find?"

She stares up at you. No words. Her mouth opens a little, like she’s trying. Like there’s something still there, buried beneath whatever infection took root inside her.

You don’t pull the trigger.

You can’t.

Your hand falls to her chest, her ribs too sharp under the fabric. Her heart stutters, slow, barely there.

But still beating.

Your voice breaks again. "You left me. And I waited. I waited, Sev."

She lifts her hand. Fingers graze your cheek, trembling. It's not her usual grip, it's weak, clumsy,but she’s touching you. Not attacking.

You collapse onto her, your forehead pressed against hers. You’re crying. Ugly, raw, desperate sobs that shake your shoulders and wet her skin.

Her mouth brushes yours, barely. A cold, broken kiss. Not even a kiss, really. Just lips pressed together in memory. But you feel it.

Her other arm wraps around your waist.

Like instinct.

Like she remembers how to hold you.

You don’t move for a long time.

Just two bodies under a dying sky.. one full of grief, one full of something else.

And the last spark of love burning like a fever between you.

She doesn't move.

You’ve got her cradled in your lap, one arm wrapped tight around her torso, the other still holding the gun against her temple. And yet, she doesn't lash out. Doesn’t groan. Doesn’t even blink.

Just looks at you.

Eyes wide. Dark..

“Why aren’t you biting me?” you whisper.

Your fingers twitch against her scalp. Her body is coarse with dried blood. Your thumb grazes her temple, smearing dirt across that strange, pale skin.

This close, you see all the wrongness. The bluish tint to her lips. The way her chest barely rises, a flutter at best. One of her nails is broken to the quick. There’s blood crusted in the seam of her jaw.

And still, your heart aches for her.

Still, your body remembers her.

Your mouth finds hers again, slower this time. Hesitant. Her lips are cold. Cracked. But soft. Familiar. It’s not a kiss so much as a prayer, Please be in there. Please remember me. Please.

You pull back just a little, eyes scanning hers.

Nothing.

And then, she exhales.

The faintest sound. A whisper of breath. Like her lungs remembered you. Like they chose to breathe again because you were close.

Your chest collapses with a sob. “Fuck, Sev. Sevika. Say something. Look at me. You’re here. I know you are.”

Her arms twitch around you. Not enough to grab. Just a flex. Her metal arm stutters against your back, humming faintly, like it’s trying to reboot.

You set the gun down. Just for a second. Just enough to wrap both arms around her and pull her flush against you. Her head rests against your shoulder, limp. Like she’s letting you hold her. Or maybe just too far gone to fight.

But then her nose brushes your neck.

Your breath hitches.

Her lips, dry, slightly open, press right under your jaw. Not a bite. Not a groan. Just contact.

Your thighs clench around her waist.

You whisper her name again. Softer. Over and over, like a chant. “Sevika. Sevika. Baby.”

You shift your hips. Just slightly. Enough to feel her weight press down against you. She’s still warm between her thighs. Still responding.

Your hands slide under her shirt, half for comfort, half for proof. Her ribs are sharp under your palms, but lower down, her hips are still solid. Familiar. Your fingertips ghost over the waistband of her pants, trembling.

You want her. You shouldn’t. But you do.

You bury your face in her neck. Kiss her there. Suck just enough to remember how she used to groan when you did it. Her body tenses in your lap.

And for one breathless second, her hips move.

Just a little. Barely perceptible.

But enough.

Your breath catches. You pull back, looking at her, eyes wide.

“Was that you?” you ask. “Do you feel me?”

She doesn’t answer. But her lips part again, like she’s trying. Like there’s a ghost of a moan trapped behind her teeth.

You hold her tighter. Rock her gently. Her body sways with yours, weak, slack, but not dead.

Not gone.

You tilt her chin up. She lets you. Another kiss, this one deeper. Dirt and blood smear your lips, but you don’t care. You’ve kissed her after fights, after fucking, after cigarettes and bloodied knuckles. This is just one more way to say I love you.

Your fingers slide along her jaw. Down her throat. Her pulse is slow, but it’s there.

She’s not lost yet.

You grind down. Just once. Just to feel it, the friction of your body pressed to hers, the ache, the need, the memory. And you swear her hands, twitching, sluggish, try to hold your hips.

You cry again.

“I’ll fix you,” you whisper. “Even if I have to drag your soul back one kiss at a time.”

In the dark, with her on your lap, you feel like the only two people left alive.

She may not speak.

She may not remember.

But she’s still yours.

And you’re never letting her go again.

You carry her on your back.

Her arms hang loosely over your shoulders. One’s still warm. The other ,the metal one, vibrates against your spine every few seconds, glitching like it’s remembering movement it can’t complete.

Your feet drag through mud and ash. Your red tank is soaked in blood that isn’t all hers. You don’t even care anymore. The only thing that matters is getting her back.

Home.

Your home, now. Not hers. Not the one she abandoned to run to her grandmother’s when the outbreak first hit. You don’t even know if that place is still standing.

But your apartment still is. It’s small. Bare. Smells like gun oil, dust and sweat. But it has water. It has locks. It has walls. It has you.

And now, it’ll have her.

You adjust her weight on your back and start down the hill.

That’s when you hear them.

Low, wet groans. Shuffling. Flesh dragging across pavement. Five of them. One crawling. Two sprinting. The others dragging weapons, kitchen knives, maybe. Broken glass. One has a bone sharpened like a stake.

You lower Sevika gently, leaning her against a tree. She slumps forward, silent.

“Stay,” you whisper, kissing her forehead. “Please. Just stay. Don't go anywhere, ill be right back,"

You turn. Grip your machete. Pistol in your other hand. Adrenaline in your throat.

They’re close now.

Too close.

The first lunges, fast, skeletal, mouth frothing. You shoot it in its mouth. One down.

The second swings a plank of wood. You duck, shove your blade through its gut, yank upward. Intestines spill out, but it screams and keeps coming. You shoot it twice, chest, then head. Two.

The third is already on your back, a woman, hair matted, face eaten raw. You roll, grab a brick, slam it into her face until the skin caves. Until she’s not moving anymore. Three.

The last two come together. You’re bleeding now, a gash along your ribs. You stab the taller one through the neck, but the other gets a hit in. Your lip splits. You fall.

And just when you think this might be it, that they’re going to eat you alive and she’ll be left alone, again, abandoned-

A snarl.

A wet, broken growl.

Sevika.

She’s on them.

Fast. Brutal.

She tackles one, slamming its head into the ground over and over with her metal arm until it splits like fruit. The other one turns, and she bites it. Rips into its throat like a wild dog, blood pouring over her face, soaking her teeth.

Then she stops.

Looks at you.

Covered in gore. Eyes dull. Breathing hard.

And for a second , just a second ,you swear you see her frown.

Like she’s worried.

Like she knows.

You get her home.

It’s late now. The sun’s down. Your apartment’s dark and cold, but you’ve never been more grateful for solid walls.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t resist. Just follows you in like a shadow.

You lead her into the bathroom. The tile’s cracked. The mirror’s smudged with blood. You flick on the light. The hum is loud. The bulb buzzes.

You start undressing her.

Slow. Careful. Like she’s made of something fragile.

Her shirt peels off with a sickening wet sound, too much dried blood, too much rot. You toss it aside. Her skin’s bruised in strange places. Her belly’s got scratches. A small bite mark at her hip , healing, if that’s even possible. You trace it with your thumb.

You say nothing.

Her pants come next. You pull them down, gently, past the dried blood and dirt and God knows what. She doesn’t move. Just stands there. Still breathing. Still watching.

You undress yourself.

Your body’s shaking now. Not from lust. Not exactly.

From everything.

The fear. The grief. The relief. The need.

You step into the shower and pull her in with you.

The water’s hot. Too hot. But you don’t turn it down. You want to burn it all off, the stench, the trauma, the guilt.

You grab the soap. Start at her neck.

She flinches, the first time she’s reacted like that.

Your hands slow.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, lips against her collarbone. “It’s just me.”

You clean every inch of her. Behind her ears. Under her breasts. Between her thighs. Not sexual. Just devotional. Like if you can make her clean, you can make her whole again.

You wash her hair next. Blood turns the water red. It circles the drain like wine.

You kiss her once on the temple. She leans into it.

And you break.

Tears again. Heavy, shaking sobs against her skin.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” you whisper. “Why did you go?”

She says nothing.

But her hand lifts.

And brushes your cheek.

You dry her off.

She doesn’t move on her own. You guide her like a doll, patting her clean, wrapping her in towels, brushing out her hair.

You dress yourself in clean clothes. Then dress her, one of her old shirts she left, loose sweatpants. She looks like a corpse in borrowed skin.

But fuck, she’s beautiful.

You help her sit on the bed. Kneel between her legs. Grab the first aid kit.

Every cut, every bruise, you clean it. Alcohol. Gauze. You whisper to her with every swipe. Like she can hear you. Like your voice is the only thing anchoring her to this world.

“You’re still mine,” you whisper. “Even now. Even like this.”

She looks down at you. Her eyes shine. Not with tears.

But with something.

Recognition.

You choke.

You lean forward. Rest your head in her lap. Her fingers twitch against your scalp.

And you know, in your soul, she’s trying.