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motherofagony · 11 months

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A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

#my writing #ahfe #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #jackson!joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #a heart for eating #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us smut #motherofagony

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mrs-johansson · 7 months

Text

Chapter 6 - Dark Phoenix II - Emergence of conflagration

Part 2:

We slowly moved inside, taking down guards one by one. Natasha secured the security room and Sam got the armory room.

Us 5 had successfully reached the entrance and the only thing we needed to enter was Nat’s signal of a clear path. “How are you guys doing?” I asked in the comms. “There are about 50 guards left inside. Klaue is at the top of the building,” Natasha informed us. “How’s our way inside looking?” I asked. “Just a second…” She said, clearly focused on what she was doing. “You’re clear, go get him.” “I’m planning on it.”

We made our way through each level quietly. Collected all the files we found, searching for Vibranium and Klaue.

In no time we were nearing the top floor. We were left with 7 men and Klaue. “You get the guards, I have Klaue,” I looked at the agents, and once they all nodded we broke in the door, not leaving a second for them to escape.

Our agents were on Klaue’s men quickly and I spotted Klaue at the other side of the room. “Sam get over here and collect the Vibranium, Nat get all their data from the main hardware, and send your team over here. I’ll get Klaue,” I said and ran to Klaue. As he saw me coming he held up a different-looking gun and he aimed at me. Kicked up a metal table and threw it at him, making him fall back into a door and roll down some stairs. I followed him to the stairway and before I got to him, he started running down the stairs. Sent a fireball in front of him, trying to stop him, but it didn’t bother him, and jumped over the burning area and continued running.

Trying to stop him I tried to fire at him but somehow he managed to run out of the building. I followed him closely and finally hit him with a fireball, making him fall to the ground. “Who are you working for? Who needs this much Vibranium?” I asked as I stood over the man. “A lot of people,” he said with a devilish smile. “Who are you providing this for?”

He looked behind me and the next second someone jumped at me, sending me about 100 feet away from Klaue. I rolled in the dirt making me cough. I looked up and saw a man in a black catsuit, helmet covering his head. “What the hell, man?” I got up and when I looked to Klaue’s way he was gone. “I lost Klaue,” I said in the comms. The cat man didn’t waste time and started punching me. I tried to block his moves, and when I grabbed his arm I burned him but it seemed he didn’t even notice. “Why are you stealing Vibranium?” He asked and I frowned. “Stealing? I’m trying to get it away from Klaue!” I explained while we kept fighting. “How do you know him?” He asked not even bothering to stop. “I’ve been after him for months, he’s supplying someone with Vibranium, I’m trying to find out who! Stop fucking punching me,” I said angrily and with a big kick I sent him back.

He got up and took his helmet off and my eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t you the Prince of Wakanda?” I asked and he frowned. “Yes, I am. And who are you?” He walked closer. “I’m Y/N Stark. I’m part of the Avengers.” His face dropped and looked where Klaue had been laying a couple of minutes ago. “I blew that up, didn’t I?” He asked and I spread my arms. “Yeah, kinda. This was the first time in 6 months that we had eyes on him, so thanks for that. Why did you even stop me?” I asked frustratingly. He seemed like he didn’t know the answer either. “I’m sorry, I thought you were with him.” “Y/N I think we found the person he’s supplying, you’re not gonna like this,” heard Sam over the comms. “Yeah, and I bumped into the Wankandan Prince. I’ll be there in a second,” I said then turned to the Prince. “If you’re after him, come with me,” I said and he nodded.

“So what is this cat thing? Are like a… Cat-Man?” I asked, not really sure what he was supposed to symbolize. “I’m the Black Panther. It’s been the protector of Wakanda for centuries, once I become king I’ll be the official Black Panther.” He explained. “Right and what’s your name?” “I’m T’Challa.”

Once we got up to where the team was I explained what happened and Natasha wasn’t happy at all to lose Klaue. “I can help you find Klaue if you hand over all the Vibranium you found so far. It belongs to Wakanda,” T’Challa said and Nat looked at me questioning if he was trustworthy. “That’ll work. Sam, what did you find?” I asked and he handed me some files. “Hadria Folks. She has an army of super soldiers with Vibranium armor. Klaue has been supplying her for the last 3 months,” he explained as I looked through the pictures of the armor and the amount of Vibranium she got her hands on. I looked at T’Challa and handed him the papers. “You’ve got a bigger problem than just stolen Vibranium.” He looked at the information splattered on the files and he glanced at me with a weird look. “Send your team home, you three come with me back to Wakanda, we’ll get to Klaue that way.”

We made our way to the Quinjet and I tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Take the files back to the Compound and look her up. We need every information we have on her. And look up this Black Panther guy too just to be sure,” I said and he sighed. “Why can’t I go with you? Wakanda must be so cool,” he whined and I chuckled. “You’ll get there, Wilson.”

Natasha and I followed T’Challa to his plane which looked very cool. “How did you lose Klaue?” Asked Natasha. “This guy jumped on me and when I got back up he was gone. I really hope he can get us to Klaue because if not I’m gonna be very angry.”

We got the plane and the technology was very advanced. It looked amazing. I stepped one step closer to a sand table and suddenly a blade was by my neck then I heard a gun being held up by someone. “I wouldn’t do that,” Natasha spoke and I carefully looked to my side to see the woman who was holding a long spear. I guess Natasha was holding a gun at her. “Okoye, they’re Avengers, lower your weapon,” T’Challa spoke and she took a look between Nat and I then pulled back the spear. I looked at Natasha and glanced at her gun, signaling that she should withdraw too. “Okoye, this is Y/n Stark and Natasha Romanoff. Ladies, this is Okoye, the commander of the Dora Milaje,” introduced us, the Prince. “Dora Milaje?” I asked. “Special forces of Wakanda,” said the woman with a straight and intense look.

Once we got off Natasha and I sat down, she still looked very unimpressed with the situation. “It’s gonna be fine, trust me,” I said to her and she just sighed, and I saw the look she gave me and it seemed she was trying to make an effort. “I trust you, not them,” said Natasha, and I put my hand on her thigh in a second, slightly squeezing. “Natalia, we know about Wakanda and they are trustworthy,” I explained and she looked at me with a tense expression. “She held a spear to your neck, Y/n.” “She didn’t know who we were.” Natasha sighed and leaned back in her seat. “I really hope you’re right.”

***

As soon as the jet landed T’Challa went ahead and then us two, Okoye followed behind. When we all reached the ground, I saw the King and Queen of Wakanda with two other women, one younger than all of us. “Baba,” he bowed slightly, then looked at us. “This is Y/n Stark and Natasha Romanoff, Avengers,” he said and we bowed too. “King T’Chaka, a pleasure to meet you,” I said and he nodded. “Likewise, welcome to Wakanda.” “Thank you, didn’t think this would be the reason for our first visit,” I said and he nodded. “Yes, it’s very unfortunate. In the meantime, this is my wife Ramonda, and my daughter, Shuri. And Nakia, member of the War Dogs, also the girlfriend of my son,” said the King, and T’Challa was quick to get flustered. “Now, I think we should get to work,” T’Challa said, trying to avoid the topic.

***

We made contact with Sam at the Compound and as he was on video call with us, we saw all the information on Klaue from what T’Challa and the others had so far. “We unintentionally found one of Klaue’s hiding places around six months ago. He had a full cabinet of Vibranium but we didn’t know who he was at the time. Then we went after him and retrieved over 100 million dollars worth of Vibranium in the last six months. And today was our first time locating such a big amount that led us to Klaue. Then we found out why he needs this much. Sam, what did you find?” I looked at him on the screen and the next second he sent over everything on the bigger screen in the room. “Hadria Folks, ex-KGB. She has approximately 15 super soldiers with Vibranium armor and weapons. There were multiple attacks in Europe, but nobody got them in time. Police can’t handle them obviously and Folks haven’t been seen in 2 months. Her station is said to be in Siberia, a familiar place, don’t you think?” Sam said and I looked at him immediately. “He’s not there,” I said, crossing my arms. “Who’s not there?” Asked Nakia and I just kept staring at the screen. “Another super soldier, he was a Hydra weapon until we got him and now he is hiding, keeping himself off the radar. Maybe he could help us,” I said and Sam interfered quickly. “We couldn’t locate him for a while now, how are we planning to do this?” He asked. “You haven’t been able to locate him. He sent me a letter about two weeks ago, saying he was in Romania. He’ll know where to find her. Nat and I will go to Romania, get Barnes and you find Klaue. I’ll get you all the Vibranium we retrieved. Are you familiar with super soldiers?” I turned to the Wakandans. Shuri typed it into her computer then multiple images came up on the screen. One particular picture is of James. “Captain America is one of them, right?” Asked Nakia. “Yes.” “Why not get him involved with this?” T’Challa suggested. “He’s got other stuff to deal with. And besides, I think we’ll be just fine doing this.”

After some discussion, they flew us back to the Compound and I was ready to go home. I really thought that this could be a promising opportunity for us to get more allies and maybe get James out of hiding.

“When will you pick up Rina?” Walked into my office Natasha but stopped at the door. “Dad picked her up already. I asked him and Pepper to watch her for a while. I don’t know how long this thing will last,” I explained and packed up all my stuff, ready to leave. “So, you’ll be alone?” She asked with a gentle but clearly seductive tone. My eyes lifted in her and the smirk on her face was undeniable. I began to walk past her and before I stepped out of the room, I looked her up and down. “Care to join?” Natasha didn’t answer, she just grabbed onto my hand and kissed me on the lips. “Great choice.”

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lazyneonrabbitt · 10 months

Text

Monsters among us

Daryl Dixon x Reader | pt.2

Your water breaks in the middle of nowhere but to your luck you stumble onto the prison where you find the man of your nightmares.

Angst? Childbirth. Conflicted feelings.

🐺 🐺 🐺

The fence beyond the tree line was the best thing you had seen in a while.

You stumbled out of the woods and into the field, keeping your distance from the walkers and looking for a way in.

If someone would see you right now they'd shoot you on sight, mistaking you for being a walker as well.

Blood ran down your legs, walking with a limp and hunched over clutching your stomach that spasmed with every step you took.

Spotting what looked like a gate at the other side of the field you tried your hardest to speed up your waddle, crying out with every few steps.

Closing in you spotted figures walking around behind the gate before hearing a woman's voice yell out to get to the gates.

A large, metal door opened and an armed man ran out in your direction, keeping his gun pointed at you as he approached.

"Are you alone? Bit?" He called out before stopping near you.

"Alone. Not bit. Please help me." You wobbled in place, looking up at the man who was reaching out a hand for you to take. It was clear by now you weren't a threat. "We have a doctor, he'll look at you."

Once inside you were immediately led to a secluded cell where an elderly man and woman came to your side.

"Oh dear, its good you found us." The woman called as soon as she saw you and was on you in a second helping you out of your ill fitting sweatpants and ordering the younger women who came looking to grab a list of items.

"Miss, how long would you guess have you been in labor?" The old man asked as his hands found their way between your legs as soon as the woman had your pants off.

"M.. morning.." You stammered as the sharp pain returned and you cried out.

A hand reached for yours as the woman appeared at your side.

"I'm Carol. This is Hershel. We'll help you get this baby out, okay?"

You nodded, breathing through the pain and thanking them.

Soon the younger ones returned with supplies and a warm rag was cleaning you up to better assess the situation.

Hershel's hand felt around your belly and checked you up, announcing you were gonna have to push at the next contraction.

Soon you were making good progress but both adults' faces drained of any color before Carol excused herself. You followed her figure and saw her grab one of the women on stand-by and send her off.

"Sweetie, can you tell me who the dad is?" Carol's soft voice was next to you again as hershel kept his attention on the child.

You shook your head and dropped the subject as her hands were needed on your other end.

Before you could ask anything a man was dragged into the room. "Why'dya want me he--" he stopped dead in his tracks. Your gaze mirroring his shocked one as he quickly stepped closer making you flinch.

"Stay away from me." You shook as your belly spasmed. You cried from exhaustion but also from terror. You curled into yourself as he stepped up to Hershel, hoping he'd tell him something but he only pointed him back to Carol.

He knew why he was there, the reason he was called was currently making its way out of you. He recognised you, you haunted his nightmares.

Little did he know he haunted yours too.

"Why'd you call me here? Huh? She say somethin'?" He snapped, voice loud and deep, rumbling low in his throut sounded a growl right at the same time your child seemed to start moving around. "Get him out!" You screamed in his direction before Carol could form an answer. Not even you knew if you meant the man or the baby, but Carol seemed to decide on shoving the man out of the room.

"Okay, out with you. We'll talk later." He let himself be shoved out but not without protest. They cursed among each other all the way down the hall and right before the slam of a door rung through the building you heard the man roar. "I should have all right to talk ta her. Tha's mah goddamn kid in there!"

If the whole prison hadn't heard you scream in pain you'd be surprised, but it was done and you were patched up and brought to rest in a cell near the others'

You had passed out the second Hershel has pulled the baby from your body and when you woke up in the cell you were welcomed by one of the younger women who was with you earlier. She told Carol was taking care of your son.

"My name's Maggie," The woman introduced herself as Hershel's daughter. "How do know Daryl?"

You gave her a confused look before realizing Daryl must be the man that had showed up earlier.

Before you could answer a shadow appeared behind the curtain and Carol announced her presence.

She walked in with a bundle wrapped in cloth and an apologetic look in her eyes.

In this world it wasn't hard to know what that look meant. Especially as she held your child fully covered in her arms. Eyes wide and brimming with tears you looked at her but were quickly distracted by movement. The cloth slipped and draped over her wrist and revealed the back of a head, covered in a layer of light brown hair and what looked like large, upward pointing ears.

"Carol?" You couldn't find words so you waited until she moved closer to sit next to you.

"I really don't want to scare you, but Daryl demanded to see his son so I went to him. He really wants to talk but I needed you to see your son first and decide if you agree to talk."

You heard her talk but honestly didn't register a single word except 'Daryl' and 'your son'.

Your son who you were currently staring at, still in Carol's arms.

Your son that you had earlier today.

Your son, that the monster who murdered your entire camp had put inside of you.

That monster who walked around this prison in human skin. The skin you saw in your nightmares.

"He's like him." Voicing your observation was the first thing on your mind to kill the silence hanging in the cell.

Carol smiled at your at least not terrified words and held out the child for you to hold, or just look at. Which ever you preferred.

Your hand lifted closer slowly until a yawn spooked you and you pulled back. A stubby muzzle appeared from Carol's chest, now no longer tucked into her but staring right at you. Bright blue eyes in a soft furred face.

With shaking hands you tried again to reach out and pick him up. You really wanted to try because even if he looked like his father, he didn't have to be like him.

Carol helped you properly hold the pup against you and suggested you try feeding him.

"You mean, let him drink from me? Won't he bite my tit off?"

Both women laughed at your silly but genuine concern and assured you it would be okay, helped you with your shirt and bra and made sure the little one latched on properly.

It was insane, seeing the large not-entirely-wolf pup feeding off you. You spent so much time denying the fact of the beast being the one getting you pregnant, but here you were.

"Can you go get him?" You looked over at Maggie who nodded and walked out in search of Daryl.

Carol couldn't stop smiling at the way you progressed from screaming at him to leave, to asking to see him while you fed your child.

Only a short moment later Maggie returned with Daryl walking in right behind her.

A soft "hey," left his lips as he looked you over. Your pup was still happily drinking from you and the angry, terrified energy you held earlier was nowhere to be sensed. "M'sorry." He switched places with Carol so he could be close to you both, hoping his pup would sense him now that he was awake.

"How'd ya recognise me earlier?" His voice was so much softer than before and your pup stirred in his presence and a soft whine left his lips.

Your hand went to caress fhe fur between his ears as you talked. About the nightmares and the lies you came up with to stay sane.

Daryl returned the gesture with his own collection of nightmares of tearing a camp and this until now unknown woman to shreds. Except he never knew you were actually still alive.

He never came across any other survivors and couldn't remember your scent so he had nothing to track. He apologised uncountable times during your conversation and offered you anything you could want or need.

"What are ya namin' him?" It was the one question that mulled around in your head the whole time and Daryl beat you to it. You gave him a look and thought it over.

"What about Hunter?"

A grumble sounded from next to you. "'s gon' be a hunter for sure, yeah." He nodded in agreement. "I like it.'

You were happy you so easily settled all those stupid new parent things, although you were going to have to talk and figure out what happened. With his other half pushing those memories away and your trauma response doing the same it was gonna be quite the challenge.

"I hope you don't mind me keeping this cell for just me and Hunter for now." You respected him being the father, and he was going to be a large part of your life and maybe eventually be your partner, even. But for now you wanted to get to know him first.

"Ya need space ta heal and get comfortable. I get it." He nodded in understanding and told you where to find him if either of you needed anything. "Ya can come see me anytime. I wanna check on ya both once a day if tha's good." Now it was your turn to nod in agreement.

You couldn't be happier with the welcoming nature of the group and the safety of the prison. This was going to be a nice home for you and your son.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: SO that was.. I feel like I can't write believable angst to save my life, but I hope you enjoyed that one.

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon #twd #twd au #twd x reader #twd imagine #werewolf #childbirth

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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Tolerance | RAPHAEL x gn!Reader 1.4k Words | NSFW | Hurt/Comfort | Fluff Content Warnings: Brief mentions of arguing, descriptions of weapon/magic training, kissing, suggestive thoughts (nothing too explicit but marked NSFW just in case). [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

The defunct armory near the Demon Lord’s castle is a relic of bloody, war torn days from a version of the Devildom that no longer exists. The cold stone walls and dusty floors are neglected from years of disuse, and it’s only your growing familiarity with the building that guides your steps through the dimly lit halls. There are sconces on the walls, but most of them aren’t lit. The ones that light your path glow with a flame no demon or human could conjure.

You asked Barbatos once why Diavolo didn’t have the armory torn down or repurposed. He smiled and gave you a vague answer about the young prince’s sentimental feelings about history, but you know that’s not the full truth. The building feels less like a memorial and more like a reminder - or a warning - of what’s to come should Diavolo’s vision of peace between the realms fail. There are many rooms and narrow hallways in the armory you haven’t had the courage to explore. Some of them still smell faintly of ash and blood as you rush past them.

Your destination is the large training area near the building’s center. There are rows of different weapons hung on the walls, but none of them have been used in centuries. They’re caked with grime and dirt and you doubt you could pull one down if you tried. The entrance to this section of the building doesn’t have any windows, but you can see light flickering underneath the door. The threatening sounds of metal slicing through the air and cracking wood grows louder as you approach, but you’re not afraid. You push the door open and slip inside, and you smile when you see who you came to find.

Raphael doesn’t hear your arrival over the sounds of his weapon striking the wooden training dummy over and over again in quick succession. You can barely track the movements of the spear as he lunges and slices with deadly accuracy. He jabs his spear forward into the target of his frustrations and twists his body at the waist. The wood seems to burst from within and it disintegrates onto the floor in a pile of splinters.

He looks down the row of dummies still standing, all of them completely intact having escaped his wrath until now. He holds his arm out and his fingertips glow with the power of his Grace. His magic summons a large number of spears that hover in suspension near the ceiling. He makes a downward slicing motion with his hand, and the spears whistle as they hurl towards the targets below. The volley of spears decimates everything in its path, and he disappears from view in a thick cloud of debris and sawdust.

When the dust settles, the room is silent except for his panting breaths. He realizes he’s not alone and finally turns to you when your muffled footsteps alert him to your presence. If you didn’t know him better, you might think he was annoyed by your interruption; the warmth that leaks into his gaze tells you otherwise.

He makes a subtle gesture with his hand and with a wordless bit of magic, the remaining spear in his hand vanishes. His magic and physical strength are amazing to witness and you're captivated by him.

“You must be exhausted if you’ve been doing this since classes ended.” When he comes here, there's an endless supply of targets for him to practice his skills on. The training dummies in the building are under a type of enchantment that rebuilds them so they can be used repeatedly no matter how they're battered or worn. The ones he destroyed moments ago are already starting to reform behind him.

His coat hangs from a hook on the wall nearby. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his D.D.D.; he looks surprised when he realizes the time. “I didn’t notice how late it had gotten,” he muses with a bashful tilt to his lips. When you’re this close to him, you can see the sheen of sweat on his skin and the dirt and bits of wood that stick to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You know why he comes here: a physical and spiritual release of pent up frustration. He told you that he has difficulty navigating Devildom life sometimes, and he struggles with the urge to deliver retribution when he feels a great offense has been made.

You don’t have all the details, but you know Mammon said something earlier that infuriated him so much that they nearly came to blows after class. When Satan and Beel pulled them apart, Mammon muttered reluctant, half-hearted apologies and went home. Raphael came here to unleash his frustrations instead, so he wouldn’t be tempted to take out his anger on someone else (especially you).

“The more I think about it, the more foolish it seems,” he admits quietly, busying himself with his coat, draping it over his shoulders and fiddling with his arm cuffs.

You place your hand on his so that he’ll look at you properly. “Your feelings are your own truth, and you’re entitled to them the same as anyone else.” You shrug. “Mammon can take his teasing a little too far sometimes. Is that what happened earlier?”

His hand hovers over your cheek. His fingertips are calloused from years of training with his weaponry, and they’re speckled with dirt now too. The desire to touch you always lingers within him, and he worries that the dirt and blood on his hands might stain you.

He breathes a gentle sigh when you bridge the gap for him and rub your cheek against his palm. “He likes to boast that he's your first, and no matter what sense he means, it irritates me. Sometimes I forget that it holds little relevance when it comes to my feelings for you.” His thumb sweeps across your cheek gently. “I should know better than to let him get the best of me.”

You didn’t expect such an honest answer, and his sincerity makes your cheeks grow warm beneath his hand. You lean forward and brush your lips against his. They’re dry and slightly chapped, but you can’t resist him anymore than he can resist you.

He slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in for another kiss. His other hand settles on your waist and he pushes against the small of your back so your hips are flush against his. His lips glide over yours lazily, and he tilts his head and slots your mouths together to deepen the kiss like he’s starved for you. He grows hard against your hip, and you moan quietly when his tongue licks into your mouth and teases yours. You clench your hands in his coat and only pull back when his kiss leaves you breathless.

He leans his forehead against yours and hums while you pant lightly. His eyes flicker between your lips and further down your bodies where he’s holding you tight against him. Part of him wants to push you against the wall and take you, and he fights the temptation to rut against you like a beast. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and stamps down the desire building within him like an inferno; you deserve so much better than that.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs as he touches his nose to yours. “I won’t rush my affections for you in this filthy place.”

You chuckle and kiss his cheek. “I can help you make dinner after you wash up,” you offer, and you flash him a bright smile when he nods.

He steps back from you and laces your fingers together so he can lead you back to the exit, and you walk in comfortable silence together. He leads you through the corridors that lead out of the armory, extinguishing the flames he conjured along the way.

During the walk back to Purgatory Hall, he glances at you from the corner of his eye. Despite the evening darkness, the Devildom streets are better lit than the armory was. He examines your face and sees the smears of dirt and sweat his fingers left on your skin. You don’t seem to mind in the slightest; you always seem so happy just being in his company.

He’s distracted by the warmth of your body so close to his while he escorts you back to his dorm. His lips are slick now from your heated kiss, and his eyes darken when his gaze lingers on your lips. He wants so badly to kiss you again, but he reminds himself that his patience will be rewarded soon enough. Both of you could use a shower, and arousal churns in his belly when he wonders how he can persuade you to join him.

#obey me raphael #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me raphael x reader #raphael x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #raphael smut #obey me raphael x mc #raphael x mc #obey me raphael x you #raphael x you #obey me fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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dontyouworrydaddy · 1 year

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Burn the world for you

Ellie Williams x f! reader

summary: You and Ellie had an argument before you left for a mission. But you never return which causes Ellie to worry…

warning: violence, kidnapping, blood/gore, injuries

Part 2

“Look at me Ellie!” you scream at her. You don’t get it. Why is she acting so difficult lately? She doesn’t look at you. You’re about to leave and try to find some supplies. And Ellie is causing so much drama.

“Y/N I told you to stay! ” she finally answers looking frustrated. You see her hand playing with the bracelet you made her. You look down at your watch sitting on your wrist. 10 minutes before you have to leave “I have to go. I‘ll be back in 3 hours. Then we can talk about whatever is worrying you so much.” you tell her calmly. Before she even gets the chance to respond, you already left. You still don’t understand why she is so overprotective all of a sudden.

It’s not like you‘re doing this for the first time. And it’s not like you’re weak. Quite the opposite. You’re one of the best haunters and fighter. Your fighting skills are beyond awesome but your hearing is getting weak. After standing near a bomb you lost 20 percent of your hearing. It definitely got difficult especially when you’re alone. Sometimes you hear a clicker too late but your reaction time always saves your ass. You never tell Ellie about this. She would never let you go on your own ever again. She is too afraid to loose you too. And you understand her. But she also needs to understand that you’re used to working alone and it’s difficult to focus on a mission and some else.

However, you get everything you need ready and leave the town. The storm is picking up causing you to see less than you expected.

As you arrive at your destination you take your horse inside of the building and close the huge doors behind you. You take out your torch and your gear and start your adventure.

But everything is too quiet which is a bit too unusual. I mean lucky you but you don’t really believe in luck. All your life, you have been unlucky. Life don’t want you to be happy.

You carefully go down the hallway of the building and to your luck there really wasn’t anything. As you enter the room to your left you see a man sitting on a chair and he doesn’t look any familiar.

“Good night, Y/N” this man says and before you can react you feel something hit the back of your head and you fall down.

The last thing you see is many people gathering above you before everything turns black.

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

ELLIE‘S POV

“What do you mean she didn’t return? It’s been 7 fucking hours! She would leave a message or something” I can’t believe it. I knew something like this would happen. I fucking knew it.

The gates suddenly open and we can see 2 of our men riding inside with one horse. Y/N‘s horse. And they don’t look happy.

I jog over to them and wait for them to talk.

“No sign of Y/N” they look afraid. “There was blood. We found her gun but she wasn’t there”

There is no way. I don’t waste any more time and grab my gear before Maria stops me. “Ellie, we don’t know where she is. She might be de-”

I interrupt her immediately. “Don’t you dare… finish that sentence. She is alive and waiting for me to come and get her.” I take a big breath “And I will find her”

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

3RD PERSON

As you slowly wake up you immediately taste the metal taste in your mouth. And soon feel your head hurt like a bitch.

You open your eyes slowly and see that you’re in a basement. It‘s cold. Very cold. You try to move but soon stop because of the pain on your leg. You look down and see your leg covered in blood. It’s very dark and you definitely can’t move it due to the pain. You let out a quiet sob and hold your leg.

“Ellie” you whisper. You should‘ve listened to her.

The door breaks open and unknown people walk in.

“What do you want from me” your angry voice shouts at them. They all stand in front of you and you see one of them with a baseball bat. Fuck.

“We don’t want to hurt you pretty girl” the man with the baseball bat speaks up. You look at him with disgust and try to stand but you fail.

“Tell us where Ellie Williams is” he bends down and whispers loud enough for you to hear.

You chuckle. And spit at him. “Over my dead fucking body” you respond. He wipes his face and smirks. “I warned you” and he lifts his baseball bat and smashes it against your body. You whine and let out a cry. He continues with his torture and you lay there defenseless.

“Tell me where the fuck she is” you barely breath but still manage to laugh like a psychopath. “Fuck you” you tell him and make yourself ready for the final hit where you might die.

Your body is unrecognizable and every single move hurts.

“Do you think I‘m gonna give you a quick death?” he whispers into your face. “Guess. Fucking. What. That won’t happen” you feel tears leaving the corner of your eyes.

He grabs your arm and drags you along with him and your sobs are uncontrollable now.

“You guys stay here and clean up this mess” he orders and continues draging you. You try to fight but your body is screaming at you to rest. You feel your chest tightening and you whisper quiet no‘s to yourself.

He drags you to another room and picks you up just to let you fall on a table.

Now you’re scared because he is gone getting something.

This is your end you think

And you gave up all your hopes.

That was before you heard gunshots in the other rooms.

That guy comes back with a gun holding to your temple and you close your eyes knowing that every single help is too late now.

You hear her voice speaking. The voice you fell in love with and the voice you enjoy listening to.

“You better give her to me. Now!” Ellie tries to stay calm but obviously fails.

“Stay there. One more step and she gets it.” You can feel Ellie hesitate.

“Finally got the chance to meet the Ellie Williams. What a pleasure.”

“What do you want?” she asks clearly about about to lose her shit.

“I want-” he doesn’t get to continue with his sentence before a gunshot echos in the room and soon feel her presence next to you.

“Oh baby…” she whispers while stroking your hair. You cry because the pain is taking over your body.

“It’s okay. Let’s go home.” she whispers and you feel yourself being lifted.

"How did you find me?” you‘re curious.

“I was dreaming about this event. That’s why I didn’t want you to leave” she confesses and know you know why she was so overprotective.

“I would loose myself if I lost you today. Never scare me like this ever again” she says and you rest against her arms. She leaves the building with you in her arms and sets the building on fire.

And you close your eyes. Because now you know that you’re safe.

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie williams tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us part 2 #the last of us x reader #the last of us x y/n #the last of us ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n

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metalroofingsupplyu · 5 months

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olympiabldgfl · 1 year

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Website: https://www.olympiabldgsupplies.com/

Address: 5415 N Australian Avenue, Mangonia Park, FL 33407

Phone: +1 561-612-6745

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lachimolala22019 · 1 year

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Heart full of love

Chapter 1

After losing a beloved person to a war of greed and money.

She never thought a business trip to a small village would lead her to her fate.

She never thought the heart that was once empty will be filled with so much love and adoration for these seven men who she would do anything for.

For first time after the incident her heart was full of love.

They were her family and she will burn anyone who dares to harm them.

Pairing: Hybrid!BTS X Hybrid!reader

Genre: poly, hybrid, mates

Warning: mistreatment.

Masterlist

The loud sound of a metal pipe hitting the iron door made me wake up with a jolt. With my ears pressed to my head, and dilated eyes I look at the door of my room in fright.

I came back to my senses after hearing Marine yelling for us to wake up. It was already seven in the morning, but there was no sunlight coming from the cracked windows. The sky was still covered in thick clouds.

I got up from the cold floor rubbing my eyes to start my daily schedule.

Luckily there was no water on the floor near me through the dripping roof. I would have had to work with damp clothes if my clothes got wet.

The walls however were soaked in water and the mold had gotten worse. There was a strange smell all over the room.

I decided to ignore it as I was already used to it and went out to wash up before I had to get to work. There were around 20 hybrids in the faculty the work was divided between them. I and 6 other hybrids were in charge of cleaning the building.

Walking towards the bathrooms there was a queue of hybrids, I spotted Nate in the line and went toward her.

Nate was a rabbit hybrid who was in charge of cleaning the building with me. Nate came into the faculty a year before me but she was the same age as me.

She was the closest thing to a friend I ever had.

When I came, Nate was the person that was assigned to me to tell me about my work in the faculty. Unlike others, she didn't look at me as if I was her enemy.

Standing behind her, I smiled at her as she faced me. She had a sad pout on her face almost as if she was about to cry.

"What happened Nate?" I asked holding her cold hand in mine.

"The building is a mess because of the rain and thunderstorm, it is going to take us so much time to clean today."

I finally noticed the floors which had a few small tree branches, leaf and mud lying on it. If this was the condition of the bathroom I couldn't imagine what the hallways and canteen look like as they were fully opened.

The fact that the building was near a forest didn't help us at all.

"If we can't clean the building before lunchtime we won't be able to eat," Nate says as she moves forward in line.

"I know, but we can't do anything other than hope that we finish cleaning on time. There are still 6 hours before lunch.", I tell her as we move forward since it was now our turn to use the bathrooms.

There were 4 bathroom in total 2 were used by the girls and the other two by the boys.

After cleaning up and wearing our clothes again we went to the storage room where the cleaning supplies were kept. The other 5 hybrids already picked up their cleaning supplies and went to work.

Nate and I were in charge of the 2nd floor along with James an otter hybrid.

He never talked to us choosing to ignore us and doing his part of the cleaning silently. I didn't know how old he was but seeing his height I could tell he was at least a few years older than us.

Without wasting any further time we quickly picked up our supplies and went to the second floor with the help of stairs.

James was already there picking up the broken branches and shards of a broken glass window.

We spent the whole morning cleaning the 2nd floor. James had already left as soon as the cleaning was done. There was no call for lunch, so we knew we still had some time before we had to go.

I went toward the open window and looked at the small garden, there were some wild plants and weeds with overgrown grass. A small gust of wind blew making my hair blow back, as I closed my eyes to feel the cool air. The scent of wet soil was calming my mind.

I looked back as I felt someone tap my back.

"Y/n it's time for lunch, let's go." Nate said with a tired smile feeling hungry after all the cleaning.

I just nod and followed her, there was a strange ache in my chest and my head felt a bit heavy.

We went to the canteen to have our fill and sat at our usual table. The food was bland the bread was stale, but it was good enough to eat. We also didn't care enough about it as long as we were getting something to fill our stomachs and keep us alive.

Nate and I spent some of our time talking about the adventure we had done when we were roaming the streets, and playing some games I once saw the children in the playground playing.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful I went back to my room as the headache was getting worse and worse. Laying down on the room floor I closed my eyes from exhaustion.

I woke up with a sour throat and pounding in my head. I had no idea what time it was but looking at the dark room and silent hallway it must be nighttime.

My throat was hurting badly I wanted water. I got up from the floor and went to get water from the water jug that was placed at the front desk.

The sound of strong wind was the only thing to be heard in the building.

"It looks like it's going to rain again," I said moving forward in the pitch-black hallway. If it was not for my hybrid eyes I would have tripped on something.

As I reached the front desk I picked up the jug of water and drank some before putting it down.

The sleep had already left me so I decided to go to the garden to take my mind off my throbbing head. I went to a silent corner in the garden and sat on the damp grass which hasn't dried fully yet.

Looking at the sky covered in dark clouds I thought of nothing and decided to close my eyes and fall back on the ground below me trying to relax.

Taglist

@fluffy-canada-pancakes @mageprincess7 @queen-in-the-shadows @ddaeng-angmoh @missseoulite @sugarrush-blush @demarie04 @singukieee

#hybrid au #hybrid bts #hybrid reader #reader x bts #bts x bts #yoongi x reader #bts ot7 #bts ff #jimin x reader #jin x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #hobi x reader #mates #ot7 x reader #ot7 x yn #bangtan ot7

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kyienyy · 1 year

Text

would you still love me?

lee know x male reader wordcount: 1.6k genre: angst, zombie apocalypse au, non idol au

you and minho had always been good friends, good enough that people would always think there was something more than friendship in your relationship.

but everything changed the day the government announced there was a virus going around in korea.

streets were covered in blood, cities were polluted with the entities people call 'the undead' or 'zombies'.

every day was hard. keeping safe from the zombies, protecting the people you love from them; it was all too hard.

not until you were bit.

you and your group of friends had been staying at a run-down building somewhere in seoul for the past week. it had been two weeks since you, minho, jisung, and yongbok ran away from home. the four of you had been stocking on instant ramen, chips, and other foods.

it was a 'normal' day for you, waking up to check if there were zombies near where you were staying, preparing a small meal for all of you, gathering essentials like food, water bottles, and more. until you spotted a few zombies coming from the southeast.

you quietly return back to the small apartment you and minho found while exploring the small building. "leemin? hanji? leeyong? are you there?" you whispered. "(reader), we're here!" minho shouts. you run to where you heard minhos voice in a hurry.

"minho! dont be too loud. i saw a few zombies while i was finding us food." you shush him as soon as you see him. yongbok and jisung give you a weird stare but continue on with what they were previously doing.

"oh. well, if you're really that scared, we could board up the entrances and windows of this building once we get enough supplies for the four of us." minho remarked almost sarcastically

"i'm being serious, lee minho." you sneered. "sorry, sorry. i was also serious, you know? i just came off... sarcastic." minho apologizes calmly. "whatever, im going to check again." you mumbled.

you were about to go back down until you heard loud banging by the entrance of the building. you look to your group of friends in a panic. "guys, i think now is the time we run." yongbok gulped

you run down the stairs to check if it were zombies that were banging on the door or just the wind hitting the entrance. you looked out of the window of the 1st floor.

there they were. alive zombies banging on the one thing that had been protecting all of you. you rushed back up to tell your friends what you had seen, but they were already coming to you.

"guys, the zombies... they're banging at the entrance... what do we do?" you trembled. "we'll be okay, right?" jisung questioned as he looked into minho's eyes.

"jisung-" minho is cut off as a loud bang of metal clashes on the floor and footsteps are heard running into the building.

"just... go back up! hide in our room, i'll try to ward them off." you exclaimed, "no, we can't leave you here!" yongbok stuttered. "just go. they're almost up here." you insisted. minho takes one long look at you and takes your friends arms. "im sorry." minho muttered as he brought yongbok and jisung up the stairs and into their room.

you look down the narrow staircase. what you had heard was true. a group of zombies were running up the stairs. your life had flashed right before your eyes, all the happy moments you had with minho and your group. mostly minho.

you ran up the stairs, you occasionally shouted so that the undead knew you were still there. you felt like your heart was about to explode.

and there he was. minho. he had been following you ever since you had reached the floor that the three were on. he had caught up to you and held your hand. "come on, don't be too slow, or else the zombies'll catch up!" minho joked as if you two weren't being chased.

you and minho had eventually reached the top floor. and the group of zombies were still following the both of you up the staircase. you didn't know what to do after you two got up to the roof, but minho knew what he was going to do.

"hey, zombies! come catch us!" he shouted. a few seconds passed as the footsteps came louder. then you see the first few zombies. "(reader), trust me, okay?" minho whispers to you.

the zombies come in a line, all running to the both of you. minho quickly pulls you to the side, and most of the zombies fall off the rooftop. except for one.

one of the zombies was smarter than rest. the zombie ran to you. grabbing your arm and biting it; hard. you screamed in pain, feeling a tingling feeling in your arm. "MINHO, HELP!" you shouted. you kicked the zombie off of you, and it fell down the building with a splat.

"oh god... (reader)..." minho says as his eyes widen. "it hurts... minho..." you groan. "i'm so sorry." minho mutters as he starts to regret the decisions he just made.

the both of you walk back to your groups room. you have a ribbon tied around your arm, it being tight enough that it stings. you and minho finally reach the room that yongbok and jisung are waiting at.

jisung stares at you with knitted eyebrows and downturned lips. "(reader), are you okay?" yongbok asks, looking at the bite on your forearm. "i... i was bit." you stutter.

the two best friends' eyes widen. minho starts to tear up. "...i was too reckless." minho mumbles. minho looks down as he wipes off his tears. "its not your fault. i'll be okay, i promise. don't cry." you turn to comfort him. you hold minho by the shoulders and hug him softly. "thank you," you whisper into his neck.

the four of you walk out of the building as you tighten the ribbon around your arm. you all eventually find an exit after walking the empty streets.

there was one con to this exit, though. there was another group of zombies that were walking around. the only thing you could do to get out of the town was to distract the zombies.

you walk behind a trash bin in a narrow alleyway, you get ready to shout as loud as you can as to distract the zombies and climb up a ladder further into the alley, but a sharp pain in your arm brings you to your knees.

jisung finds you laying on the floor clasping onto your arm for dear life, something giving him a feeling that the ribbon tied around your arm isn't enough to stop you from turning into something you hate with your whole heart.

"minho! (reader) collapsed, come quick!" jisung shouts. "jisung... shut up. the zombies... they'll hear yo-" a pain in your gut cuts you off.

minho and yongbok rush to where they heard jisungs voice, but they weren't the only ones who rushed to the both of you.

"the zombies- they heard you!" minho shouts "just go that way!" minho adds as he points further into the alley.

you all run deeper into the alleyway, it being dark even though it was still daytime. the zombies followed your group, but they came slowly, as if they were teasing you.

you all had finally reached the end of the dark tunnel like alleyway, but it gave you a realization that you had all missed the nearest ladder to where you were nearest to.

you felt like you were going to collapse then and there. the exhaustion of running made you want to give up already.

you look around the alley for anything that could be used to escape and get out of this lifeless town.

and there it was.

you found a steep flight of stairs going up to the building to the side, but someone would have to distract the zombies so they wouldn't notice the others running up.

"guys, you all should go up those stairs," you point to your group, "if you go there, you'll be able to go to the other side of the building and get out of this damned town." you add. "what about you? aren't you included?" yongbok questions

"i'm not included, i wont be coming with you all." you reply. "WHAT? no, you have to come... you have to..." minho demands. "i have to distract the zombies so you all can get out safely-" "i dont care if we don't get get out safely. we can't just leave you here!" minho shouts.

"i'm infected either way, i won't be any help to you guys." you mumble. "but- we cant-" minho cuts himself off. minho sighs deeply and looks to his feet then to the approaching entities.

"okay. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry." minho says as he hugs you tightly. "i love you." minho sobs into your shoulder. you share your last group hug with the most important people in your life

the three quickly climb up the staircase, careful not to make too much noise. minho is the first to be able to get up. he watches as you slowly walk nearer and nearer to the undead.

"i love you too." you whisper to yourself. the zombies fully engulf you until the group can't see you anymore. minho falls to his knees as he holds his hair and cries silently.

"let's just... get out of here. i'm sorry." yongbok says as he pats minho's back. "he's... gone." minho cries out.

the three quickly run out of the abandoned town and eventually find a safety camp after roaming around.

minho never forgot you.

requested

#kpop #kpop angst #skz #skz angst #stray kids #stray kids angst #skz lee know #stray kids lee know #lee know #lee know angst #lee know x male reader #lee know x male reader angst #lino #lino angst #lino x reader #lee minho #lee minho angst

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ilikebigbellydotnom · 6 months

Text

Mike's Big Meal at Freddy's

This is my interpretation of a vore alternative to the ending of the movie (no kids are harmed in the making of this story, only evil sexy old men!)

Inspiration for this whole thing is thanks to @woogydoo & Astralseasoning! Check out their beautiful Michael collaboration!

https://x.com/astralseasoning/status/1729544595347038542?s=20

William Slashes at his daughter, casuing a near fatal injury, she looks up at her father with batrayel in her eyes as she claspes to ground!

"D-Dad??"

Abby slams the drawing of the evil yellow rabbit on the board, removing the control Mr.Afton had upon them. with their priorities shifted and walking towards the yellow rabbit man, Michael gets up from the ground, in a notable amount pain, but also a in a fit of furious hunger, weither it was caused by the remorse of his late brother, or the fear of lossing his younger sister Michael knew no prison or cell was ever going to be good or safe enough to protect himself and his family from him, with that thought in mind, Michael gets up off the ground grabing both his head and tummy as the recovery from that animatronic kick had really make his head ring. He stands up looking over at Vanessa as Abby is trying her best to put pressure on the wound with some bundled clothes. he walks over to check on his sister before dealing with the evil rabbit.

"She isn't going to make it Mike..."

"Don't say that! GROAN... i need you and Vanessa out of here, you need to get her to the hospital as quick as possible!"

"B-but im just a kid and i can't lift her up on my own!?"

"Hand me your crayons and paper!"

She gives him her supplies, he draws Chica, Cupcake, Bonnie, and Foxy walking with Abby to a clinic or hospitial building carrying Vanessa. He runs to the board as the animatronics and William look over at what he's doing.

"Wh-what else do you think you're doing...?"

"Stopping you my self, GROAN GURGLE"

Michael's gut groans from an unexpected hunger, michael knows what he must do but he has to make sure his sister and friend are safe! the animatronics respond to the new message and go over to Abby and Vanessa, where Chica picks up the injuried woman and the other two leave with Abby to the hospitial building.

"MIKE! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO HERE ALONE WITH HIM!?"

"GO AND ADMIT VANESSA ABBY! YOU DON'T NEED TO BE HERE TO SEE WHAT IM ABOUT TO DO! IF ALL GOES WELL I WON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT DINNER FOR MYSELF FOR A FEW WEEKS!"

"HUH!?"

Bonnie nugges her along towards the entrence doors.

"Alright im moving!"

They leave the dangerous pizzaria and Michael is now alone with William, The yellow rabbit looks over to the lone man who he thinks is about to become his latest murdered victum. unfortunately for him, Freddy grabs his shoulders and lifts the big man up!

"WHAT!? DO YOU THINK YOU'RE SOME KIND OF HERO!? LET ME DOWN THIS INSTANCE!"

Freddy slowly shakes his head as he stands there looking over at Michael rubbing his cheeks with swift motion along his fuzzy jawline relaxing the muscles and with mild strain his jaw is now unhinged from his face and ready to swallow any size meal thrown his way!

"Ha you think that scares me!? ive got a large mouth to you know, its not like its possible a short pathetic pint size security guard is going to fit and detain me!?"

Michael nods his head and limps forwards towards the yellow rabbit and bear.

"Trust me, euUgh! i don't plan on missing a bolt or tuff of fabric on your body while i swallow you whole, you think im incapeable because of my size, but you're incapeable of doing the same thing to me because of your suit, and i know it has springloaded locks and a heavy metal frame, which with the help of freddy here makes you easy prey!"

Freddy walks closer to Michael in the dim light with his evil meal wriggling in the animatronics grasps.

"th-THIS is nOT WHAT SUSPOSSED TO HAPPEN!?"

Michael gets down on his knees and grabs the faded yellow colour boot in his hands. Grasping it firmly before looking up and speaking to William one last time from outside his small but powerful belly.

"Since when don't the good guys win in the end, you've had this coming for a long time! and im going to make sure you're never able to harm anyone AGAIN! GURRGLE GROAN!!!!"

Michael's stomach roars from its expecting meal adding to the end of his final statement. He grabs at both the thrashing legs forcing them to be still, they are both massive and appear to be filthy, he's dreading having to do this as he has to sqelch his mouth over them. But his gut and heart knows what he's suspossed to do.

"You sick fuck, you've never cleaned this suit have you!?"

"Don't you dare judge me Michael!"

he shovels the legs into his mouth taking time to make sure his smaller frame can handle the strain of his biggest meal he's ever had. his lips began sliding over the knees as his maw is producing more saliva to allow his meal easier entrence.

"Holy shit.. you're already up past my knees!?"

Michael pauses to catch his breath, the large man in his throat is taking a lot of energy out of the injured man to consume whole. Freddy doesn't seem to care what Michael wants he begins to slowly lower the rest of the elderly man into the maw of the poor securty guard...

"Freddy! i made you what you are today! stop feeding me to him!!"

The animatronic shakes his head no, denying what his former tormenter asks of him. With the aid of Freddy, he is at the chest of the suit where william becomes impailed by the spring loaded locks!Triggered from the inside of the outfit by the force of michael's lips and throat pressing into it.

"GEEEEAAAAH HACK"

William coughs up some blood, he "lives" but stops resisting and allows Michael to consume the rest of him. Freddy lets go upon seeing his frame relax and wince, the final swallows of the large meal look unreal on the small mans frame, a large human covered in metal is now on his way into his huge desented gut!

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS MICHAEL! YOU CAN'T JUST EAT ME AND GET RID OF ME JUST LIKE THA- GULLUCK GULP"

Michael shoves his drooly tongue over the fuzzy face of the child murder and shovels him into his gut prison. occupation one for life.

"BRAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUP UUUUUUUUUGH MY GUT HURTS SO MUCH!"

Michael is a first time predator, he can't stomach a large meal easily as this is his very first, his thin physique wraps around the crushing and twitching yellow rabbit inside, every creavous is shown as william contrinues to fight through the pain! Shouting up on non caring ears.

"BRRRRRUUUAAAP"

Freddy claps for Michael's belch and feels bad for his siutation. He walks over to the bloated man who is currently catching his breath while leaning upon his strained belly thats a little larger then he is standing.

"Freddy, buddy i don't feel great, uggggh i need your help to get to the first aid kit in the backroom, and i can't walk norminally, ill die if i try to walk around with this prick inside me right now..."

"GFFUUUUCK OFFFTT"

The tight stomach twitches as it muffles the responses of the rabbit man inside crying out. Freddy carries Michael's body in one arm and the belly contents in the other arm bridal style to the backroom so that Michael can rest and treat his leg injury. The Animatronic puts Michael down to the ground after squeezing his gut through the doorway with him, once on the ground Freddy grabs a chair and the kit for Mike to clean his wound and rest up.

"Thanks uh, buddy im going to dress my leg and then rest over night here, i can't go out looking like this at the hospitial!"

Michael bends over crunching his gut contents while pouring the alcohol on his leg wound and cleaning it up with a bandage. while doing so he can feel underneath the new layor of fat, the metal frame is still in contact, the motion has managed to force Michael to belch out the mascot head!

The bloated man says as his gut begins to ripple and shift from the defined outline of the yellow rabbit smoothing over as the flesh with in his suit is flooded with his stomach acids melting down the man into a fattening and nutritional slurry for Michael's body, the gut rounds out as the space with in fills out with thick liquids and a faint layer of fat shows up on his belly.

"Bruuap holy shit, you're so dense and filling... You're going to do a number on me..."

Michael rubs at his dissented rounded gut, the feeling of having someone bigger then him melt and churn inside oneself was new but something he never expected to enjoy...

"Keep the place safe Freddy, i think im going into... a food comma..."

1 day later

Michael wakes up to a groaning gurgle and muffled voice from his midsection.

"Uggggghhh, how am i still so full..."

he looks down to see his gut is moving, but with a less defined prey outline on his belly. somehow throughout the time michael digested the human portion of William, the man keeps coming back to life roughly every 24 hours.

"OHHHHHHH LOOK THE FAT ASS IS AWAKE!"

"Y-YOU'RE SUSPOSED TO BE DEAD!?"

"THE FEELINGS MUTUAL! BUT REMEMBER MICHAEL WHEN I SAID, YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME, ILL ALWAYS COME BA-"

"BEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAARUP! as you were saying!?"

Michaels gut must have made real work of the meaty meal, his belly seemed to strech out a bit more casuing Michael more comfort with its contents, and a couple inches to his overall gut size! Michael's backside, butt, and limbs have gained some muscles as well allowing him enough support now to walk with his heavy gut infront of him. Michael streches his legs, only to find out the wound on his leg has fully healed.

"What the hell, h-how long was i asleep!?"

"I don't know, but its less cramped in here now!, RELEASE ME MICHAEL! MICHAEL!!"

Michael ignores Afton as he looks at the time, it apears to show an hour in the past, but the reality of michael's healing and the odd time on the clock set in and he realizes Abby is still at the hospitial with a possible dead Vanessa, and his aunt who's surely going to be there with full custody papers...

"AHHH CRAP! we HAVE to go old man! Abby and Vanessa need me!"

"EERRRRGGGH! I BETTER NOT HAVE FAILED MY KILL!"

"thats your daughter dude, you really do desierve every minute of this!"

Michael teases by rubbing the sides of his engorged belly casing what little movement william has to be triggered in wriggling anger. Michael lifts up and clenches his gut, causing Willaim to be rapid digested partialy, this causes his gut to have a more liquid filled tear drop apearence instead of a noiceable large human inside like before.

"Holly shit you're going to destroy my figure if you keep coming back... but hey at least you can't talk or get us caught like this!"

"gluurk sploosh"

Michael runs out of the building as fast as he could muster, getting caught in a door frame as he leaves. Within an hour long jog michael makes it to the local hospitial, hopping someone knows if Vanessa and Abby are presant. With luck as michael approches the desk the nurse looks down concerned for the sweety pred who just jogged across a city. He tells her he has a growth that can't be romoved and its nothing to be worried about, she belives him and he asks her where Officer Vanessa is checked in.

"Yes she is! are you michael by chance?"

"I-I am... huff huff"

michael replies with fated breath.

"theres a little girl in the waiting room a few floors up that came with the officer and a bunch of mascots"

"mascots- do you know where they went??"

"yes, but no, they just left once we took care of the injured woman and your daughter right out those doors"

"oh no shes not my daughter, im her legal gaurdian yes but she's actually my sister..."

"i see well go on up then, and just note Miss.Vanessa is in a deep sleep on recovery, so don't wake her up."

Mike nods and finally relaxes his huge gut, and sways with it leasurely into the empty elevaitors.

Michael's ending occurs here, with a permanent supply of carbs and protien from William's occupation inside his fat gut, Michael lives a life at home collecting a disability check and claiming that William's pudgey imprisonment is his own misfortune. as far as Abby knows that story about a growth is true, and goes many more years believing it. He atteneds digitial only teacher and school meetings, along with part time employment on the phone and internent.

Traversing between the homestead and the pizzaria at night with his limited mobility is a workout as by that time of night the gut sludge he usually bares is really off centring, in this universe the fazbear pizzaria was never destroyed, the animatronics returned to guard the place as Vanessa is alive and well, after she awakes she must surrender her badge and be discharge from the police force for being an accomplance to a series of cold case murders as a minnor. with her spare time she bacame a good mother like role model to Abby and a stable woman in Michael's life. With the three of them doing regualr weekly pizza parties with the animatronics keeping them bonded and happy for years to come! Although Michael doesn't have to eat every day any more, he still hummors his taste buds and torture William by slowly eating a whole entire king pizza once a week at said parties if its possible to keep him alive that long.

The End

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final-girl96 · 11 months

Text

Broken World: Chapter Nine

As soon as Glenn and the man got back, the rest of us went into action. Jacquie and Andrea stayed by the door, T-Dog and Morales took out a few walkers, and I kept watch to make sure no more walkers appeared from the end of the alleyway. The door was closed and locked once everyone was safely inside. The man who Glenn had just saved was wearing a police uniform. Andrea was quick to push him into a table that was near the door and shove her gun in his face. Of course, Andrea, not knowing anything about guns or how to use them still had the safety on. "Andrea, put the gun down," I said.

"We're dead because of you!" She said to the guy before pulling away from him. "I don't understand." He looked around at all of us in confusion. Morales grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the store front. "Look, we came into the city to scavenge supplies. You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving. You know what the key to surviving is? Sneaking in and out, tiptoe. Not shooting the streets up like it's the O.K. Corral."

We stopped and looked at the doors. Walkers were crowding the glass doors, pounding their dead fists against them. "You started shooting and shooting makes noise and noise attracts walkers," I said, nodding towards the doors. "Every geek for miles heard you popping off rounds," T-Sog said. "You just rang the damn dinner bell," Andrea told him. Right now, we were relatively safe. The walkers hadn't broken through the first set of doors yet. Key word being yet.

"Get the picture now, sheriff?" He looked at me and down at the badge and nodded. The glass on the Kotter doors started to crack the more pounding and pressure it received from the geeks outside. I took notice of one of the walkers. It had a large rock or maybe part of brick or concrete in its hands and was hitting it against the glass. We all moved back further into the store. "What the hell were you doing out there?" I asked.

"Trying to flag the helicopter," he said. We all looked at him like him in confusion. "Helicopter? Man, that's crap. Ain't no damn helicopter," T-Dog said. Jacquie looked at him, trying to be gentle. "You were chasing a hallucination, imagining things. It happens." That didn't seem to make him happy. "I saw it," he argued. Morales turned to look at T-Dog and asked if he could try the C.B. to contact the others. He brought it up and tried to tune into the channel.

"Others? The refugee center?" We all looked at the new guy. "Yeah, the refugee center. They've got biscuits waiting in the oven for us," Jacquie said. "Got no signal. Maybe the roof," T-Dog said. Just as he finished, we heard gunshots. "I'm going to fucking kill Dixon," I mumbled. We all ran towards the stairs to the roof and quickly ran up them and out the door. Merle was standing on the edge of the building, shooting down at the walkers.

"What the actual fuck are you doing, Dixon?!" I yelled. He hopped down and looked at me. "You are such a fucking asshole! What the hell is wrong with you?" He spread his arms out and laughed a little. "You outta be nicer to a man with a gun, sugar tits!" Before I could say anything T-Dog said something and then that turned into a fight and Merle trying to make himself the one in charge. That's when me and the new sheriff that strolled into town on a horse took care of him.

Merle was now handcuffed to a piece of metal. I knelt down in front of him and went through his pockets. "Oh, well, look here! Well, that's no surprise." I stood up with a small little bag of cocaine that I found in his pocket, walked over to the edge, and threw it over the side. "Hey, that was my good shit!" I went back over and bent down to look at him. "Yeah, you got some right…." I flicked the tip of his nose. "There."

I walked away and back over to look over the side of the building. The street was covered in a blanket of dead people shuffling around until something living caught their attention. I saw Morales talking to the sheriff for a few minutes before he walked over to stand beside me. “How can I help you, sheriff?” I asked. He sighed and leaned on the edge where we were standing. “Sheriff's Deputy, actually. Name’s Rick,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Y/N. Homicide detective for Atlanta PD, but I started off as a police officer back in my hometown. What brought you all the way here, Rick?” I asked. “I’m looking for my wife and son. Heard there was supposed to be a refugee center here in the city. I was hoping I would find them there.” I hummed in response. “Yeah, It was here at one point, but it didn’t last long. It lasted maybe a week before it all turned to complete chaos. The dead outnumbered the military by a lot. It all fell…so quickly. When they finally figured out that they wouldn’t be able to control it, they bombed the city.”

We talked a little more before we all started to talk about how we were going to get out of here. Jacquie had mentioned that she used to work in the city's zoning office and suggested we try the tunnels. So, a few of us went down to the basement. I stayed up on the roof with T-Dog, who was trying to get in touch with the group back at the quarry, and Merle. "Hey, sweetheart, why don't ya let your old pal out these handcuffs, huh?"

"Shut up, Dixon, you did this to yourself," I said. He scoffed and spit to the side. "Daryl ain't gonna be too happy when he hears about this," he said. I knew what he was trying to do, and it wasn't going to work. "I don't give a shit what your brother thinks, Merle." I was glad when the rest of the group came back. Unfortunately, we weren't able to get out through the tunnels, but Rick did come up with an idea after asking more questions about the walkers.

"They see you or smell you, they catch you, they eat you." Morales said. "Can they tell the difference from smell?" Rick asked. "Can't you?" Andrea asked. "They smell dead, we don't. It's pretty distinct," I told him. After looking over the side of the roof, he made a decision. We left Merle up on the roof and headed back downstairs where we brought Rick in.

The plan was to cover him and Glenn in guts from a walker. Nobody enjoyed it. We had to cut the walker open, and then we started spreading the guts on him and Glenn, who wore lab coat type coats. We all also wore gloves and protective eyewear. Once they were all covered and out the door, the rest of us rushed back up to the roof to watch them navigate through the walkers filled streets.

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checkxmaster · 11 months

Note

"The hell is your problem, dude? Did you seriously forget about me? Or what, you think I'm a clone? Be for real."

It was getting dark, so Chad pulled his armored vehicle over to the side of the road and set about preparing to settling in for the night. Over the years, he'd accumulated a lot of tech to help him survive, from computers and GPS, to motion sensors, timers, and alarms. Generators and power storage units were essential, as were solar panels and other methods of harnessing power as electrical grids began to fail seemingly everywhere.

Some of the tech he built himself, having raided hardware stores for parts, and others he'd acquired from abandoned police stations and homes. It passed the time, to sit and occupy himself with building computers, or to set up surveillance systems, or to create spreadsheets to catalogue all of his supplies, and he liked to keep his skills sharp. Why? He didn't really know anymore. Maybe it just kept him sane. He had about a million flashlights, flares, weapons, and a multitude of ammunition types, complete with all the batteries, solar chargers, hardware enhancements, additional parts, and optional adjustments he could store.

Metal boxes, backpacks, and duffel bags were stacked in an almost hedge-maze-like fashion inside the armored vehicle he'd taken over after it had been abandoned by the military. His bed was little more than a shelf nestled into all this organized chaos, but he found it strangely comforting to be boxed in while he slept... especially since he was alone most of the time.

Occasionally he joined up with some survivors, but he found it difficult to remain with them. Their goals were vastly different, with civilians wanting to find somewhere safe to hunker down and barricade, and Chad wanting to keep on the move to see what he could do to screw Umbrella over or help other people.

He'd gotten his motion sensor perimeter up around his mobile home, as it were, and had just taken his nightly dose of painkillers so he'd have half a chance of sleeping. The deep scars from where the licker had grabbed him as well as the pain of a few broken bones that hadn't quite healed properly from being thrown off the train on the way out of the Hive had him pretty much in near-constant pain. He'd learned to live with it, and as long as he was busy and moving, he could ignore it. At night, though, he needed some extra help from good ol' pharmaceuticals. Just over-the-counter, though, nothing too heavy. He couldn't risk not being able to wake up if something significant went down. And absolutely nothing with an Umbrella logo on the bottle.

That was when one of his alarms went off, indicating that something was moving in the near vicinity of the vehicle. "Really?" he groaned, his head falling to the right as he lay in his bed to look at the screen across the way. Sure enough, it was blinking. Sighing, he sat up and typed away, looking at the camera feed indicating movement. To his severe disappointment, it wasn't one of the undead. It looked like a soldier of some kind. "Just perfect," he said cynically. Grabbing a couple guns, he went out to investigate. What he found was... startling, to say the least.

It... it was Rain. His heart began to pound. No, Rain's dead. Don't get fooled again by those stupid clones. Man, they were creepy... Clones of his now-deceased friends and comrades that often times acted nothing like the originals. The Rain ones... were always particularly nasty. He lifted his rifle, leveling it at her. "That's far enough," he said coldly, assuming this was a clone. How can it not be?

But then she spoke, and almost simultaneously he began to notice that she looked a bit older. The clones always looked young, pristine. Swallowing hard, Chad found it difficult to breathe with how vigorously his heart was now pounding, rattling his ribcage. Faltering a little in his resolve, the tip of his rifle slowly dipped a bit and he stared incredulously at her.

"N-no, I-... Of course I didn't forget about you, but..." But you're dead. You've gotta be. Forgetting Rain - or anyone else he'd lost in the Hive due to his incompetence, poor planning, and cracking under the pressure - was never an option. He saw their faces almost nightly in the twisted horrors of his guilt-fueled nightmares.

Chad blinked, not knowing what to do. The rifle lowered just a bit more at the mention of clones. "Yeah, actually, that's exactly what I'm thinking. Wait, you're-... Are you telling me you're not a clone?" Oh, how he wanted to believe that, but he'd been fooled before, almost fatally. "Come on, don't fuck with me..." he said, more with a crestfallen type of exhaustion than with any sort of real intimidation attempt. "If you're not a clone... then prove it."

If this really was Rain, the real Rain, then he was about to feel like a huge jerk momentarily. But if it wasn't... he couldn't afford to let his guard down...

#wanderingaroundwithmysoul #kaplan rp #{ on to the next mission } ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ #{yassss let's get these two back in the saddle again haha}

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

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ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ ||

2K12! Leonardo x Waterbender! Reader

a/n: if there's anything I love in this world, it's a good diet of foreboding and build up. tw: mentions of blood

Y/n’s bored.

She’s very, very bored.

“And this is how World War 1 started.” The teacher speaking snaps her out of her daydream, and she glances down at the messy notebook in front of her. She scrawled a few words on it, still trying to get used to the grip of a pen.

As soon as the bell rang (which apparently signals the start of school here, according to April), they made it to the first lesson of the day: History.

It’s different from what she’s used to; most of her basic lessons have been taught by the private tutor her uncle had employed for both her and Yue. Most of the time, though, she was in the Healing Huts, learning from the older women of the Tribe.

Her aptitude for healing made her famous, though it was only momentary. She was often called over by the elders to help out with injuries caused by the waterbending school Master Pakku ran.

Her smile falters momentarily when she recalls an old memory that remains stuck in her head to this day.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

"Does no one wanna play with me?" An eight-year-old Y/n mumbles with a pout, stacking the toy blocks absentmindedly.

"I'm sure they're just shy!" Her cousin chirps from beside her, copying how she stacks the blocks.

Y/n just shrugs from beside her, brightening up slightly when she sees a few kids her age making their way over.

"Hi! Wanna play with us, Yue?"

"Sure! What about Y/n?"

"She can come too, I guess. But it'll be more fun without her!"

Y/n wilts at the comment, already looking away as her hair covers her face, acting as a shield for the saddened expression on her face.

"Well, I won't go if she isn't coming either!"

— — — —- —- — — — — —

“You good?” She hears April whisper from the corner of her mouth, glancing over in worry. Her eyes widen when she sees the large blots of ink that stain the paper on Y/n’s desk, practically soaking through.

Y/n grins sheepishly, holding her pinky to reveal a pigmented blue stain. “Still getting used to it. I much prefer brushes.”

They share a giggle, only for Y/n to sit upright when she hears the teacher clear her throat. “Is something funny, Miss O’Neil? And your friend as well, Miss…?”

“Beifong. Y/n Beifong of the Northern Water Tribe.” She supplies, wanting to be helpful to the teacher.

“Miss Beifong of the…Northern Water Tribe. Is there something funny about the war?”

“Kind of,” Y/n shrugs, not noticing how April desperately tries to signal her to stop talking.

“Would you like to share your thoughts with the class?”

“It’s mainly just that it’s very different from where I’m from. There was a lot of Bending involved in the war.”

“Bending?” The teacher repeats, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Y/n nods, standing up and going over to the whiteboard. She picks up a tool that resembles a pen and starts to draw four separate circles on the whiteboard.

“Air, Fire, Earth, and Water. These are the basic four elements. There’s also metal, but that’s more of Toph’s expertise.

“The four nations were once united in harmony. My uncle used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace when the Avatar kept balance between the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, Fire Nation, and Air Nomads.

But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all four elements. Only he could stop the ruthless firebenders. But when the world needed him most, he vanished. A hundred years passed, and the Fire Nation neared Victory in the War.”

At this point, she realizes that everyone in the class has stopped talking, staring at her silently. Even the boys in the back who were joking were watching, the girls putting away their phones.

April has her head in her hands.

Y/n grins, happy that everyone is paying such rapt attention. “Here’s where it gets funny; my friends found the Avatar in an iceberg and broke him out! My friend Katara was the one that did so. She’s a fantastic waterbender. Sokka was there, too, I guess.

We fought against Zuko, the exiled prince of the Fire Nation — now the Lord, though. At first, I thought he was just really depressed. And he was! But I’m pretty sure he’s alright now.”

She’s cut off by the bell ringing, setting down the pen with a massive smile.

“Well, that was…interesting. Maybe you should sign up for our school’s creative writing course.” The teacher forces a smile onto her lips, but Y/n beams at the compliment.

“Thank you! I have gotten praise from my tutor that I have excellent storytelling skills. It came in handy while we were on the run and needed entertainment.”

“Okay, we’re leaving.” Y/n’s arm is grabbed by April, who begins to drag her out of the classroom.

“Wait! I was going to tell her about the time Sokka and Katara had to suck on frogs!” Y/n protests, but upon seeing April’s scarlet red cheeks, she falls silent and follows without complaint.

She spots a few people from the earlier classroom, waving a quick hello with a warm smile. It falters, however, when she spots them whispering to each other and eyeing her up and down.

Y/n starts to feel uncomfortable. Maybe her outfit wasn’t appropriate enough? She glances down, trying to pinpoint precisely what looked so wrong.

“What’s wrong?” She leans on the sink, the two of them the only ones in the restroom. April sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“Look, Y/n. Stuff like waterbending and earthbending…It’s like a fairy tale to everyone here. If you continue to talk about it, they’ll think you’re crazy!” April tries to explain, Y/n tilting her head in thought.

“So, no waterbending?”

“And no frogs.”

“No frog talk??” She’s already devastated.

“Not in public. But you gotta tell me when we’re back home, it sounds like such a wild story.” April grins, feeling much more relieved with Y/n’s eager nod.

The bell rings, and they share a worried look.

“Didn’t you say that the bell only rings when…?”

“Yeah. We’re late for class. Let’s go!” April grabs her hand, dragging the waterbender behind her as they rush to class.

“Sorry! My apologies!” Y/n winces when someone bumps against her shoulder roughly, the student sending her a glare until a flicker of recognition flashes across their face.

“You’re that chick! The Elemental Bending girl!”

“I am!” She slows in her steps, pleasantly surprised that they knew who she was.

“Your imagination’s rad. You should make that into a show!”

“Sorry, Casey. Y/n, let’s go!” April urges. Grabbing her wrist, they run to the next class. Y/n quickly waves to the boy in the hallway, shrugging off his remark about her imagination.

It stung, but it wasn’t as if she could waterbend in public here.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

Mutant Monsters and robot ninjas are taking over my city. How long before those freaks hurt somebody close to me? Like my dad, my little sister…

April.

Well, I’m not waiting around to find out. All my life, I knew I was meant for something greater.

This is my calling, my destiny.

A true warrior’s gotta be prepared.

“Scum-sucking mutant freaks of the world, prepare to meet Casey Jones.”

— — — —- —- — — — — —

“My sons, you are truly becoming impressive warriors. But to grow as a team, you must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Mikey swings his nunchucks threateningly, moving close to Donnie and burping in his face. Y/n groans, sticking out her tongue in disgust. He laughs obnoxiously at her reaction, proud of himself.

“Right in my face??” Donnie cries, outraged, as his eyes start to burn from the rancid smell.

“Garlic and clam pizzaaa,” Mikey says smugly.

“This competition is a free for all. Last turtle standing wins.” Master Splinter states firmly, “Hajime!”

Raph immediately runs towards Donnie, whose vision is still blurred from Mikey’s potent attack, kicking him in the side and instantly knocking him out of the competition. Donnie lands against the dojo wall, and she quickly gets up to help him sit upright.

“This might help.” She bends some water to cover her palm, holding it against his closed eyes as he slumps against her side in relief.

“Thanks,” He mumbles gratefully.

Y/n continues to watch the fight, Mikey already out of the battle while Leo and Raph square off. She’s not paying close attention, more focused on patting Mikey’s head when he leans on her with a happy hum and healing Donnie.

“Oooh! Look!” She glances over at where Mikey’s pointing, wincing as she watches Leo use the tree in the dojo to gain an advantage, kneeing Raph in the face.

“That’s gotta hurt,” She mumbles, hiding the chuckle that almost slips past her lips at Leo’s smug grin. She couldn’t let Raph hear. If there's anything she learnt during her time spent with them, it's that they’re much more alike to her friends back at home than she initially thought.

Raph reminded her so much of Toph, his temperament practically mirroring hers. The only difference being that she was blind, of course.

He lands face down on the Dojo mat, Leo clearing his throat and propping his katana behind his back as he sneaks a look from the corner of his eye to see if she’s watching.

She is.

The corner of her lips tugs up slightly, making eye contact with Leo, who averts his gaze with a flush on his cheeks. He clears his throat, picks up his katana and sheathes them on his back. He takes a knee, sneaking yet another peek with a proud smile.

She’s again distracted when she feels the sudden flow of Raph’s blood speed up, practically sensing his heartbeat quicken as he grows angry with each passing second.

Her hands tingle, feeling her body still as everything else fades into white noise. Her heart slows, starting to see the flow of energy and life that surround her in the dojo.

Leo’s is a royal blue, Mikey’s a burnt orange, and Donnie’s is a warm brown. Raph’s is a scarlet red, burning brighter the more the blood rushes to his head in anger. It’s a stunning shade, one that catches her attention instantly.

The color reminds her of something familiar. The answer’s on the tip of her tongue, a whisper encouraging her to remember it.

Blood.

“Uh, Y/n?” Donnie voices out worryingly, the once cool sensation quickly turning into a rising temperature he can’t withstand. She doesn’t notice, eyes still trained on the movement of the two brother’s limbs with cold eyes. He shifts uncomfortably on her shoulder, scrunching his snout as the water continues to heat up.

“Dudette?” Mikey waves his hand in front of her face, and she snaps out of it, warmth flooding back into her body almost instantly. She blinks.

What was that?

It felt as if the cold fingers of death itself had gripped its claws around her heart, slowly freezing it over. But as soon as she snaps out of it, it retreats back into the inky depths from where it came from inside her.

Suddenly it’s hard to breathe. She pulls her hand away from Donnie’s closed eyes, staring at the rough calluses with tightness in her gaze. Something really wasn’t right with her.

“I…have to go.” She stands up abruptly, surprising everyone. Master Splinter merely nods in approval, and she turns, walking out of the dojo with hurried steps.

“I’m gonna go on a walk too.” Raph grunts with a roll of his eyes, shoving Leo’s shoulder and following the same path that Y//n took.

— — — —- —- — — — — —

My city is infested. A boil, a festering sore. It stinks with evil.

Pure evil only Casey Jones can face.

— — — — — — — — — —

Y/n’s chest is tight, fists pressed against her heart and trying to regulate her breathing.

Whatever that was back in the lair, it’s gone now. She looks up, the number of stars that dot the sky incredibly sparse compared to back in her world.

She turns to see the next rooftop, spotting Raph kicking a metal sheet. She takes a deep breath, calming herself down before bending water from a puddle beside her and creating a platform across.

“You good?” Y/n walks over to where he’s now sitting. She sits beside him, and he moves over to make space for her.

“Yeah. I’m good.” His short answer didn’t deter her; she was already used to the occasional outbursts from Toph when she couldn’t control her anger. She grabs her water bag, offering him a sip.

He hesitates but takes it and gulps down the refreshing liquid before clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He passes it back to her without a word of thanks, just a simple nod.

She places it back on her waist, sighing blissfully as the chilly breeze brushes against her ears. It isn’t as cold as the North Pole is, but the mornings feel close enough.

“When I first met Toph – Aang’s earthbending teacher, I thought she was cool but also a brat.” Raph glances over at Y/n who begins to absentmindedly tell him about her life. “She was born blind, her parents super overprotective and not letting her breathe. But wanna know how we found her?”

“How?”

“An underground fight. Toph was the reigning champion over all the other fighters in Ba Sing Se. Her stage name was The Blind Bandit.” Y/n chuckles fondly, recalling how surprised they were when Toph first walked into the arena.

“Sounds pretty cool to me.” Raph grins, leaning back as he continues to listen.

“She is! She’s incredibly talented but loses her temper easily and is incredibly stubborn. You kinda remind me of her.” Y/n pauses, seeing Raph frown.

“I don’t lose my temper easily,” Raph huffs, crossing his arms as he glares at her.

“Sure,” Y/n chuckles, unfazed. She’s dealt with Toph almost causing an earthquake once – nothing else would ever be that scary. “But the thing is, she just didn’t know how to process her emotions well. She’s just a kid. But there was one way we vented.”

“What is it?” Raph’s interest is now piqued, intrigue in his frustrated eyes. Y/n stands up, gesturing for him to do the same. She steps back, bending the water out of her water bag and sending a sharp disc flying right at him.

Raph yelps, barely dodging it as it leaves a small scratch against his cheeks. “What the heck??”

He grips his Sais, already irritated by the sudden attack.

“What’s wrong? Are you scared?” She taunts with a smirk, already preparing for her next attack. She sends a stream of water to wrap around his legs as he charges at her, using his momentum to flip him on his back.

He growls, the smile on her face only angering him further. She draws back the water whip, holding her hand in a mocking ‘come here’ gesture. He runs towards her once again with an aggressive yell, dodging the stream of water she sends his way and doing a quick front flip when it gets close to his legs.

“And here I thought water’s just harmless to turtles,” She feigns a pout, a mischievous glint in her eyes as her words only fuel the burning fury in Raph’s eyes. It’s all too easy to get on his nerves, shifting and sweeping her leg in a semicircle to bring the water back and create a wall of ice to protect herself.

His weapon stabs into it, and he struggles to pull it out. Y/n peeks out from behind it, unable to resist yet another taunt. “Aww, do you need some help?” She offers with a chuckle, yelping when he almost punches her.

“You little-!” Raph pants heavily, still trying to get his Sais out of where they’re stuck in the ice. “Whatever, I don’t need them to beat you!” He huffs angrily, changing tactics and charging straight at her instead.

Her eyes narrow, bringing her hands back and moving them forward quickly, bending the ice to change it back into its liquid state and sending it once more to creep up his leg and stop him from moving any closer to her.

He didn’t expect it, the sudden chill that encompassed his leg a surprise. He grunts, trying to move his now frozen leg. He spots his Sais on the ground, lunging towards them and stretching his hands out, barely reaching the hilts.

He grabs them, using all his strength to break the ice with the sharp prongs. It shatters, and he's in front of her in the blink of an eye.

He raises his clenched fist, intending to use the back of his hilt to give her a good punch. However, a small stream of water snakes up his arm, and Y/n takes a small step around him, rolling off his back as she uses his momentum against him again. She guides the stream of water and yanks it to the right, using it to veer him off course and land on the ground instead.

He lands with a pained grunt, getting back up almost immediately. She pauses, spotting a few figures in the dark alleyway out of the corner of her eyes. “Wait,” She holds up a hand, eyes trained on the shadowed figures.

Raph doesn’t hear, too focused on winning the fight.

She raises her hands, gripping them tightly to waterbend a ball of water around his face. His eyes widen almost comically, a bubble of air escaping past his lips as he tries to protest. “Cool off for a minute, okay? Something’s happening down there.”

He nods grumpily, glaring at her. She returns a sheepish grin, feeling bad about the sudden fight she started. She releases the water lock, and he drops to the ground, gasping for air.

She peeks over the edge of the building, overhearing one of the shadowed figures confronting the other three. They’re all dressed in black, so she’s unable to tell who they are. However, the one confronting them is shorter, so they were probably around her age.

“I’m the last guy you see before you wake up in the hospital.”

Y/n blinks.

That was probably one of the weirdest catchphrases she’s ever heard.

Scratch that; nothing was worse than hearing Sokka go down swinging with his space sword, Sokka Style (also patented by him).

To her surprise, though, the boy down below fights well. He dodges harsh blows thrown his way by the Purple Dragons, fighting back with nothing but a wooden stick and little black discs. He uses the sticks to hit the discs, the amount of force behind it enough to cause enough pain to the attackers on impact.

She raises a brow when he uses the terrain to his advantage, kicking himself off the wall to hit one of the larger assailants. He lands perfectly, darting around and hitting them in the face with his stick.

“I give him 10 for the landing, 8 for the jump,” She murmurs jokingly, impressed.

“That guy’s outta control. Time for a little intervention.” Raph twirls his Sai, still heated from their earlier fight.

“Wait-!”

Raph ignores her hushed protest, jumping straight down and grabbing the stick as the boy holds it above his head. Raph tosses it aside casually, doing a somersault over his head and landing in the shadows.

“This isn’t going to end well…” Y/n mutters under her breath, quickly making her way down the fire escape. She hurries, hearing their grunts as the both of them fight. She takes the last step down the fire escape, landing on the ground and looks up to see the boy shoving Raph back and running after the Purple Dragons that are getting away.

“You know, anger is a dangerous ally.”

Y/n snorts. She clears her throat when Raph shoots her an icy glare, hiding a smile and masking it with a blank expression. The boy glances behind him, eyes widening behind his mask, when he sees a civilian is in front of a clearly dangerous mutant turtle.

“Get behind me.” He runs in front of her, holding his stick out protectively. She peeks out from behind him, spotting Raph breathing heavily.

He’s angry, she realizes.

“Stay away, you overgrown lizard!”

The remark makes her wince. She taps the boy’s shoulder from behind him, and he looks at her questioningly. “I’ll be fine,” She tries to reassure him.

“What’re you talking about? You’re just a girl.” His eyes are filled with confusion, wondering how on earth this frail-looking girl behind him could hold her own in front of the overgrown lizard threatening him. He blinks multiple times, his eyes dry from all the face paint.

She looks familiar to him, but he can’t really place where he’s seen her before, especially not with the alleyway being this dimly lit. Plus, his mask made it a bit difficult to have good vision. But it looked cool, so he refused to take it off under any circumstance.

Rule 101 of vigilantism: Never reveal your identity.

“Okay,” Y/n raises her hands in mock surrender, stepping back. “Whatever you say, my saviour.”

“Why don’t you go cool off for a while,” Raph’s lips are pressed tightly in a thin line, hands gripping his Sai.

“That’s it, lizard, I’m done with you,” The boy pulls out not just one but two sticks from where they’re slung on his back. Now she’s amazed.

Was he trying to get killed? She wonders, leaning against the wall.

She watches them charge at each other, Raph kicking the boy into the dumpster beside her. He twirls his Sai, sheathing them before walking towards her.

However, the boy stands up quickly, and she discreetly slides off a hamburger wrapper stuck to his shoulder. He climbs out of the dumpster, unknowingly swinging his stick back and hitting her right in her head.

“Ow!” She winces, holding her head as she stumbles back, hitting the wall behind her. The impact sends her reeling, practically seeing stars in her eyes. “That’s a concussion,” She groans.

“Oops, sorry!”

“Hey! Look what you did!” Raph gestures towards her in pain, about to take a step towards her, when the boy holds out his stick, preventing him from getting close.

“Don’t put your gross hands on her, you lizard!” Casey threatens. It’s enough to set Raph off, and they continue to fight, forgetting about her.

Y/n slumps to the ground, moving her hand away to see blood staining her clear skin. She feels dizzy from the sight, lips tugging downwards in a frown when she processes the fact that she’s bleeding.

Huh.

This isn’t ideal.

Her eyes are fixed on the crimson red on her palms, dotted across her fingers. She almost can’t look away, seemingly hypnotized by the very substance. She feels something wet trickle down her forehead, snapping her out of her daze.

Right, she’s bleeding.

She should probably heal herself.

Holding an orb of water she bends out of her water bag, she uses the rest of the water to surround the injury, her vision slightly blurry. Everything keeps shifting in and out of focus, permanent spots of black in her eyes.

She frowns.

Why did it look like they were connected to people?

She tries to brush it off, but the darkness unnerves her. Something about it is just so… inviting. But she shouldn’t. It looked dangerous.

Her brows furrow, resolve wavering. Part of her wants to reach out, to let it surround her. Besides, when has she ever stepped away from danger?

But Raph’s furious yell distracts her.

She tears her gaze away, barely able to make out his eyes blazing with aggravation.

He’s lost in his rage, letting the emotion engulf him. He holds his Sai up, swinging it toward the boy’s face. She gasps, scrambling to her feet to take a step forward. Her hands flex, so close to grabbing the flow that connects his arm to his body.

She can’t let Raph hurt someone. But she can control it, make it, so it doesn’t happen.

She has the power to.

But as soon as her fingertips brush against the swell of darkness in her vision, he stops. His Sai are inches away from the boy’s face, the blade's edge almost touching his skin.

In that split second, he regains control. His breaths come out in short pants, and she can almost see the condensation from how heated he is.

“What am I doing?” He puts away his weapons, looking down. At that moment, the boy pulls out a gadget that electrocutes the turtle, making his escape as Raph slumps to the ground with a pained groan.

She looks away, blinking rapidly as she vaguely registers the graffiti before her. It’s as if she’s underwater, with all the muffled noise from the car horns that blare at night.

Use it. Control them. You can have the world in your grasp. You know that.

“It doesn’t mean I want that.”

You can make it, so they never leave you.

“They won’t. I know they won’t.” She states firmly, her eyes squeezed shut as sweat collects on her brow.

That’s what you thought about Yue.

“You don’t know anything. She had to.” Her teeth are gritted, the familiar yet painful memory rushing back.

— — — — — — — — — —

“You have been touched by the Moon Spirit. Some of its life is still in you.”

“Yes, you’re right. It gave me life.” Yue admits, head hanging in defeat before an idea takes root in her mind. She opens her eyes, standing back up.

“Maybe I can give it back.”

— — — — — — — — — —

He could’ve found another way. He could’ve stopped her.

“Stop.”

She didn’t have to sacrifice herself.

“There was no other way!”

Her breathing is shaky, and the water on her head drops to extreme temperatures. But she doesn’t notice, her grief flooding her in waves. She thought she had gotten over it - managed to accept what had happened.

Y/n can almost see the exact moment she returned from healing the waterbenders injured by the Fire Nation’s army, looking around for Yue, only to see everyone else’s sorrowful expressions.

The realization had hit her then.

“-/n? Y/n! You okay?” She opens her eyes, her lashes wet with hot tears that have spilled over. Raph has his hand on her shoulder, shaking her in a desperate attempt to snap her out of whatever daze she’s in.

“I-I’m good. Don’t worry.” She rubs her eyes roughly with the back of her hand, trying to quell the raging emotions in her heart. Her wound is long gone, the voice receding to the back of her mind with a disgruntled hiss.

Raph raises a brow but doesn’t question her, noticing how her lips are drawn in a taut line. Her hands are shaky, and her eyes are rimmed with red. Instead, he helps her up, slowly returning to April’s place from the rooftops. They walk in silence, and he waits for her to calm down, his earlier anger forgotten.

GIF by verbile

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#tmnt 2012 #tmnt #leonardo x reader #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #2012 leo #2012 raph #2012 donnie #2012 mikey #x reader #series #CBIDD #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #leo x reader #2012 Leo x reader

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