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rumo-washere · 3 days ago

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Coalescence 4/4

Eugene Porter x f!Reader

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 (NSFW ! )

„You‘ll be happy to hear the tea‘s actually still warm today!“

You declare later that evening and hand him a cup. He arrived earlier today, the sun is still setting outside. He looks more confident today than yesterday. Your plan worked to an extent; word got around Eugene helped you fend off walkers. It might have been a surprise to some but still, being able to kill them is very much still the baseline and not an extraordinary accomplishment. However, a win is a win.

He takes the cup a little awkwardly, seemingly glad to have something to occupy his hands with. You watch him take a sip, then you limp over to the bed and sit down.

“I brought you batteries for your little luminaire,” he tells you and points to the night-light. You - never having heard that word being used for your little companion - raise an eyebrow.

“I’m sure my little luminaire will be very delighted about that.”

You look at him expectantly.

“Outch, (y/n).” He says it seriously as always, but you see amusement flickering in his eyes.

„Come on, I want to know how the story continues. Otherwise I’ll tell more puns,” you threaten with a grin.

As he keeps standing there, hesitant to come closer, you pat the space next to you. You feel slightly more insecure now. It’s like the air has gotten thicker and he has to feel it too. Somehow anticipation - especially when unnamed- tends to have the viscosity of honey and likewise, the tendency to stick to every part of the interaction, wanted or not.

You swallow.

His eyes follow you, observing the sinking of the mattress and your fingers gliding over the sheets. The silent intensity in his gaze serves, more often than not, as the only indicator of his interest, given the monotone intonation of his voice. You feel it onto your skin too, now. Almost like a touch. A breath away from intrusiveness. Or maybe your tolerance for his intrusiveness is just above the normal. One way or another, he steps closer, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he sits down next to you. A solid, warm force beside you.

He takes a sip of the tea which serves at this point more like a social lubricant, rather than an actual enjoyable beverage. It's thin, the herbs worn down, just like your nerves. And maybe his as well, if you dare to read the twitch around his eyebrows correctly. Unfortunately, reading other people correctly has never been one of your strengths, neither pre- nor post-apocalypse.

„Shall we continue where we left off then?” he asks, adjusting his position slightly to face you more directly. You draw a breath. The next part takes more courage today than it did yesterday.

“We could…“ you say, nodding to the pillows, hinting at the position you have been in the day before with him sitting halfway up and you lying on his chest. „If that’s not uncomfortable, I just- The day has been intense, and I thought we both could use some comfort.“

The excuse is joining the tea and your nerves in terms of being see-through and all you can do is to look up at him through your lashes, eyes wide in a gesture that could be interpreted as flirting but provides plausible deniability as well. Eugene's gaze follows your gesture and a hint of something like anticipation is crossing his features. He takes a second to answer and when he does his voice sounds deep and unnervingly steady as always. „Physical contact is indeed efficient in providing regulation for the nervous system. Not that I‘d be overly familiar with the execution.“

„Is… that a yes?“

He nods, though it takes him a moment to put the mug away and shift into the position you suggested, leaning back into the cushions.

„Please, get comfortable. After what you did today it’s only fair play if I provide you comfort and enjoyment.“

Eugene holds your gaze as you grin and lift an eyebrow.

„Comfort and enjoyment?“ you repeat, a teasing lilt to your voice because of his clumsy choice of words. As you do so you lie down and place your head on his chest, hearing his quickening heartbeat in the silence. „Well,“ you add, placing an arm over his chest, „I won‘t enjoy this if it isn‘t pleasurable for you too.“

You try to sound light and carefree, but the words come out strangely shaky. You can hear him swallow heavily.

„Ah, well, be assured that my pleasure is intrinsically linked to yours. In matters of social affairs it is my belief that pleasure is most fully realised if both parties are… mutually sated.“

You feel your face heating up and you have to bite the inside of your cheek as you exhale slowly through your nose. Is he aware of the innuendo? The question hammers inside your head and despite having a weakness for his Texan drawl you briefly wish his voice would for once waver in cadence to give you a hint at what he is thinking. At the same time his hand that’s not occupied with the book comes to rest on your arm. You don’t shiver but it’s a close thing.

„Then go on. Please me.“

For a fraction of a second you believe that this finally crossed the line. A hitch in his voice, a brief hesitation, a tensing in his body. Then he starts reading because of course, five ordinary words aren‘t enough encouragement for someone who is himself half a fancy dictionary. And his voice vibrating in your eardrums is good - god, it’s soothing and deep - and you wish it was enough to silence the pressing, wanting voice inside you instead of making it louder.

Time passes. It gets dark outside as the story progresses. The story you can regrettably barely follow. The realm between being asleep and awake has your thoughts wandering to dangerous places and with the progressing hour they grow more reckless. How easy it would be for him to cast the book aside and press you into the mattress. Your mind is conjuring images of him pinning you down, holding your wrists as he kisses you, taking you, making you yield for him. And you know he isn‘t the type. A voyeur maybe, but not the forceful type. Despite knowing this an involuntary whimper escapes your lips at the thought. Your eyes fly open, startled by your own sound.

Eugene pauses in his reading as he hears the soft, needy sound you made. His brow furrowed slightly in concern or wonder, likely both, as he tries to discern if you are in distress or discomfort. He carefully sets the book down beside him, full attention focused on you.

„Are you alright? Did you experience pain from your injury?“ His voice is low and soft, tinged with a hint of something akin to worry. There is a shift in his body, maybe due to the sudden heightened attention. You feel his thumb brushing your shoulder, a steady and insistent motion and you shudder under the feeling of it. Your brain is foggy from the half asleep state you have been in and from the overwhelming and burning want that’s been building inside you. You take a deep breath to steady yourself but it only comes out shaky.

„I-It was probably the injury, yes. I- I faded away for a second. Must have moved it,“ You lie. You have no Idea whether he feels the same or not and you are terrified to scare him away.

Eugene, however, felt your shudder beneath his touch and the sensation made him tense. He was aware of the hoarseness and the breathy quality of your voice and it gave him an inkling - or rather pathetic hope - that it might stem from a source detached from physical pain. His mind raced, worse now without the book, since there was nothing left to distract him from the alluring stimuli - your smell, your touch, the feeling of your weight on his chest.

„Alright. If you say so,“ he murmurs. „I just want to inform you that you can be open with me. About anything.“

As he speaks his gaze drifts over you. Taking in your face and the silhouette of your body in that damn night gown that does little to hide your form from him. It makes it increasingly hard to suppress both the longing he feels, and these vivid images his mind conjures of you, ever since you started sleeping next to each other. Images of you squirming beneath him, gasping as he does the things to you he knows Abraham is doing to Rosita.

He has to keep those lustful fantasies in check, urgently. You obviously trust him deeply and he is not going to jeopardise that, but he wants you - God, how he wants you. And the sound you made, because of pain or not, made him hazy.

You didn‘t know exactly what was going through his head but you very well noticed the shift in the atmosphere.

„Are you alright, Gene?“ You ask quietly. „You seem a little stiff.“

You feel him nod and mumbling something you can‘t quite make out.

„Maybe we should sleep. It is getting late and we should save the batteries,“ you add, a little anxious that something might be off.

„Y-yes. I think it would be best to cut the light,“ he says quietly and a few seconds later it's dark. But somehow you don‘t have the impression either of you is honestly tired right now. Anyway, you roll over to the side, waiting breathlessly for what he is going to do. You hear him shuffling next to you and a second later he wraps an arm around you. It feels a little stiff and he doesn‘t quite know where to put his hand but it doesn‘t matter. What matters is that you are not sure how to endure this kind of proximity in your current state of arousal without losing your mind. Pushing him off, however, isn‘t an option either.

„Is this… okay?“ You ask into the dark because he hasn’t quite answered your question.

Eugene, meanwhile, feels a little off guard with the sudden closeness, with the way you feel pressed up against him and he has to fight down his own desire, to manage a cohesive answer.

„A-Affirmative.“

The scent of your hair and the warmth of your skin have his heart racing and are making it increasingly hard to think straight. He swallows hard and resists pulling you closer. An instinct is screaming at him to grind his hips flush against you, making you feel what you do to him and ease the pulsing, aching desire.

Somehow he resists. Even he knows this would cross a line and set a tone impossibly to undo. Instead he holds you pressed against his chest, breathing your scent, overly aware of every breath you take. Each intake of air makes your chest rise and your tits brush softly against his hand. Jesus, he feels so wound tight he might rip apart any moment.

„I apologise for any tension I might have provided. Sensation as a variable is irritatingly incalculable.“

You open your eyes. It’s challenging enough under normal circumstances to decipher what he is saying but you believe you have a hang of it by now.

„What sensation are you feeling?“ Your voice feels too loud in the silence. Eerie even, since your world consisted only of breath and heartbeat for the last few minutes. Laboured breath in his case and you are almost sure by now that you are not alone in this want you are experiencing. If Tara was right, if your perception of his gaze on you was correct, then you might know what’s going on. Lust, you are almost certain, is the sensation he meant, even though he remains silent. His hand resting on your stomach is sending constant heat down between your thighs. You are very much completely wet by now. You can feel it as you shift because of the slightly awkward angle he is hugging you in. And not only this. Whatever he might have planned to answer is replaced by a hasty, broken sound, as if to stop you from shuffling closer to him. But it's too late. You gasp audibly as you feel him pressing firmly against you. The feeling sends a shock through your lower half so fiercely it borders on painful.

„Oh Eugene, I… are you…?“ you stutter.

A strangled groan torn from his throat is the answer. His grip around your waist tightens as his arousal is digging into the curve of your rear.

„(Y/N), I… ah…,“ he gasps, eloquence gone for the moment. All that’s left is a low, broken rasp as the world seems to shift.

„I-I apologise, I didn‘t mean for y-you to feel… that.“ He is stammering, his breath coming in sharp, harsh pants against your ear. His hips jerk forward slightly as he finds himself incapable to stop squirming and you moan at the feeling. The sound makes him halfway lose his mind. „I can‘t help it, I‘m sorry, (Y/N). You are incredibly hot.“

His hand is sliding up to cup the sweet swell of your breast through the thin fabric of the nightgown. His fingers are shaking and he is half expecting you to push him off harshly any second, but it feels good. Too fucking good.

„Tell me to stop, if you.. If my actions are…Unwelcome. But I gathered from your previous reactions a certain calculation. About this situation.“

You are doing nothing of the sort. Your needy whimper turns into a long, loud moan as you feel him pawing at your chest and you think you have to die if he stops now.

„Eugene… Please, oh please…“ You press against his touch, urging him to touch you harder, to keep grinding against you. You can feel the blood rushing through your ears and your heartbeat between your legs. You can also feel him trembling like crazy and the desperate need to reassure him.

„You are right, it‘s not unwelcome, not at all. Please, go on. I… I need you to touch me.“

You lift the gown as best as possible to show him what you want. He is so achingly hard behind you and you can feel your own fluids running down between your thighs.

Eugene is taking a sharp breath, desperately trying to regain some sort of composure. The way you are arching your back and pleading for him nearly undoes him then and there. He acts mostly on instinct as he slips his hand down the curve of your belly, his trembling fingers delving into the slick heat between your thighs. It coats his fingers, proving to him he wasn‘t imagining things and he groans at the feeling of it. Curiously he dips one, then two fingers inside you. Despite his desperation there is a method to his exploration. You feel him feeling along your walls, listening to each and any hitch in your breath. His hands are so large, when he thrusts his fingers inside you you cry out his name.

„Elevated moisture levels indicate a high state of… of arousal,“ he pants, his voice strained with both desire and surprise.

„Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,“ you sigh, voice braking as he starts to finger-fuck you in ernest. „How- How are you even still able to t-talk like that? Have you any idea how hot that is?“

You moan as his thumb finds your clit, drawing small circles. The pressure is not quite right, a little too light, but he is eager not to hurt you which is more than can be said about others. „Of c-course I am turned on. Be-Because of you.“ You slip a hand backwards between you two to palm his erection through the fabric separating you two. He hisses at the sensation, hips flexing forward into your touch.

„(Y/N)… Are you… Do you want to proceed?,“ he rasped, hesitation warring with desperate need. „I must confess I have limited experience in… intimate matters.“

He sounds a little bashful there at the end and you take some pride in making his voice waver. That’s before the meaning of his words settles in.

„How limited?“

Somehow it only now occurs to you that he might actually be a virgin. You took that for a joke before. You don’t have to wait long for the confirmation.

„More limited than the norm, I am afraid,“ he admits, his voice a whisper, raw with vulnerability. „To be precise, you would be my first.“

The confession is hanging in the air and makes you want to hold him close, makes you want to kiss him stupid until every doubt he has about himself leaves his body. You turn your head, turning your body so you are almost facing him. He looks flustered, even in the faint moonlight.

„Then I‘ll be your first. If you want me to,“ you breathe and lean a little forward, hesitating until your lips are merely an inch away from his. You can feel his breath on yours.

„Please,“ is all he manages and you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. You can tell he is inexperienced by the way he kisses you back a tad bit too eager, but it doesn‘t matter. Nothing matters except the feeling of his tongue brushing against yours.

The feeling of his soft abdomen under your fingertips as you let them slip under his shirt and earn a whimper in return.

The feeling of his lips kissing down your neck before he pushes you back into the spooning position you have been in and that seems to be comforting for him. It matters even less as he slides his fingers back inside you, moving them in and out, building a rhythm that has you writhing and moaning for him. Maybe he was truthful when he said his pleasure was intrinsically linked to yours because it‘s only when you clench hard around his fingers that you hear his broken voice again, „May I… May I remove my trousers, (Y/N)? I burn to be inside you. Even though there is no amount of… durability I can assure you of.“

„Don‘t worry about that. Please… Just hurry. I need you.“

With trembling fingers he fumbles with the fastenings of his cargo shorts, the urgent need to be inside you overriding any lingering nerves. He kicks the fabric off impatiently, finally freeing his aching, hard length. Eugene’s hips jerk forward instinctively, the head of his cock slipping between your thighs to nestle against the slick, soft warmth of your most intimate area. He shudders at the contact, a broken version of your name on his lips.

You have to catch your breath and take his hand, interlacing your fingers with his, signaling that you are here with him. It only takes a little wiggle of your hips until he is pressing against your entrance. You can feel him squeezing your fingers harder as he fights the instinct to thrust all the way into you.

„(Y/N), I… Tell me, if I am not being gentle enough,“ he pants. „But I fear my… My restraint may be limited. Foreplay has left me… Quite eager for the main event.“

„‚‘Fucks sake, Eugene! Just fuck me already,“ you whine, slightly pushing back so he slips a little into you. The motion is accompanied by a punched out sound from him. Then, finally, he pushes into you. Inch by inch. You lift your leg a little, so the new angle provides better access. He moans loudly as he slides inside, the sound almost painful. You see stars as he pushes deeper and deeper and deeper still and you gasp sharply.

„You are so big, shit.“

You suspected so as you felt him pressing against you but feeling him inside is a different matter altogether. So that’s why he was so worried about being gentle. You take a deep breath to get used to the feel of him and hum as you feel ready. He, however, is making no effort to proceed.

„Gene?“ You try to get a look at him over your shoulder. „You know you have to move, right?“

You softly move your hips so he is sliding a few inches out and back inside. He makes a sound that’s damn near a whine and you startle.

„Are you alright, Eugene?“ You ask, voice now depleted of teasing. He struggles to find his voice.

„I-I am adequately familiar with the mechanics,“ he grits out, pulling you impossibly closer to him. „But it‘s… You are incredibly tight. I… ah, you feel so good, I can‘t…“ He fights to get it together and you let him, give him time to handle the overwhelm. „I‘m afraid this will inevitably end prematurely.“

„If it does we‘ll try again. Don‘t worry too much,“ you whisper back, squeezing his fingers. He seems a little taken back by the prospect of a next time. As if the thought of that possibility hadn’t crossed his mind before. Then, without further warning, he begins to thrust into you again. You both moan at the sensation and you feel him holding onto you for support, making it feel somewhat like he’s making love to you, rather than just fucking.

It's so sweet you want to cry. Too sweet in a violent world that has turned bitter and merciless. Actually you do, cry that is. Tears are falling down your cheeks from the sensation of Eugene sliding in and out of you, from the litany of whispers of your name falling from his lips, from the tenderness of it all. Your soft sobs are swallowed by your own moans however, as his fingers separate from yours, leaving them forlorn, before he finds his way back to your clit, continuing their pattern from before. It's good, good, good…

The sensation is building rapidly, the knot in your abdomen tightening until you feel like shattering. His thrusts have quickly gotten sloppy and erratic and you didn’t expect him to last long enough for you to get off at all. It's all the more shocking as your orgasm suddenly crashes through your body, knocking the air out of your lungs, leaving nothing but him burned into your mind. He seems shocked as well, as far as he is in his mind enough still to realise you just came around him with a shuttering force.

“(Y/N)… Oh, fuck me, I‘m going to...”

With a last rough shout, some silly imprecation, he follows you. You feel him swell and pulse, followed by the hot, wet sensation of him coming inside you, painting your walls white and panting heavily.

It takes a few moments for you both to catch your breath and for post orgasmic bliss to mingle with resurfacing anxiety. He is still holding you and it is hard to feel seriously insecure when he nuzzles into your neck like that, seemingly unwilling to part from you just yet.

And still.

There had been no prior agreement of the nature of this entanglement. You just went from being companions to friends to shagging quite fast. It's not unheard of that some people's feelings change abruptly after the post-coital clarity hits.

You draw breath the same second he starts talking, cutting off the sentence you hadn’t fully formed in your head.

“I believe it to be of paramount importance to clarify certain parameters about what transpired.”

The monotone cadence is back and you briefly miss the clarity with which his body communicated to you what his verbal habits fail to do. “I am aware that casual sexual encounters are common practice. However, you should be aware that besides finding you seriously hot, I hold certain affections for you. And while I don’t expect you to reciprocate, I want you to-“

“I love you.”

Suddenly your heart is in your throat again and the darkness around you gains density. He grows silent and you continue, “I think I have for some time now. I don’t expect you to say it back, just… I want you to know.”

For someone with social dyslexia this situation might read like social Kafka and you hear the gears turning in his head. Maybe it's a little much to ask of him but the words slipped out and now they are hovering obtrusively in the room.

“I reciprocate,” he finally says and you turn around to meet his gaze in the dark. “I don’t pretend to be an expert in this field, but according to what I experienced in your proximity I can most certainly say, the feelings I harbor for you are akin to… Love.”

You smile at him because of course he can’t put it simply. He doesn’t have to though, because you are here, listening. You lean in and kiss him again, more softly this time and without urgency. He returns the gesture, his hand back at your waist to turn you around, to finally face you. You are melting into each other because it's so much better than giving up.

Every day could be the last. Better make it worthwhile.

#eugene porter #eugene porter x reader #smut #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #nsfw #the spice level is milk tho

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rumo-washere · 3 days ago

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Coalescence 3/4

Eugene Porter x f!Reader (the walking dead)

AO3 Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 ( Hurt/Comfort + Action)

He actually insists on you keeping your promise and so the two of you are out of bed before sunrise. Dawn is creeping up on the outer skirts of Alexandria when you take your bow, your machete and Eugene with you to show him how to defend himself. Your plan is to focus on direct combat with melee weapons since guntraining is rather in Glens or Ricks domain. You yourself are able to handle a gun but regularly tend to stick to your bow anyway. It served you well before you got your hands on an actual gun and you prefer the quiet, reusable arrows to not waste precious munition. He himself carries a combat knife.

You watch him closely, as he follows your instructions. (“Hands up!” “Kees wider apart!” “Shift your weight to stabilize yourself.”) It's obvious he tries but anyway you are thoughtfully biting the inside of your cheek. The problem clearly isn’t strength per se given he has significantly more than you. The main problem is pretty obvious.

„I think what you really struggle with is fear-management and as I see it there is only one remedy for that: exposure therapy. We have to actually go outside and look for stray walkers.“

He lowers his hands and looks at you startled.

„I don’t think I like this idea, (y/n).“

„Well, you won’t like depending on others forever either, don’t you?“

„Actually, symbiotic co-existence is a quite common arrangement among a variety of lifeforms.“

„Don’t get funny now!“ In your previous life you would have wanted to hug him. Now you force yourself to point at him with an unyielding expression.

„Until you turn into a clownfish in front of my own eyes I need your ass to be out there. I‘ll be right behind you. I‘ll intervene if things get out of hand. I won’t let anything happen to you,“ you add more softly.

Eugene doesn’t look exactly thrilled about this endeavour but he cuts the complaining and follows you to the gates.

It‘s calm outside. The early cold makes you shiver as you two enter the surrounding forest. You don’t plan on straying too far given the still very real threat of encountering a herd but it takes a while to hear the telltale groaning of one of the beasts. You grab him by the jacket and as he looks at you, you guide your finger on your lips, gesturing him to be quiet. You both take cover behind the trees as you spot the walker. Grotesque, ugly features coming in sight and you move your head, signaling Eugene to attack as you take your bow in hand. You see a surge of fear crossing his features. He takes a few steadying breaths and seems to count in his head, lips moving almost unnoticeable.

Then he gets into movement. You see his hand shaking as he faces the threat. The walker, alarmed, begins to croak louder and moves in his direction.

“Aim where you want to hit and don’t avert your gaze!” you shout as you see him hesitate. You draw your bow, ready to intervene if stuff gets dangerous. You clench your teeth. It is obvious he was never the type to get picked first at school sports and still you believe in his fierce instinct to survive.

Your voice seems to have shaken him out of his stupor and snapped him back into focus. He lifts his arm and steadies his stance, ready to attack. With a grunt of strain he then launches at the undead body. You notice the effort it takes him not to look away but he keeps his gaze steady and even as the attack looks somewhat clumsy you hear the gruesome, sickening crack as blade penetrates skull.

You see his chest heaving as he turns to you, eyes wide like he is seeking confirmation.

“(Y/N),” he manages to say, his voice hoarse, “I… did it.”

Of course it’s not the first time he killed a walker in general but the first time it didn’t completely look like an accident and you feel relief flooding your veins. You let your bow down and beam at him, feeling genuinely proud.

“You did!” You jump forth and squeeze his shoulder, maybe a bit too enthusiastic. “I knew you would,” you claim, and he grins at you. You both are feeling triumphant for two whole minutes. That's before your gaze shifts and your face drops.

“Hurry. We have to back off.” As it seems the creature wasn’t as alone as you thought. A group of six or seven more is making their way towards you two, alarmed by the combat sounds and shouting.

“Shit.”

You let go of Eugene and draw your bow again, shooting the first arrow. It strikes right through an eye, killing immediately. The rest is closing in alarmingly fast though and now you wish you had a gun with you.

“The plan is alternating between attacking and backing off to recharge,” you shout at Eugene who seems frozen again. You see terror flickering in his eyes and curse, praying he will not panic. “Hey! Look at me. It’s all good, we got this. I said I don’t let anything happen to you.” You hope you are right. But your words seem to move something in him as he follows your lead, backing off a few steps beside you.

“Right, alternating attack patterns,” he stammers, glancing at you.

“Right.”

He is neither as fast nor as confident as your usual combat partners and even as two of your arrows find their target as well as his knife you are getting pushed back faster than anticipated. However, you are glad Eugene is standing his ground since this is definitely not going as planned. One walker comes closer at an alarming rate and you have to drop the bow and grab your machete to launch an attack, cutting his head straight off. You glance over to Eugene, relieved, but then your foot slips. In your haste you have stepped in a hole in the ground. White, hot pain shoots up your ankle and you curse as you fall to the ground. Your eyes shoot up to him, wide and anxious. He looks back at you with the same terror.

“Please…” You are overtaken by fear and shake your head. “Please don’t leave me.”

There are three more of them and if he decides to run away you will be left for dead as bait.

There is a terrible second of uncertainty where your faith is wavering and you think you see the same thing mirrored in his eyes.

Then he hastily shakes his head. “No, I- I won’t leave you,” Eugene stammers. You see him gripping the knife tighter and stepping forward, between you and the undead. Your heart beats in your throat.

His movements are clumsy and fueled by panic and determination rather than skill, but there is something raw and urgent in his gaze. He manages to stab the first walker, the attack more forceful than precise and you see him struggle to retrieve the knife. It took too long, the blade stuck in the bone, being rammed in at an unfortunate angle. He has to doge as another walker lunged at him and he barely sidestepped, now unarmed.

“Gene!” You yell and as his gaze flicks over his shoulder you throw him your machete. He catches it with shaky fingers, slashing the blade wildly and cutting the undead through the face in the process. Blood is splashing.

Your heart is racing like crazy and you hear yourself scream as the other walker grips Eugene's jacket from behind.

If he gets bitten it’s going to be your fault.

You reach for your bow and manage to draw it with extreme difficulty as you are on the ground, unable to get up and trembling with pain.

“Watch out!” You scream at the moment Eugene thrusts your machete through the frontal walker’s eye. Your arrow shoots and hits the last beast through the mouth, just in time before it reaches him. It breaks down all lifeless.

You are both panting hard in the ensuing silence. You look up at him with big eyes, tears welling up.

“Y-You stayed.”

He sinks down to his knees beside you, the machete slipping from his hand onto the ground, forgotten as he looks you over. His gaze is fixed on yours, and yes, there is fear in his eyes. But also something else you can’t quite place. He is covered in blood and dirt, just like you.

“Affirmative. I- I stayed. I couldn’t- I wouldn’t leave you, (y/n). Not ever.” His words were a whisper, somehow stripped of his usual eloquence in the rush of adrenaline. He moves closer to you and concern is written over his features in his already weary face, as he carefully touches your injured ankle. The limb is already swelling up and you feel the painful pulsing even as you hold it still.

“Not ever,” you mouth his words as he carefully moves your ankle. You immediately hiss at the sensation as pain shoots through your leg. This is bad.

“We need to get this looked at urgently,” he tells you with a frown, “do you think you can stand with support?”

“Maybe. Let’s see, help me up, yes?”

He nods and you take his hand as you struggle to get up on your good leg, but your whole body is trembling and as you try to make a step Eugene has to grab you below the arms to prevent you from sinking to the ground again. You let out a pained yelp.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I manage the whole way.”

His expressions shifts to one of concern and his grip around you tightens.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. Our current predicament is not entirely of your making.”

“Not entirely?” you shoot him a glance even though it relieves you he says ‘our’ instead of ‘your’ predicament.

“Well, I informed you I didn’t believe this endeavor to be a good idea.”

“I swear to god, if you come at me now with the ‘I told you so’ I am going to-”

He never learns what you were going to do because in your indignation you reflexively put weight on your injured ankle and cry out in pain, going limp in his arms. He regards you for a moment. Then he picks up the machete and puts it back into the fastening on your belt. You furrow your brow just as in one swift motion he swoops you up into his arms. Your injured foot is dangling in the air now and you wrap your arms around his neck. The gesture is so unexpected you feel your face heating up.

“Don’t tell me you want to carry me the whole way back.”

“Given your imminent immobility and the pain-level you are experiencing I believe this method to be the most efficient if we plan to skedaddle out of here as quickly as possible.”

There is no arguing with the factual way he says it and so you let him carry you back through the forest, now extremely vigilant for any more strays. Luckily you don’t encounter any. Despite being significantly smaller than him you hear him panting after a while and start to feel bad. You feel a dash of guilt for having put him through this but at the same time you feel a little proud as well. He most likely won’t ever be a fighter like Daryl or Michonne, but he definitely made progress today.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not too heavy,” you say shortly before you two reach the gates of Alexandria.

“Nonsense,” he replies, though his voice seems a little strained. “Your weight is well within the normal range.”

That wasn’t exactly how you meant it but you take it.

“Also for what it’s worth,” he continues, “I am indeed profoundly grateful for today. Not the predicament, of course, but for the risk you took to aid me.”

As you two return to the safety zone Eugene carries you to Denise’ medical station. Curious eyes are following you two though it’s still early. Despite the hour you luckily meet Denise there chatting with Tara. Both women look up as you two arrive.

“What happened?” Denise steps closer and Tara looks at you shocked. Before you can open your mouth Eugene informs her, “(Y/N) had a fall and her ankle is quite swollen. She requires urgent medical oversight.”

You look a little flustered as Denise tells him to sit you down on a nearby surface and shifts her attention to your foot, taking off your shoe and sock. “It’s not that bad, really,” you grit out through clenched teeth.

“You don’t know that. Your mobility is vital for your survival. And we can’t risk-”

“Hey, relax, Gene,” you say and softly squeeze his arm to calm his anxiety. “it’s just a hurt foot. I will live, right?”

Denise nods reassuringly. “It looks sprained, from what I can tell. But nothing that won’t heal if we take care of it.”

“Yeah okay, okay, well. But what happened?” Tara repeats the question. “Don’t tell me you fell and somehow both of you landed in a puddle of blood!”

You bite the inside of your cheek, a little uncomfortable with all the attention. “We were training outside the walls. I fell and hurt myself, but Eugene saved me as several walkers attacked us,” you explain. You decide it can’t hurt to overplay his newly discovered heroic tendencies for the sake of redeeming his reputation a little.

He opens his mouth to correct your statement but you shoot him a glance and he falls silent. Tara looks slowly from one of you to the other and then over to Denise. The medic raises to her feet.

“There is special tape in a blue box in the storage room. Eugene, would you get me some as I give (y/n) something against the pain?”

He nods and complies without hesitation. You feel a little moved but the second he is out of the door Tara crosses her arms and gives you a look.

“Soo… What the ever loving fuck is going on there?” She points between you and the door he vanished through. You find an extremely interesting stain on your pants to marvel at.

“What do you mean?” You gladly take the salve from Denise to apply it on your foot and make a mental note to perhaps share some medicine from your own stock with her.

“Eh, I don’t know, maybe the way you look at each other?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh my god, what are you, twelve?”

You look at her offendedly. “I could ask you the same!”

Tara grins. “Oh, Gene! Don’t worry about me, I will live on!” she imitates your voice and you throw the slave in her direction.

“Shut up!” you laugh, feeling how your cheeks are heating up. “You are silly!”

After receiving an annoyed glance from Denise she picks the salve up and hands it over.

“Sorry, my bad! But for real, I saw you both coming out of your room this morning. So, is there something going on?”

You look even more offended. “Is there nothing else to worry about aside from who sleeps in my room?”

“There is a shit ton of stuff to worry about, that's why your love life is such a welcome distraction. Especially since you are so pathetically embarrassed by it. It’s telling.”

You consider having picked the wrong friends.

“It’s just… It’s been a rough few days. For everyone. And even if I liked him, it’s not like… The situation is complicated. Half the group mistrusts him. Plus I have no idea if he even likes me like that. It’s not like he has ever tried anything, despite sleeping together.”

Both women exchange glances.

“Look, (y/n). I don’t say I know you guys that well, but from what I gathered he doesn’t really seem the ‘go-getter type’, does he? But you have to be crazy to miss the way he is looking at you. Besides, what does it really matter what anyone else thinks? You both could be dead tomorrow.” She shrugs. “Just my opinion.”

You have the fleeting impression there is also something communicated to Denise here but you don’t stress it. You also withhold that the way he is looking at you regularly serves you as a projection surface for your own desires and very much doesn’t go over your head. At the same time you are terrified to falsely presume.

“Thanks, Tara,” you say and it doesn’t sound completely sarcastic. Tara looks like she is about to say something more, but that moment Eugene returns with the tape and she shuts her mouth. You can feel her look though and avert your gaze.

You feel much better with your ankle taped up. There was even a crutch Denise was able to lend you and you make your way back outside, limping but in significantly less pain. You are both still covered in blood and you burn to wash yourself and change. Also you plan to look for an occupation that can be done sitting down since you’ll need to be careful for some time. Eugene stays at your side, watching you carefully as if he is afraid you might break down every minute. He accompanies you until you reach the washing rooms.

“I think I am good from here. I don’t want to keep you from working on your radios. Or well, getting clean,” you say softly. He looks somewhat hesitatingly. Tara's words are still ringing in your ears and you tap your fingers against the doorframe.

“You know, I still don’t know how that story ends and so your compensation for training with me isn’t fully realized. So if you, erm, like you could come back tonight to visit me,” you say sheepishly. The way he hesitates before answering adds to your impression that your renewed invitation for him to sleep in your room holds a slightly different weight than last night. Sleeping together once to comfort a dejected friend or to endure the cold is one thing. Doing it again for no real reason at all, another.

There seems to be something similar going through his head but then he nods.

“I promised to keep my end of the bargain and should my presence provide any delight or even marginal utility, then I consider it time well spend. I played a not insignificant role in you getting hurt, after all.”

“Be sure, your presence holds significantly more than marginal utility for me. Uhm, I’ll… I’ll look forward to it then.”

As you part your anxiety rises.

Part 4

#eugene porter #eugene porter x reader #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #hurt/comfort

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rumo-washere · 3 days ago

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Coalescence 2/4

Eugene Porter x f!Reader (the walking dead)

On AO3 (complete)

Part 1

Part 2 (Hurt/Comfort)

Your tasks have taken you to the outer skirts of Alexandria to get familiar with maintaining the walls around the safety zone and when you finish and return to the center the sky has taken the colour of honey. The atmosphere however is heavy and tense. At least that’s the impression you get from the members of Rick’s group you encounter on your way back. You meet Tara in front of your quarters since she has been placed in a house close to you. She is busy carrying a box, but it looks more of a struggle than success. You quickly step in to help her.

“Thanks, (y/n)!” Tara sighs as you both place the box at it’s designated spot. “I wanted to ask Rosita for help, but well. She really didn’t seem in the mood to be bothered and I like my head where it is.”

You look up with a furrow to your brow. Rosita has been a companion of yours as well and even if the two of you never have gotten to be best friends you still care about her.

“What happened?”

“Oh you didn’t hear?” Tara looks around a little uncomfortable, “they have been fighting again.”

“Rosita and Abraham?”

“Nah, Rosita and Eugene.”

“Oh,” You bite your lip uncomfortably, “what happened?”

Tara shrugs. “Not sure what the trigger was, but I heard her yelling at him. Calling him a coward and waste of space and stuff. Wasn’t nice to watch.”

“I can imagine.” You feel a sinking sensation in your stomach.

“Where are they now?”

“Rosita is with Abraham and Carol. Eugene, I don’t know.”

You wave her goodbye and retreat into your room. Unease is growing inside you. A part of you maybe anticipated that he would come by but time goes by and at some point you decide he won’t show up anymore. It's almost dark when you slip into your bed. It’s a luxury, having a real bed, as well as wearing sleeping clothes, like the nightgown you took with you on a run. Feels definitely nicer than sleeping in combat clothes. The solitude however is unnerving and you struggle to find sleep.

You startle when the knock at your door finally comes. For a few seconds you stare in the direction of the sound, disorientated and confused. Your hand finds the night-light, a battery powered companion you brought here. The soft glow illuminates your room as you slip out of bed and open the door. Your eyebrows shoot up.

“When I said you can visit me I didn’t mean in the middle of the night.”

Eugene stands there, a little awkwardly, and looks up at you.

“I apologize if the time is inopportune.”

You both look at each other and as his eyes drop you become suddenly very aware of the thin gown you are wearing. A lacy thing you usually wouldn’t present yourself in, not without a warning at least. Flustered you turn around to grab your cardigan and wrap it around your shoulders.

“What are you, a vampire?” you shout over your shoulder as you notice him remaining at the doorstep. “Come in.”

You rummage through a few things, mostly glad about the company you didn’t expect anymore.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he utters as he enters your room, carefully closing the door.

“You didn’t. Not really. I can’t really sleep here, too restless,” you hold up the object you were looking for. “I still have some tea left in my thermos, though I think it’s lukewarm at best by now.”

You don’t await an answer and pour the remaining tea in the detachable cups built in the thing and hand him one, gesturing to the small table. “I’m glad you came. Tara told me what happened.”

He accepts the tea and follows your gesture, taking a seat next to you. You don’t miss the tension in him as well as the apparent exhaustion. The circles under his eyes seem deeper now. Maybe it’s just the light.

“Oh, you heard,” he says, sounding a bit dejected. “Yes, it was… Less than ideal. The sentiments being said weren’t without foundation, however the delivery was somewhat… Caustic.” His gaze dropped to the cup in his hands and you almost got the impression he tried to avoid looking in your direction. He looks worn down and you carefully place your hand on his arm. “Do you want to talk about what happened? Or did you just come here for some company?”

His eyes twitch to where your hand is resting on his arm and he pauses for a few seconds, considering your question.

“I am not overly eager to relive what was said. I wanted to inform you about my performed calibrations, though. I did spend the greater part of the evening fixing up the radios in hopes of providing a more efficient communication method. If I succeed I hope my advancement might mend some bridges. However, in the long run I believe the necessity of gaining certain survival related skills to be unavoidable.”

You watch him as he speaks. So he tried to follow your advice and stayed busy with his project. That’s why he is so late. You nod at his conclusion though and open your mouth, but he continues, “Unfortunately I find myself unable to wrestle that specific deficiency on my own. I was wondering if your friendship might include… help. In that certain area.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. „You want me to train with you?“

He nods, eyes meeting yours for a few seconds. „If you‘d be amenable. I will compensate you for your efforts, though. However you deem fit.“

The corner of your mouth twitches.

„Do you remember what you promised me when we passed that library, back at the beginning when we met?“

He furrows his brow and nods. „That you insist I should read to you once we have the capacity to take books with us.“

You nod, delighted he remembers. „Turns out Alexandria does have a library. And I will take you up on that promise in exchange for survival training.“

„That hardly sounds like an inconvenience on my part,“ he argues. You shrug.

„Ensuring you won’t die and still be around isn‘t one for me either.“

His fingers are fiddling nervously with the mug. You aren’t sure he is aware of that.

„Agreed,“ he finally says.

You yawn and stretch yourself, exhaustion finally kicking in. Neither of you seem willing to part ways, though. Now it is your turn to fiddle with your mug.

„Do you perhaps also recall how we used to sleep when it got really cold?“ You shyly nod over to the bed trying to fight down your nerves. You two didn’t have the luxury of walls around each night and when it got too cold you huddled together for warmth. It felt perfectly reasonable at the time and honestly, the situation isn’t that different now. Except the surrounding cold in question isn‘t thermal in nature but social. Eugene seems to understand what you mean but a flicker in his gaze makes you doubt he harbours the same associations to your prior situation.

„Shared thermal regulation,“ he says and you nod.

„Sort of. If you-“

„Yes,“ he says quickly and nods, as if anxious you might change your mind. It's almost cute.

You guide him towards the bed, picking up the book you took from the library and sit down on the edge of the mattress. He hesitates, slight awkwardness to his tone as he notes, „I want you to know that my intentions are respectfully aligned with the boundaries of your friendship.“

You blink at him. Sometimes it's hard not to yell at him; Why would you say that?

It‘s slightly more awkward now as he settles next to you and you give him a side-eye.

„Don’t worry, I didn’t plan to jump your bones.“

He looks at you so shocked you have to suppress a laugh.

„Here,“ you shove the book into his hands. He regards the title.

„Science fiction,“ he acknowledges with a nod.

„Dystopian science fiction to be precise.“ You sigh and lean back and he settles down next to you, half sitting, half lying down. „Sounds almost tempting now, being attacked by a bunch of robots. The smell must be more pleasant.“

He hums in agreement. „And no shortage of replacement parts.“

„Good thought.“

There is a moment of hesitation that’s quickly overrun by the exhaustion of the day. Faint voices are heard from a distance. Nightowls or insomniacs. None of you has the monopoly of fucked up sleeping patterns.

Eugene opens the book. There is a tenderness he holds it with, an appreciation for a beloved thing that has sadly lost its value in this new reality. The sound of pages turning throws you back into better times. Times long past and you think that maybe, maybe there is a shred of your old self left, somewhere in a beloved story. Locked away and secured between pages or megabytes.

His voice is deep and his southern accent endearing as he begins to tell a story written by someone who has no idea what living in an apocalyptic world really means. At some passages one of you comments on it. You fall asleep to the rhythmic lilt of his voice and the steady rising and falling of his chest. At some point he must have turned off the light and put the book aside but you don’t take notice of it anymore.

It's the first night in Alexandria that you feel safe.

Part 3

#eugene porter #eugene porter x reader #the walking dead #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #hurt/comfort

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rumo-washere · 3 days ago

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Coalescence Part 1/4

Eugene Porter x f!Reader (the walking dead)

On AO3

Summary:

You had been on the road with Eugene, Abraham and Rosita before the truth about his lie came to light and you all landed in Alexandria. Now he isn't exactly everybodies favourite member of the group and finds himself fairly isolated. You, however, have had feelings for him for some time now and decide to comfort him to the best of your abilities and help him confront his fears - and maybe get behind why he always seems to be watching you.

Part 1 (Hurt/Comfort)

If any day could be the last, does it really matter whether someone gives up or not?

The question has been following you around since this morning simply because it's so stupid. Of course giving up is not an option. Everyone still alive at this point thinks that way or they’d be gone by now. This brave new world has a shortage of basically everything except possibilities to die.

But not giving up, fighting to stay alive using whatever means, can come with ugly entanglements and - as in the case of the man sitting on a work bench in front of you - with painful bruises and social shunning.

Eugene doesn’t acknowledge you, which could be seen as rude, since you had been travelling together for some time until very recently. But he is engrossed with whatever project he is working on, a radio or something of that kind, you assume. He tends to sink into himself when he does so and even more so since he became not exactly the favourite member of your group by admitting to his deception. Admitting to not knowing the cure to this mess.

Admitting to having used the three of you, Abraham, Rosita and you, to keep him safe. His temple is still bruised and swollen from the punch. You place the wire you have been holding onto the countertop. He startles at the loud thud, blue eyes going wide as he assesses what kind of threat you pose.

„Good afternoon.“

Conflicting feelings are battling inside you, but mainly you feel your heart sink at the cautious way he looks at you. As far as you can tell you are the first person to look after him since you arrived at Alexandria yesterday and you find it hard to remain angry when everyone else already is. There is only a limited amount of fury in the air you can endure.

„How are you doing?“

„In what regard?“

You shrug, crossing your arms. „All of them. Well,“ better to close in on the cause for your visit sooner than later, „does it still hurt?“

You point to his face.

He ponders the question for a moment. There is a subtle furrow around his brow.

„I reckon I accepted the punitive responses as of late. The physical manifestations are … less challenging as the interpersonal distance created, you understand?“

It actually takes you a second.

„It hurts more to be isolated than punched,“ you paraphrase and sigh before taking a chair and sitting down next to him.

„Maybe I can help with both to an extent, if you like.“

He regards you cautiously.

“How so?”

You reach into your bag. Ever since this whole shitshow started you prided yourself with possessing a quite extensive hoard of all kinds of meds and drugs. Having lived right above a pharmacy gave you the invaluable advantage of getting your hands on all kinds of them. Of course you would never withhold life-sustaining medication from anyone but it’s crazy what people are willing to trade for some benzodiazepines or methylphenidates. Aside from the funny stuff you also took various less potent medications like the lidocaine gel you produce from your bag.

“I saw you wincing earlier. You may say it’s not that bad but there is really no need for unnecessary pain. Do you allow me…?”

He hesitates a moment before nodding. “That would be, erm, acceptable - I mean, appreciated.”

He watches you as you lean closer and softly lift his chin to inspect the injury. “You are being unexpectedly kind,” he informs you. It sounds not quite like a question but there is certainly uncertainty. You hum in response as you proceed. Eugene turns rigid under your hands. There is a hitch in his breath as you thread your fingers through his hair to keep his head in place. His gaze, however, is unwavering. He is watching you. Observing.

Just like he did when you were still out there.

Rosita once told you it freaked her out but you couldn’t quite share that sentiment. Maybe it was telling more about you than him, but a part of you longed to be perceived. Sometimes his gaze would wander over your body, your chest and legs, his eyes following you into the woods when you went off to wash yourself. Sometimes you fantasised about letting him see, just whatever he might want to, because as long as you could be perceived you weren’t dead jet. There is an intensity to his gaze that never fails to make you wonder what he might be thinking. Because he never stops thinking, that much you had surmised by now.

„I must admit,“ he begins, unaware of your thoughts, „this level of - if you want to call it that - personal attention is not something I've been privy to, especially recently. Your compassion is quite reassuring.“

„Don’t get me wrong,“ you say and tilt his head a little back before dipping your finger into the gel, „I understand why they are mad. You did fuck up big time and what you did was shitty.“

You carefully spread some of the gel onto his bruises. Your touch is, in contrast to your words, feather-light to not hurt him further. The cooling effect is supposed to kick in pretty fast.

“But beating you up is shitty as well and I am convinced you can still contribute. You are smart, like physics-smart. We will need people like you, sooner or later.“

He studies you attentively, only flinching as your fingers come near his eye.

„I am smarter than most people here and jet there hasn’t been much advantage from that.“

His bluntness sometimes still catches you off-guard.

„Yeah, well maybe it’s better not to tell them that. Believe me, they are aware.“

„You are speaking for yourself.“

You furrow your brow. „What do you want to hear from me? That I feel stupid next to you?“

He shakes his head quickly, making you retract your hands.

„That‘d be an erroneous assessment. I am simply wondering what you might gain from still aiding me.“

You blink at him. He has a way of making you angry, sometimes.

Because you are my friend, you idiot. Because I still care. How can you be so clever and still not see that?

„Maybe I decide to still believe that protecting you might have had a purpose after all. Maybe I don’t want to think everything was in vain, just because you tricked us.“

A flicker of hurt crosses his features and you suddenly regret your tone.

„Trickery was not, uh, not the intention. Initially. Survival was the paramount objective. The factual fabrications weren’t meant to stay hidden for such an extended period but interpersonal relations intervened. It‘s… It's complex.“

You give him a look.

„You tried to stay alive. That's not complex. It's actually quite simple, if you ask me.“

At that he finally averts his gaze looking somewhat shameful, and you realise your ability to provide comfort is shit.

„Look. What I actually try to say here is, we all did some pretty shitty, fucked up things to survive. Every single person still alive had to - or they wouldn’t be here and I - I don’t hate you. I‘m actually quite glad you made it this far. And I am sure you can prove your worth to the group and find a real way to contribute.“

He regards you for a few seconds silently, taking in your words.

„You suggest that I recalibrate my contributions, to ensure they are henceforth, unequivocally beneficial to our collective survival?“

„Uhm. Yes. I would put it a little more eloquently though.“

You grin. He looks confused. You roll your eyes.

„Yes, Eugene. Recalibrate. Make a software update and whatnot.“

„I‘m not a robot, (y/n).“

He sounds a tad bit offended and your gaze softens. „I know you are not.“

„But I get what you are saying. No more lollygagging - understood.“

You snort at the dead pan delivery of the phrase.

„Right,“ you point to his temple, „so, does it feel better or should I start to worry about expiration dates?“

„You should always worry about expiration dates.“ The indignation he says it with makes you laugh.

„Not sure if you‘re aware, but we are in the middle of the fucking apocalypse!“

„Doesn’t mean you can’t die of salmonella.“

„I very sure hope you don’t plan on eating my gel.“

That actually earns you a small grin from him and you feel a stupid little flutter in your chest. For a second it's like you two are back at the campfire, chatting until the sun sets. Because truth be told, you miss your friend. Your awkward, obtrusive, beloved friend who, unbeknownst to him, can make you feel all sorts of flustered.

“But to answer your question,” he adds, “your efforts seem to have taken root. It feels significantly better. Both, the physical and the… emotional.”

He gazes over to you a little sheepishly and you smile at him, relieved. The last days have been stressful and you are only now starting to feel the aftermath. You all could just as well be dead by now. You hesitate a second, then you lean forward to pull him into a hug. The gesture is not only meant to soothe him, but yourself as well. It’s going to be okay. That's your favourite lie.

Eugene freezes, obviously unsure how to respond to the sudden gesture. A little like a vending machine, unable to read a dollar. Then one of his arms wraps sort of awkwardly around you to pull you closer. His breath is warm against your shoulder. He is soft in a world full of hard edges.

You are terrified it might kill him one day.

He doesn’t let go of you until you do and when you pull back you miss the feeling. It's needy and embarrassing and he might as well think you are taking advantage of the situation. Maybe you can’t handle affection any better than him. You clear your throat, averting your gaze.

“Err… yeah, as I said. I wanted to check on you. And you know, if you feel lonely or need more gel you can come visit me in my quarters. If you’d like. You know, if you need a friend.”

Truth be told it feels weird to have a room now. It should feel safe, but after spending so much time on the run, always being within sight of the others, it feels claustrophobic to be alone. You stand up, ready to depart. There is still work you have to do for the day. Eugene watches you as you get up. His expression flickers briefly between surprise and relief, as far as you can tell at least.

“I might very well take you up on that offer,” he utters quickly, as you are almost out of the door. You give him a nod and leave him alone to work on his project.

Part 2

#eugene porter #the walking dead #eugene porter x reader #twd #hurt/comfort #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #never let them know your next move

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